Why is it that "three months pregnant" sounds like I'm so much farther along than if I say I'm 12 weeks pregnant?

This week I feel like I'm finally being delivered from the worst of the pregnancy symptoms. With each day that goes by painlessly, I tell myself that maybe it's just a good day and I shouldn't expect it to last. But so far, it seems to be lasting.

My belly is reaching that stage where I'm starting to get some looks, and several coworkers have commented that I'm showing. It won't be long now before I look unquestionably pregnant. It's also rounding out and firming up so that it feels less like a paunch and more like there's actually something in there.

These are all good things.

It's getting me thinking that I need to start working on the house and on some of the other things we need to get done pre-baby (like some financial planning). Neither one of us is very handy or very excited about doing any work on the house. Unless some nesting instinct kicks in, it will be an act of sheer willpower. But I keep telling myself that it'll be a lot less miserable to get it done in the next few months rather than when I'm whale-like.

This weekend I have an out, though. Brad's getting his wisdom teeth pulled on Friday, so we'll probably spend most of the weekend watching Dr. Who and eating soft foods rather than moving furniture and organizing closets. Way to take one for the team, Brad.