{Written when I was 25 weeks pregnant with my first boy. Now I have the saggy skin and stretch marks to prove I've carried not one, but 3 boys in 2 years}...

If you’ve had so much as a 5 minute conversation with me in the last month you’ve probably realized I’m a little freaked out by my recent/rapid weight gain. I think it’s safe to say I haven’t been embracing my new curves the way others do. It’s hard when in my head I’m 115 pounds but then I see a picture of myself at 140 and think “Sweet baby Jesus, where’s my neck?”

I catch myself staring at photos, critiquing every inch on my body – it becomes obsessive. I’ve been forgetting that there’s a legitimate reason for all of this and it’s time I give myself a break. The other day I ran across this picture which helped me visualize where all of this weight is going – and why.

So – from here on out – I vow to own it. I’m going to own my thighs, I’m going to own my less-than-toned arms, I’m going to own my round face and embrace this body. I prayed so hard for Max and it’s time I realize that being skinny isn’t a part of the deal. In 25 weeks I’ve gained 25 pounds, gone from a small to a large in granny panties and ordered a bridesmaids dress that is 5 sizes larger than what I normally wear. I will blow past the “25-35 pound” recommended (crock of b.s.) weight gain and most likely deliver this boy close to 160 pounds. And I’m becoming okay with that. Because right now Max has a nice, cozy man cave. He’s got a squishy bounce house that occupies him all day while I’m at work and he’s got a comfy place to sleep at night. He’s not hungry, he’s not thirsty and he gets an insanely well-balanced diet. That’s my job right now. I’m his mom and until October, I’m solely responsible for making him plump and healthy.

So the next time your doctor tells you to stop eating ice cream you know what you tell him?