That was one huge sigh of relief you just heard coming from the direction of Brooklyn.  Bloody hell, this was a sucky two weeks!

And it’s ending just in time for the week of doom to begin – yes!  Week 8.5-9.5 is when my sprogs traditionally die.  Not that I’m at all hyperconscious of that fact.  Oh no, not me.  The day I hit week 10 is the day I order the doppler from BabyBeat.  I wish I could just be place in a medically -induced coma until that day…

Tomorrow is my last appointment with my dear doctor – please, forever?  I’d love to not have to go there ever again except to show off a real, live Sprog in 7 months or so – and Tuesday, next, is my first appointment with SuperStarOB.  The man will have a lot to live up to, and alls I can say is he’d better gimme an ultrasound…

Hoping for a less nausea-centric day than yesterday, though really not complaining overmuch.  Nausea is reassuring.  At least as reassuring as the giant boobs.  (Which is another thing on next week’s schedule – buying bras that fit.  The boy thinks my current level of busting out of the tops of my bras is hilarious.  I think it’s mightily uncomfortable.)  And maybe people will still be unaware that we’re open!  And I get to go out to dinner tonight with Mo & I’m already looking forward to that.  And it’s a nice day outside, despite tomorrow’s doom & gloom predictions for another snowstorm.  And I’m not bleeding anymore.

I’m not bleeding anymore.

Going to go drink another glass of rose hip tea.  Lukewarm.  From a glass.  Because that’s the way I like it.

Gulp.