Dropping! Even I noticed it today. My co-workers have been saying for several days now, "You've dropped." But this morning, while I was brushing my teeth, I thought, "Hmmmm...something looks different..." When I got to the office, people kept it up: "WOW! You sure have dropped!" "Are you sure you're not going into labor?" "Good grief, you must be ready to pop!" At first it was cute. Now it's getting on my nerves. I think that the next time someone says something to me, I'll clutch my belly, lean on his or her desk, and moan something about water breaking.
Not that it'll shut anyone up, but I will get a certain visceral satisfaction out of it.
What else did I do today? I went to a rugby match. Having lived Down Under for two years, I absorbed a certain amount of appreciation for the game (and far be it from me to turn down corporate tickets in a tent with free food). Don't ask me to tell you the rules; for that, I'll tell you to ask my sister-in-law, who actually played the game at university. (When people ask me why someone as apparently sensible and bright as she is married my brother, I remind them that she played rugby, and they think, "Ah, head injury, poor dear.")(Just kidding, bro!!!)
But the real advantage of going to a rugby match when you're eight and a half months pregnant is knowing that no one in the crowd will look askance at the Guinness in your hand. Yankees would give you the Stinkeye, or try to have you arrested. Islanders will ask if you want a refill.