hey little one.
you're doin some crazy things to this already crazy lady's body this week. your pop and i were walking to church this morning (after i had already gotten sick three times, yet still managed to successfully assemble a decent outfit) and i was overtaken with fresh queasiness not twenty steps out the door. we came home and you and i went back to bed for the next three hours. i've been whining, moaning, grunting in discomfort, and your daddy has bore quite the brunt of it. (we press his nerves, but he loves us.)
the emotions are pretty crazy too. i have felt soaring joy and deep sorrow in less than ten minutes, and for the first time since second grade i have been seized with the overwhelming urge to throw big, fat, tantrums. (usually at the knowledge that there are no poptarts, when all i want is a poptart.) (later, i may acquire a poptart, but by then i most likely won't want it anymore.) these cravings are pretty unreliable.
HOWEVER, this tuesday marks eleven weeks, which leaves me roughly two short weeks away from the three month mark. i am hoping you are the sort to move past the angry nausea phase after trimester one.
wondering if you are my son or my daughter. i keep having dreams that you are a baby boy, and i wake up a smidge panicky, probably because i have less insight into boy-hood. but if you are a little boy, i'm pretty sure we'll get along just fine.
exes and ohs sweet baby
mama
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