Wow. First off, thank you for all your input on both sides of the great diaper debate going on in Brooklyn right now. As with so much else in this baby-raising thing, I have no idea yet what we’re going to end up doing. I imagine we’ll be using disposables til Thor is at least 8# & his umbilical stump has healed (and until I get the hang of this whole ‘baby in the house’ thing.) After that – as a few of you mentioned, I can always ease into the CD thing bit by bit. No one’s making this be an all or nothing thing, except for me.

**

Last night I had the coolest dream. I dreamt that my pregnant belly was see-through, and that Thor was staring up at me with dark brown – almost black – eyes like my little brother’s, and a sprinkling of dark hair. He was tiny, but perfect. But in my dream, there was something wrong because I was getting steroid injections in case he showed up early, but despite all that, I wasn’t actually frightened. I was entranced. And I knew everything would be ok even if he did come too early.

It was rather wonderful, really.

**

Let’s see, what else? Um, much to my chagrin, I realized that I’ve probably been hearing my own hepped-up-on-thyroid-secretions heartbeat instead of Thor’s at least some of the time. Apparently, it’s sort of hard to differentiate between a 95bpm heartrate and a 120-or-so bpm heartrate unless you keep one finger on your own pulse while moving the doppler around.

Which I’ve started doing.

In retrospect, I totally should have gone with the rent-a-doppler that displays the bpm. It’s still easy to find his heartbeat, it just might not be the first one I find. Oh, and it takes me more than 10 seconds now that I have to compare it to the pulse I’m feeling on my neck.

**

Otherwise, no news save that I continue to display no symptoms of hyperthyroid (except for the moderately high pulserate) save that I do appear to be one of the oddballs who is hyperthyroid AND gains weight. Not that I’m complaining about that, really, it’s for a good cause, and I know if I started losing weight they’d medicate the hell out of me. It’s just weird that I’m eating less than I ever have in my life, and yet my weight creeps up gradually, just like it’s supposed to.

I really haven’t experienced any actual food cravings (save that ice cream, boiled spinach and green salads sure sound good, and if I get the ok from my doctor, I’m going to start including them at every meal…) but I have a true aversion to chunks of meat. Or fish. Or (sob) shrimp. It all tastes too meat-y, fish-y, shrimp-y. So I’m trying to boost my milk consumption (see! Perfectly good excuse for wanting all that ice cream!) to take up some of the protein slack, because, really, at this rate, Thor’s going to be green with cherry tomatoes for cheeks and limp spinach for hair.

**

My hips are better since I’ve started being good about sleeping with a pillow between my knees, and I’ve ordered a new, thicker pillow so that I can take some of the pressure off my shoulders as well. No snoogli yet (no Johnny Depp in my bedroom yet, either, damn the luck!) but it may still be in my future. Once I take that huge step into maternity pants, making my days more comfy, (today, I swear!), there’s no knowing how much bedroom presentability I’ll be willing to trade for a good night’s sleep.

Otherwise, I’ll just keep double-sneezing. And falling out of my newest batch of bras. And patting my belly and imagining a little dark eyed, dark haired kiddo in there, swimming around and demanding more boiled spinach like the little tyrant I expect him to be. Seriously, folks, it’s 9am and Baby wants ice cream. What’s a responsible mama-to-be to do?