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Sprog is Huge

And alive.  And measuring at 8w4d, overachiever that he is.

He’s alive.  He’s alive.  He’s alive.

And I’m a normal pregnant lady now, released to find an OB – Oh, my poor doc was not excited about releasing me to a midwife.  He thought – and I kid you not – that perhaps Brooke Shields’ OB would be a good match for me.

er, thanks, but no thanks.

He was, however, very happy to see how well Sprog & I are doing.  HB ranged from 200bpm down to 170 after he had me take long, deep, calming breaths.  He thought that was hilarious.  I have cool new US pictures that show actual bits – head!  Umbilical cord!  “That is not a penis, so don’t get excited!” – He was having a great time, cracking bad jokes, demanding visits with baby, etc.  I was having a great time, looking at pictures of my baby.

My baby.

My risk of miscarriage has officially dropped to about 2% now, and I’m feeling optimistic (at least for the next 3 days)

I bought baby hats.  And pants.  And onesies.  Because Babies ‘r Us is the most terrifying store in the world and I was unable to resist its evil marketing.

But they’re adorable.

Because I’m pregnant.  With a baby.  And I’m due the first week of March.

And I’m pregnant.

With a baby.

Oh my god.  I’m going to have a baby.

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