Wednesday, January 9, 2008
On a lighter note!
We like to imagine what our baby would look like. Suri Cruise is one... she's got the weirdness of me as a toddler, and some feature's of Saby's nieces. Maybe add curly hair?
Damn, I tried to find pictures of Sarah McLachlan's daughter India, as her daddy's "of Indian descent" and her momma's a good strapping Irishwoman... no such luck.
Shall speculate more about the genetic experiment that is our Mallu Catholic Irish German Swedish Dutch Baby later :-)
Other than that...
Again, pardon the last post if you're not into that kind of thing. I realize in pregnancy, as with anything, drama is what you make of it. Perhaps that's something everybody would go through, pregnant or not, and they just have enough restraint to not mention it in public. I don't want to give the impression that I am above any sort of pain or suffering or misery or anything... or even that everything is constantly just a big bowl of cherries.
But, primarily, it IS a big bowl of cherries. I really think it's just how you look at it. Yeah, there's heartburn, big bloated bellies, and yesterday I had to pee like 8 times in the span of 75 minutes, but that is nothing compared to the thought that me and Saby are having a baby. Any discomfort along the way are temporary, preparatory for the "discomforts" and changes of early parenthood, and in regards to both I'm keeping a very positive outlook. It's for Baby! What can be a better reason than that? I've probably felt worse in the past from eating gigantic greasy dinners. It's not just about me anymore, and it's not all about me either.
As my sister always says in regards to any pregnancy, you are not the first, nor will you be the last person to be pregnant. There have been millions before you and there will be millions after. It's not a sickness. Unless it's an unplanned pregnancy (and my heart goes out to those babies) it's probably something you've wanted, tried for, prayed for, possibly even cried for. Now you have it... and others do not. So buck up and deal.
Interesting passage I read in a book...
"If a pregnant woman wants and needs to be pampered, "waited upon" and coddled, and buys into the concept that pregnancy is an abnormal condition and that she is "ill," the attention that she gains during a troublesome pregnancy and a difficult birthing can definitely make it all worthwhile in her mind. She barely tolerates her pregnancy and constantly proclaims her annoyance at all the aches, pains and other pregnancy "disorders" while she uses body language that demonstrates her plight. Family members often contribute to this scenario by cautioning the woman that she must "give in" to her frality during this precarious time of her life.
...Nevertheless, it is important to assess your own motivation and intent as you approach your birthing and consider, in light of all we've spoken of here, how you will apply these Laws of the Mind so that they work for you.
Motivation is closely tied to your intent and your self image. It is said that a woman births pretty much the same way that she lives life. For that reason, it is imperative that you take the time to do an assessment of how you see yourself and whether this image is productive for you or counterproductive. Much of the determining aspects of how you will make important choices concerning your birthing are factored on how you regard birth and your own role in this experience."
With that said, let me fully recognize that I am a bit of an attention whore. But first and foremost, I want positive attention. I want to overachieve. I want to prove a point, and prove people wrong. And as a result, I want to have the best damn pregnancy anybody we know has ever heard of, to give hope to everybody who has only heard the miserable side of things. I want to pass on to my possibly-daughter an attitude towards birth that is positive; as my mother and sister did, perhaps by mostly passing along nothing until recently. Their pregnancies? Mom had 2, both with a little heartburn and few other noteworthy issues, despite her last (me) being high risk due to her age. (she did go on to have a 36 hour labor and a caesarian, but hey...)
My sister? She mentions nothing terrible, and one of my fondest memories from her first pregnancy (Jessica) was walking at East Harbor State Park with her and her digging a belly-sized hole in the sand so that we could lay together on the beach. During the subsequent pregnancies she was in the midst of moving her family from Michigan to Ohio and then back. And Molly's homecoming was to a furnished apartment that the Kerr's called home while their house was being rebuilt after a 3rd floor pipe burst and flooded the entire house while they were on vacation. I asked her husband about it over Christmas... he said "it's always going to be challenging. But it's only as bad as you make it." And he gave a look that said "you can do it."
I guess my first note of thanks to our baby is for all the inspiration for personal reflection.
But, primarily, it IS a big bowl of cherries. I really think it's just how you look at it. Yeah, there's heartburn, big bloated bellies, and yesterday I had to pee like 8 times in the span of 75 minutes, but that is nothing compared to the thought that me and Saby are having a baby. Any discomfort along the way are temporary, preparatory for the "discomforts" and changes of early parenthood, and in regards to both I'm keeping a very positive outlook. It's for Baby! What can be a better reason than that? I've probably felt worse in the past from eating gigantic greasy dinners. It's not just about me anymore, and it's not all about me either.
As my sister always says in regards to any pregnancy, you are not the first, nor will you be the last person to be pregnant. There have been millions before you and there will be millions after. It's not a sickness. Unless it's an unplanned pregnancy (and my heart goes out to those babies) it's probably something you've wanted, tried for, prayed for, possibly even cried for. Now you have it... and others do not. So buck up and deal.
Interesting passage I read in a book...
"If a pregnant woman wants and needs to be pampered, "waited upon" and coddled, and buys into the concept that pregnancy is an abnormal condition and that she is "ill," the attention that she gains during a troublesome pregnancy and a difficult birthing can definitely make it all worthwhile in her mind. She barely tolerates her pregnancy and constantly proclaims her annoyance at all the aches, pains and other pregnancy "disorders" while she uses body language that demonstrates her plight. Family members often contribute to this scenario by cautioning the woman that she must "give in" to her frality during this precarious time of her life.
...Nevertheless, it is important to assess your own motivation and intent as you approach your birthing and consider, in light of all we've spoken of here, how you will apply these Laws of the Mind so that they work for you.
Motivation is closely tied to your intent and your self image. It is said that a woman births pretty much the same way that she lives life. For that reason, it is imperative that you take the time to do an assessment of how you see yourself and whether this image is productive for you or counterproductive. Much of the determining aspects of how you will make important choices concerning your birthing are factored on how you regard birth and your own role in this experience."
With that said, let me fully recognize that I am a bit of an attention whore. But first and foremost, I want positive attention. I want to overachieve. I want to prove a point, and prove people wrong. And as a result, I want to have the best damn pregnancy anybody we know has ever heard of, to give hope to everybody who has only heard the miserable side of things. I want to pass on to my possibly-daughter an attitude towards birth that is positive; as my mother and sister did, perhaps by mostly passing along nothing until recently. Their pregnancies? Mom had 2, both with a little heartburn and few other noteworthy issues, despite her last (me) being high risk due to her age. (she did go on to have a 36 hour labor and a caesarian, but hey...)
My sister? She mentions nothing terrible, and one of my fondest memories from her first pregnancy (Jessica) was walking at East Harbor State Park with her and her digging a belly-sized hole in the sand so that we could lay together on the beach. During the subsequent pregnancies she was in the midst of moving her family from Michigan to Ohio and then back. And Molly's homecoming was to a furnished apartment that the Kerr's called home while their house was being rebuilt after a 3rd floor pipe burst and flooded the entire house while they were on vacation. I asked her husband about it over Christmas... he said "it's always going to be challenging. But it's only as bad as you make it." And he gave a look that said "you can do it."
I guess my first note of thanks to our baby is for all the inspiration for personal reflection.
Not for the Faint Hearted
Please qualify yourself under one of the following categories:
Are you are at all squeamish about bodily functions? Does the thought of cleaning up a pet's mess mess you up? Then you may want to skip this post.
Are you are the sort of person who can sit through the entire infomercial about full body cleanses and the 45 pounds of poo they found in John Wayne's colon? Carry on, my strong-stomached friend. Or if you've been quietly willing some sort of misery-inducing equalizing factor to visit my so far rainbow- and puppy-filled pregnancy, you might like what's coming too.
If you're somewhere in between these two, carry on with caution, maybe reading through your fingers as if it were a scary movie... that's what I did.
So. Last week or so has been a new milestone in this whole experience. Alluded to, sort of foreshadowed movie-style, by Swapna over Thanksgiving weekend when she said to no one in particular that "pregnancy constipation is really a problem", I discovered that perhaps my cross to bear might be a giant bloated tummy and the depressing inability to poop. Not total inability, mind you, but a depressing bout of both delayed and lackluster performances. Sort of like Michael Vick going from one of the most promising quarterbacks in the league to being banned from the NFL. (I made that up... is he really banned? I know he's in jail... but things aren't that bad!)
I was a superstar poo'er. A girl we knew in college used to call people in to try and show off the results of her newly cleansed colon. I was along that line, although not that crass and public. All star stuff you should call mom about. But all that's gone now.
Lately I've been battling some espantosa horrible gas that puffs out my stomach about as much as a 5 pound baby. (which, at about 12 weeks, is frightening) Pants that fit previously are suddenly tight enough to merit unzipping, and I can play my exposed stomach like a timpani drum. Sounds sort of like a ghatam. Ping-parap-pararap-ping! So I started eating rolaids and bananas. Which both, while nice stomach comforting foods, are constipating. Whoops, didn't realize that. Bring on more gas; much more more more embarrassing, noxious gas, more obnoxious bloats, and these really amazing digestional cramps.
And nothing seemed to help! I understand that the digestive system slows down thanks to progesterone produced during pregnancy. I understand constipation is something that takes a few days to work through. But I wanted relief NOW from gassy belly. So two nights worth of Milk of Magnesium, fruit juices, prayer, and a worried, semi-disgusted yet caring husband led up to this morning's happenings.
First off, thank GOD I stayed home from work today. (a clue to anyone squeamish to leave this off NOW) My job at National City Mortgage is currently in training mode, so we sit all day in a classroom at computers learning about mortgages and how to deal with depressed and angry callers. We sit all day. That may also be part of the problem. I digress. There is some sort of virus slowly making it's way around the training room, and I wanted to try and head it off by taking a break and getting some sleep. So slept in, woke up leisurely, and had a soy milk coffee.
Maybe my body has been missing the supine position in which I'd normally check mail, read, and drink coffee. Or perhaps the radiation and pressure from the computer on a pillow on my lower abdomen has some effect that I've been missing, sitting so attentively (ha!) in Customer Service University. But whatever it was, I got the "urge" - the telltale urge to go, and so to the loo I went.
AND HOW I WENT. It was one of those issues where you have to draw a bath afterwards. Without being terribly graphic, let me say it was a.) painful, b.) nauseating, and c.) seemingly without end. It was not a situation where I was in control of things - I could feel my abdomen sort of contract in a very natural yet not-my-doing sort of way, and then voila! I had gone. And none of the funny business from before - it was call-in-your-roommate worthy. That happened like 4 times. The first time, I got done and started the bath, thinking "good Lord, that's uncomfortable." (Perhaps at the moments my exact thoughts were more like, "Ahhhhhhhh, #$&!^@#$!") But as I started the bath, the "urge" came back. Subtle... like a little kid who really wants to tell you something, but knows not to interrupt. Round two brought thoughts to my head of "how can I handle natural labor if I can't even poop without feeling pitiful?" Then I pulled it together a little bit, and started a sort of relaxation breathing that one of my books suggests. Then things got better, and those weird automatic abdominal surges came back, and a few minutes later, I was all done, in the bathtub, and feeling MUCH MUCH MUCH better.
(I didn't even need the bath afterwards, but it just looked so warm and inviting...)
So there you go! I weighed myself (in honor of John Wayne) after the whole ordeal and am proud to say I'm holding steady at about 148 lbs, which is just about where the midwife weighed me in on the 14th of December.
Lessons learned? Mind your bananas. Don't OD on Rolaids. And let your body do what it has to do... there is no set "normal" as far as poo, so as long as you're getting your fiber and getting enough "time supine", I suppose life will be fine.
Now, what to have for lunch? :D
Are you are at all squeamish about bodily functions? Does the thought of cleaning up a pet's mess mess you up? Then you may want to skip this post.
Are you are the sort of person who can sit through the entire infomercial about full body cleanses and the 45 pounds of poo they found in John Wayne's colon? Carry on, my strong-stomached friend. Or if you've been quietly willing some sort of misery-inducing equalizing factor to visit my so far rainbow- and puppy-filled pregnancy, you might like what's coming too.
If you're somewhere in between these two, carry on with caution, maybe reading through your fingers as if it were a scary movie... that's what I did.
So. Last week or so has been a new milestone in this whole experience. Alluded to, sort of foreshadowed movie-style, by Swapna over Thanksgiving weekend when she said to no one in particular that "pregnancy constipation is really a problem", I discovered that perhaps my cross to bear might be a giant bloated tummy and the depressing inability to poop. Not total inability, mind you, but a depressing bout of both delayed and lackluster performances. Sort of like Michael Vick going from one of the most promising quarterbacks in the league to being banned from the NFL. (I made that up... is he really banned? I know he's in jail... but things aren't that bad!)
I was a superstar poo'er. A girl we knew in college used to call people in to try and show off the results of her newly cleansed colon. I was along that line, although not that crass and public. All star stuff you should call mom about. But all that's gone now.
Lately I've been battling some espantosa horrible gas that puffs out my stomach about as much as a 5 pound baby. (which, at about 12 weeks, is frightening) Pants that fit previously are suddenly tight enough to merit unzipping, and I can play my exposed stomach like a timpani drum. Sounds sort of like a ghatam. Ping-parap-pararap-ping! So I started eating rolaids and bananas. Which both, while nice stomach comforting foods, are constipating. Whoops, didn't realize that. Bring on more gas; much more more more embarrassing, noxious gas, more obnoxious bloats, and these really amazing digestional cramps.
And nothing seemed to help! I understand that the digestive system slows down thanks to progesterone produced during pregnancy. I understand constipation is something that takes a few days to work through. But I wanted relief NOW from gassy belly. So two nights worth of Milk of Magnesium, fruit juices, prayer, and a worried, semi-disgusted yet caring husband led up to this morning's happenings.
First off, thank GOD I stayed home from work today. (a clue to anyone squeamish to leave this off NOW) My job at National City Mortgage is currently in training mode, so we sit all day in a classroom at computers learning about mortgages and how to deal with depressed and angry callers. We sit all day. That may also be part of the problem. I digress. There is some sort of virus slowly making it's way around the training room, and I wanted to try and head it off by taking a break and getting some sleep. So slept in, woke up leisurely, and had a soy milk coffee.
Maybe my body has been missing the supine position in which I'd normally check mail, read, and drink coffee. Or perhaps the radiation and pressure from the computer on a pillow on my lower abdomen has some effect that I've been missing, sitting so attentively (ha!) in Customer Service University. But whatever it was, I got the "urge" - the telltale urge to go, and so to the loo I went.
AND HOW I WENT. It was one of those issues where you have to draw a bath afterwards. Without being terribly graphic, let me say it was a.) painful, b.) nauseating, and c.) seemingly without end. It was not a situation where I was in control of things - I could feel my abdomen sort of contract in a very natural yet not-my-doing sort of way, and then voila! I had gone. And none of the funny business from before - it was call-in-your-roommate worthy. That happened like 4 times. The first time, I got done and started the bath, thinking "good Lord, that's uncomfortable." (Perhaps at the moments my exact thoughts were more like, "Ahhhhhhhh, #$&!^@#$!") But as I started the bath, the "urge" came back. Subtle... like a little kid who really wants to tell you something, but knows not to interrupt. Round two brought thoughts to my head of "how can I handle natural labor if I can't even poop without feeling pitiful?" Then I pulled it together a little bit, and started a sort of relaxation breathing that one of my books suggests. Then things got better, and those weird automatic abdominal surges came back, and a few minutes later, I was all done, in the bathtub, and feeling MUCH MUCH MUCH better.
(I didn't even need the bath afterwards, but it just looked so warm and inviting...)
So there you go! I weighed myself (in honor of John Wayne) after the whole ordeal and am proud to say I'm holding steady at about 148 lbs, which is just about where the midwife weighed me in on the 14th of December.
Lessons learned? Mind your bananas. Don't OD on Rolaids. And let your body do what it has to do... there is no set "normal" as far as poo, so as long as you're getting your fiber and getting enough "time supine", I suppose life will be fine.
Now, what to have for lunch? :D
Monday, December 24, 2007
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Sunrise Planet
This morning I was sitting in front of the TV, eating a tasty scrambled egg and english muffin breakfast I made for myself (and which subsequently gave me horrible gas-e-ola) when I stumbled upon what may perhaps be cable television's manifestation of ZEN. Something on Animal Planet with "Mayan ruins of Tikal" caught my eye and I flipped there, something called Sunrise Planet. Within moments I realized that this was a show where you simply do nothing but watch the sunrise. From early hazy pre-dawn, for one hour innumerable cameras record the happenings at what is already a spectacular location, and you simply see and hear the sunrise. Birds... howler monkeys... rustling winds... insects buzzing... flapping wings... splashing frogs, fish and ducks... it is a ambiance tape gone visual, and it was absolutely transfixing.
I want to kiss the person who came up with the concept.
I promptly emailed my husband, mother and sister and asked them to get me the DVD set so that I could watch it while in labor. Or during any other circumstance that requires some serious zen.
I want to kiss the person who came up with the concept.
I promptly emailed my husband, mother and sister and asked them to get me the DVD set so that I could watch it while in labor. Or during any other circumstance that requires some serious zen.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Spampy is Confirmed
Today was my first prenatal visit. Dare I even say, "OUR" first pre-natal visit. Because the overwhelming #1 news today is that Spampy baby is a real baby, my copilot in a real pregnancy, in my real uterus. I saw her/him on the ultrasound, a little tiny bean shaped thing inside my bigger bean shaped womb, with a beating heart you could see but not hear. (She's shy!)
This is a wonderful relief, because despite reassurances from kind folks near and dear, I had a nagging thought that perhaps I wasn't pregnant... maybe I had, against all odds, bought a bad batch of EPTs, and was suddenly done with the dormant period of a virus causing disfiguring breast growth that I had picked up while crawling through the backyard in Kerala. (Just saw a show about the Plague, and they say it and other unknown diseases are lurking in corners of the world still underdeveloped... and for the paranoia in my head, rural Kerala fits that bill.)
Hallelujah, that is not the case.
So, there seems to be absolutely nothing extraordinary about this particular pregnancy, and the midwife said everything looks good. She is a wonderful hippie sort of chick, with a headband and short gray hair, who has a great sense of humor and has already gossiped with nurse Jane about how handsome Saby is and what a cute baby we'll have. (his HealthWorks magazine was there in the room, so during my pelvic exam my handsome hubby smiled at me from the magazine rack.) And Spampy smiled at me from the ultrasound, and as a result, I'm smiling my freakin' head off.
There are no words, profane or otherwise, for how excited I am! Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
This is a wonderful relief, because despite reassurances from kind folks near and dear, I had a nagging thought that perhaps I wasn't pregnant... maybe I had, against all odds, bought a bad batch of EPTs, and was suddenly done with the dormant period of a virus causing disfiguring breast growth that I had picked up while crawling through the backyard in Kerala. (Just saw a show about the Plague, and they say it and other unknown diseases are lurking in corners of the world still underdeveloped... and for the paranoia in my head, rural Kerala fits that bill.)
Hallelujah, that is not the case.
So, there seems to be absolutely nothing extraordinary about this particular pregnancy, and the midwife said everything looks good. She is a wonderful hippie sort of chick, with a headband and short gray hair, who has a great sense of humor and has already gossiped with nurse Jane about how handsome Saby is and what a cute baby we'll have. (his HealthWorks magazine was there in the room, so during my pelvic exam my handsome hubby smiled at me from the magazine rack.) And Spampy smiled at me from the ultrasound, and as a result, I'm smiling my freakin' head off.
There are no words, profane or otherwise, for how excited I am! Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Saturday, December 15, 2007
My little secret
Put this mentally into the background as a soundtrack for this post:
whatever that Madonna song is that goes, "ooooooo, ooooooo, somethings coming over meeeeee... my baby's got a secret."
My little secret is that I'm working at Motherhood Maternity part time in the good ol' Dayton Mall, and I'm knocked up. They do not know it yet. It seems to me that there would be reason for suspicion... I do NOT have an absolutely canny ability to calculate the due dates of women who are 4-12 weeks pregnant... I am dating their in regards to my own. I do not HEAR that the Palmer's Skin Oil is fabulous, I absolutely freaking know it. (I'm a greasy goddess who smells exactly like vanilla cake right now, as a matter of fact.) And I am NOT just bullsh*tting about the joy of the prospect of having a baby in July. I'm totally (secretly) sharing it.
So apart for waiting for my 3 months to go so that I can get a discount (conveniently timed for perhaps a tiny belly bump of something other than KFC?) I am surrounded during the times spent at the mall by mostly happy mommys-to-be, indulgent grandmothers, and children ranging from indolent to adorable... it's a great gig. And it pays more than Kohls :-)
whatever that Madonna song is that goes, "ooooooo, ooooooo, somethings coming over meeeeee... my baby's got a secret."
My little secret is that I'm working at Motherhood Maternity part time in the good ol' Dayton Mall, and I'm knocked up. They do not know it yet. It seems to me that there would be reason for suspicion... I do NOT have an absolutely canny ability to calculate the due dates of women who are 4-12 weeks pregnant... I am dating their in regards to my own. I do not HEAR that the Palmer's Skin Oil is fabulous, I absolutely freaking know it. (I'm a greasy goddess who smells exactly like vanilla cake right now, as a matter of fact.) And I am NOT just bullsh*tting about the joy of the prospect of having a baby in July. I'm totally (secretly) sharing it.
So apart for waiting for my 3 months to go so that I can get a discount (conveniently timed for perhaps a tiny belly bump of something other than KFC?) I am surrounded during the times spent at the mall by mostly happy mommys-to-be, indulgent grandmothers, and children ranging from indolent to adorable... it's a great gig. And it pays more than Kohls :-)
Thursday, December 13, 2007
The Waiting Game
Once the excitement of seeing a positive pregnancy test (or in our case, three) wears off, you have the joy of breaking news... or, if you so choose, the smug secretive goodness of waiting to share your good news with others. Both are great. You spend a week or two reading up... feeding your excitement by buying books about names and birthing methods, looking up insurance, standing in front of a mirror trying to determine whether your tummy is actually poking out a bit or whether you ate too much chicken in a frenzied protein feast...
and then the wait begins.
You know you're pregnant. Your friends know. Your family knows. But, apparently no part of your body other than your hormones have received that memo. Oh wait... except your BOOBS. Your newly gigantic, voluptuous, slightly tingly and tender boobs. But then again, they only found out because they heard the hormones talking about it in the bathroom. It's like a rumor. But they're moving forward as if it were an official notification from the office of the CEO. I'm hungry, indeed. But I'll put a 10 spot on that being psychological... as if any hunger pang that is not immediately sated with crackers, granola bars, fruit, or in moments of weakness, KFC Big Box Combos will result in a Niagara-like explosion of projectile vomiting that will put all past cases of Hyperemesis Gravidarium (super bad morning sickness) to shame. They say eat 6 small meals a day. I am as a result constantly eating, showing how much sway "they" truly have on my life.
So any morning sickness? No! Too busy eating to have time to vomit... be nauseous... or now, to even have heartburn (which was my one symptom that made me take a EPT). I guess it's a blessing, but I may end up running Dayton into a food shortage.
So having gotten done with all the exciting things that go along with finding out you're going to have a baby in the next 10 months or so, I've fallen into a surreal symptom-less lull where all I can do to pass the time is watch my boobs continue to grow...
and of course EAT.
Luckily, I've got three jobs with which to pass the time between snacks. More on that later.
Oh, and I go to the midwife next Tuesday for my first, official, prenatal exam. Yaaaaaaaaaaay, midwives!
and then the wait begins.
You know you're pregnant. Your friends know. Your family knows. But, apparently no part of your body other than your hormones have received that memo. Oh wait... except your BOOBS. Your newly gigantic, voluptuous, slightly tingly and tender boobs. But then again, they only found out because they heard the hormones talking about it in the bathroom. It's like a rumor. But they're moving forward as if it were an official notification from the office of the CEO. I'm hungry, indeed. But I'll put a 10 spot on that being psychological... as if any hunger pang that is not immediately sated with crackers, granola bars, fruit, or in moments of weakness, KFC Big Box Combos will result in a Niagara-like explosion of projectile vomiting that will put all past cases of Hyperemesis Gravidarium (super bad morning sickness) to shame. They say eat 6 small meals a day. I am as a result constantly eating, showing how much sway "they" truly have on my life.
So any morning sickness? No! Too busy eating to have time to vomit... be nauseous... or now, to even have heartburn (which was my one symptom that made me take a EPT). I guess it's a blessing, but I may end up running Dayton into a food shortage.
So having gotten done with all the exciting things that go along with finding out you're going to have a baby in the next 10 months or so, I've fallen into a surreal symptom-less lull where all I can do to pass the time is watch my boobs continue to grow...
and of course EAT.
Luckily, I've got three jobs with which to pass the time between snacks. More on that later.
Oh, and I go to the midwife next Tuesday for my first, official, prenatal exam. Yaaaaaaaaaaay, midwives!
Tentative welcome addendum
Add Ameeta, Yazmin and Marena to the list of happy voyeurs. I shall do my best to comply.
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