In the club
As of today and the healthy twelve-week scan, I am officially announcing the fact that I am once again pregnant. Most of the people I've interacted with in the last three months will of course already know this. The tradition of not announcing until the third month is difficult to maintain with round-the-clock morning sickness and a social life that I really don't want to give up on.
It's a bit tricky to keep this sort of thing a secret while rushing off to be sick every hour or so, or carrying a conveniently large jar to role-playing games and parties to avoid the embarrassment of asking your hostess for an emergency bucket. At that point it is easier to just tell the truth rather than inventing a new non-infectious form of norovirus that is triggered by the smell of curry. Everyone always guesses as soon as you don't drink the wine anyway...
I will post the grainy picture of a butter-bean later for the sake of grandparents and other interested parties. I personally believe it looks exactly like the last such picture we saw, which also looked exactly like every other ultrasound picture because at this age they ALL LOOK THE SAME. Except for that little guy flipping the bird to the camera, who is pretty funny, I guess.
Anyway, I have once again received congratulations, which always feels very strange to me. On the one hand we're very happy because we wanted another baby and we tried to get another baby, and now we have the very beginnings of another baby, which is awesome.
On the other hand being congratulated for having sex, and for the sex functioning as it is supposed to function is a bit odd, culturally. Very few times in my life have my friends and family congratulated me on the excellence of my shagging or the proper operation of my biology. I suppose I should just enjoy it when it happens, but it is still slightly odd. Hooray, we had sex! Hooray, it worked!
It's a bit tricky to keep this sort of thing a secret while rushing off to be sick every hour or so, or carrying a conveniently large jar to role-playing games and parties to avoid the embarrassment of asking your hostess for an emergency bucket. At that point it is easier to just tell the truth rather than inventing a new non-infectious form of norovirus that is triggered by the smell of curry. Everyone always guesses as soon as you don't drink the wine anyway...
I will post the grainy picture of a butter-bean later for the sake of grandparents and other interested parties. I personally believe it looks exactly like the last such picture we saw, which also looked exactly like every other ultrasound picture because at this age they ALL LOOK THE SAME. Except for that little guy flipping the bird to the camera, who is pretty funny, I guess.
Anyway, I have once again received congratulations, which always feels very strange to me. On the one hand we're very happy because we wanted another baby and we tried to get another baby, and now we have the very beginnings of another baby, which is awesome.
On the other hand being congratulated for having sex, and for the sex functioning as it is supposed to function is a bit odd, culturally. Very few times in my life have my friends and family congratulated me on the excellence of my shagging or the proper operation of my biology. I suppose I should just enjoy it when it happens, but it is still slightly odd. Hooray, we had sex! Hooray, it worked!