Portrait of a Marriage

Since I got pregnant, I have been taking weekly photos to keep track of how the belly grows. I take them in front of a chalkboard wall in our office using the tripod and the self-timer and they look like this:

First weekly photo, three days after we found out as I was pregnant. Yes, I knew the baby was the size of a poppy seed and there wasn't much to see. Too bad I wasn't happy about it at all...

Lately, as I'm really growing, Hugh has been taking the photos for me, which usually ensures me a little pep talk while we document my expanding waistline. 

Now, let me preface this with the fact that Hugh and I don't always see eye-to-eye on my fashion decisions. Lately I've been partial to leggings and v-neck t-shirts, topped with some version of those drapey, bulky cardigans that women love and men hate. 

So, this week, Hugh was teasing me during our photo (for which I was wearing one of my beloved sweaters) and my raging hormones were making me a little bit snappy. Every picture he took left me feeling less and less cute, and he kept right on joking away. These were the kind of facial expressions I was making at this point in our little photo session:

Ah, marriage. They get you at your best. And at your worst. 

Finally, I snapped that if he had any pointers, I was all ears. 

Hugh responded, "Sure, I do. Don't wear your bathrobe to take your weekly photo."

Touche, Hugh, touche.

But I still love that sweater. 

Post Script: Just to prove I don't only look cranky and blobbish these days, here's a photo I took the next day to send to my Mom. Baby girl's getting huge in there: