Reagan June

It's A Girl!


And now, let the shopping (or more appropriately, "wish-list-making") begin!

Half-Baked.

Tomorrow, Chris and I pay another visit to the doctor. (Whomever coined the term "pay a visit" obviously had the same health insurance that I do.) My March co-pay is due, and I'm going to have Chris write out the check because my hand is likely to cramp halfway through- it's that big a number. And really? For the relationship Dr. J has with my girl parts, he should at least take me out to a nice dinner.

Aside from draining our bank account of most of it's heft, the objective of the visit is to have an ultrasound. This is the ONE TIME where I will openly encourage my child to PLEASE, for the love of God, flash them genitals!

Hey you in there, are you a girl? If you are, your uterus is already formed, and you have all the eggs that you will release throughout your entire life. That means I am potentially carrying not only my daughter, but all future grandchildren as well. No pressure there.

Are you a boy? Are you mad that I make us watch really corny TV shows? Do you hate it when Maddy and I listen to pop songs performed by women? Are you going to grow up and hate your father and me because we're middle-naming you Pirate? Um... am I growing a penis in the depths of my belly?

I am just barely past the halfway point in this pregnancy, and I've felt consistently ok for the last week or two, which is a huge improvement. Let the fun begin!

Aww...

This has to be one of the cutest, affordable ways to decorate a wall. WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THIS? I might want to tweak the concept and use it for the nursery...

I'm naming my libido Punxsutawney Phil.

My sex drive awoke Thursday night.
"Why, there you are, Mojo! I was about to file a missing person's report!" I said to her.
"Ah, no need to worry about me. I just took a short vacation. I know you've been feeling horrible lately, so I fled town for a little while, went to the Poconos. While you were throwing up and suffering debilitating headaches and intermittent depression, I was drinking Pina Coladas out of a coconut shell and being fanned by natives as I worked on my tan. But I'm back now, and ready for action! So should I clock in? I can't wait to get back to work."
"Uh... about that, Mojo... I'm really glad you're back, but I think you're going to have to take the night off. I have to go in to have my cervix checked out tomorrow, and I'm not supposed to be getting any action tonight. As much as I REALLY APPRECIATE YOUR COMPLIANCE, would it be too much trouble if we rescheduled for tomorrow night? And the night after that? And three times the next day? I've got a lot of catching up to do, here. You have certainly been missed, and now you're going to be working a lot of overtime to compensate."
"You're the boss!" exclaimed my libido jovially. "Just tell me when the coast is clear! I've got big plans for us!"

Little did we know, the next day would bring ominous news from my doctor. He wanted to do a biopsy, and because they removed part of my cervix, sex is out of the question for the next week, and strongly cautioned against for the rest of my pregnancy. It's like my poor libido popped it's head out after a long hibernation, saw her shadow, and realized that there would be six more long weeks of winter. (I've got more details from yesterday over here.)

Had my doctor sprung this news on me oh, say, yesterday- before my mojo came back to town- I would have thanked my doctor for giving me a legitimate reason not to feel guilty about the lack of amourous motivation. Now? Well, now I want to throw something.

This whole "trying to be optimistic" thing really isn't working out for me too well. Although I really am looking forward to my next move- waddling to the kitchen and helping myself to an oatmeal raisin cookie. HEY! People eat oatmeal for breakfast all the time, stop looking at me like that.