Return of a T-shirt
Taken today. I am making a weird face, but that's not the important bit:
The shirt says, "Yes, I'm pregnant. NO, you may not touch my belly." Because I am, and you may not.
Items of note:
- Due early November [*];
- Sex, as before, to be a surprise (ditto potential names);
- Symptoms objectively worse than first pregnancy, but getting better;
- So much more protruding than last time (look at the first page of the old mug shot gallery, where at a week later than this you could barely tell);
- If you saw me recently and are wondering where I was hiding that, the answers are (1) under looser shirts and (2) either sitting down or sucking my gut in. Yes, I felt very awkward about it;
- I botched giving the news to SteelyKid today [**], but she seemed quite matter-of-fact about it by bedtime.
[*] November 5, based on an early ultrasound; today that was revised to November 3, but I refuse to accept a change of two days, based on an 18-week ultrasound, as anything but noise in the data.
[**] I should know better than to ask her to process anything remotely complex when she's overheated from a hot playground and hasn't had dinner yet. Also I was overly reassuring. So she seemed pleased at first and then, entirely without warning, burst out sobbing. Go, me.
We have ultrasound pictures, but really, they look basically like the last one. Pity we couldn't get a video of a foot kicking at the umbilical cord, though. (But I'm glad we don't have one of all four chambers of the heart beating, because I find that really creepy-looking.)
And if you don't care about pregnancy and/or babies, a major book cull in honor of FutureSibling (more specifically, the need to make room for FutureSibling's nursery) is coming soon. Ish.
As always, no unsolicited advice, no horror stories.
ETA: Chad has an ultrasound picture and a SteelyKid conversation.
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