Simon has wanted to have a party for the past four days. Four days ago I was laid low, LOW I say, by the consumption of spinach (not e-coli or anything scary like that) and today was the first day that eating didn't feel like being knifed. So. Today we partied. We ate Chinese and drank caffeine free pop and talked about the good things that having another baby means.
I am pregnant. One of the reasons Simon wanted to celebrate was because it is very hard to wrap our brains around the idea. There is no physical proof yet, just the knowledge that there's a little tiny person in my belly.
This stage in my pregnancies is marked by me deciding on a moniker for the little bugger. Boy had no nickname that I recall- I just thought of him as the latest set of names I had picked out. Two and Three were Curly Beans, but I don't think of this one as a Bean. Four was gone before I had a chance to call myself pregnant. I thought about calling this one "Icy Eight Special K", but today's favorite is Moon Unit. I know it's a girl's name technically, but it would work for a boy, don't you think? Actually I should call it "The Last Hurrah" because the tubes are getting tied. Mother of three is plenty.
So far everything has been textbook. I got blood drawn tonight, so we'll have some numbers tomorrow. Honestly I'm scared because until week twelve things are titchy. Peanut spooked us. She taught us all the milestones. Week 12 is the first break- your odds of carrying to term are pretty good if you make it this far. Week 20 is the half way mark. Week 21 is the earliest a pre-term baby has survived (new record). Week 30 is when early babies have a decent shot at making it. Week 38 is full term.
I'm at week five. One more week and we have heartbeat.
On a completely random note, our visiting dog farts. Our dogs never did fart, but then we don't feed them kibbles and bits.
Bits of what?
ephelba and the moon unit