well, you are a tiny little arm-bud growing prankster, aren't you? as soon as i go on about not having any morning sickness and being SOOOOOO lucky, you go and make me barf. in the shower, once. once in the car into my lunch bag. i wasn't going to eat that apple anyhow. it's not as bad as other people i know have had it, so i won't get too mad at you, embryo. just try to be gentle on me.
last week i went in to have a dating ultrasound, and i got to see your tiny little self with your fluttery fast heart beat. i knew you were in there, but seeing you up there on the screen, as tiny and fragile as you are right now, made me realize holy fucking shit, this is really happening. we are going to be parents and by our first wedding anniversary you'll be here and nearly a month old. that is some shit, ain't it, embryo? i kept it together during the appointment and then did the ugly cry in the car. snot. running down my face. your mom is pretty sexy.
i'm still tired all the time. unbelievably tired. my boobs feel like they are full of hot coals and broken glass. but damn, are they ever pretty. i am coming out of my bras. time to go shopping, which if you're a girl, you will soon come to understand to be a fun time.
speaking of shopping, we are hopefully going to be finding out your gender in the next couple months, and then i can finally start buying you all sorts of adorable things. i have no patience, embryo, and can't really wait until you're born to find out what you are. thankfully your dad doesn't have strong feelings about waiting, cause then i would have to kill him. just kidding although not really. i'm starting to feel like you may be a girl. your dad is pretty sure that you are a boy. honestly, neither of us care as long as you're adorable. please, don't be ugly. oh and be healthy, right. that is also super important to us.
well, i will sign off for this week. keep doing what you do best, making me puke and adding 100 new brain cells a day.