…that not a damned thing is going on with me.

Still floating on the “perfectly normal pregnancy” news from Tuesday. I even went to a grotesquely overpriced baby boutique in the neighborhood to inquire about the adorable onesie in the window.

Yes, it was way overpriced. No I didn’t buy it anyway. Yes, I’m still thinking about it.

No real symptoms, not even any weight gain, despite my indulgence in sweets yesterday (damn the bowl of chocolate some evil co-worker left in the break room!) Not complaining, mind you. It would have been upsetting if I were the only one in my family to suffer from morning sickness. I’m just as happy to be avoiding that. Tired all the time, but that’s sort of my normal state of being in a coffee-free world. Hungry all the time, too, but again, that’s just sort of me. Not sure the raspberry-sized sprog can claim credit for that one either.

And starting to get eager about getting past another milestone or two. Looking forward to that 12-week-mark like nobody’s business. End of PIO shots (which are really starting to irritate my poor abused sit-upon, both the injection site itself, and the bandaids I’ve been using. Must go find some latex-free ones…), not to mention, the end of nasty vaginal suppositories that make me feel like a leaky Easter Egg. The first day I am not required to put anything sharp or pastel-colored anywhere near my nether region is going to be a very very good day in my world.

And I guess one of these days, I’ll have to start hunting around for a midwife or OB/GYN. My RE is likely to discharge me one of these days, I’d think. I’ll have another US on Tuesday, which might be fun. I’ll even see if the boyfriend wants to come along & see a heartbeat.

As far as eventual delivery-plans go, I’d prefer a midwife, but am not sure if they’d welcome an AMA-patient like me. God – when did 38 get to feeling so old? Um, when I decided to have a baby at 38, I suppose.

39, actually, by the time Sprog is born. Dang.