Holy guacamole!

I believe the tot has dropped. And when I say "dropped," I mean "precipitously dropped." Last night, in fact. There I was, minding my own bidness, sitting there making the bun announcements (a MASSIVE UNDERTAKING, I might add, making this one of my typical "Let's make this as complex as possible" productions) when all of the sudden the boy was on the move.

There were all these punches and weird little movements and I was rather surprised (the look on my face must have been somewhere between, "Oh crap, I left the house without my pants on again," and "I think we need to enroll him in synchronized swimming lessons, pronto."). And then I took a bath, and then I went to bed.

And peed about four thousand times.

And today, as I looked down at my great girth, I noticed my ribs were freed up and weren't as tender anymore. And my bra fit better. And my stomach seems to have come back. And the boy is packed into a new ball, with his feet slightly farther from my right lung.

All this is a great improvement. I know that it just means that I'll be peeing every ten minutes now, and that the strain on my hips will be even worse but Hallelujah! Lungs! Ribs! Stomach! All returned to me in good working order.

Of course, this also means the little nipper is working to make his escape. Which is a little scary. But yay! Breathing! Go, baby, go, baby, GO!

Edited to add: It's insane, but you can actually SEE how much he dropped. We took a photo this morning and compared it to the last one we took, and holy cats! There's like a good two inch difference. He was ridin' tall in the saddle until yesterday--now it appears he's a low-rider kinda feller. Another example of how the body is freakishly amazing.