And that's a magic number
MB and I have always known that we wanted to have kids, when the time was right. We knew it would take a lot of planning, a lot of guesswork, and -- ultimately -- a lot of luck. Appropriately, on May 1st -- a day once celebrated as a fertility festival -- this happened:
And last week, there was this, kicking and kicking and kicking its precious little chicken legs:
The pregnancy has been really, really, blessedly boring and uneventful so far, for which I am unspeakably grateful. I eat a lot these days, in the way that a 40-ton brachiosaurus could be said to eat a lot. In weeks 7 - 9, the fatigue nearly killed me, and it's most likely for the best that I wasn't blogging about it at the time. But so far, I haven't puked, so I'll take it.
Today I am 13 weeks pregnant. I have started wearing the ridiculously cute maternity pants that my kickass friend Rachel sent me, and I'm looking forward to being able to spend my workday doing something other than sucking in my gut every time someone walks by, as I finally told my coworkers the news today. Pretty soon maybe I'll even look pregnant instead of like I had too many Cheetos!
We're calling it the brachiopod. I think I'm already falling in love.