It's a.... (K.I.D. Positive - 19 weeks)

The amount of pain I've been in for the last, oh, eight weeks has been incredible. My back feels like someone is digging their knuckles into my lower spine. Like there are sharp shards of bone floating in between the soft spaces used to cushion movement. It hasn't rendered me Totally immobile, but it has come awfully close. 

Today, however, I am pleased to report that I can walk without wanting to cry about it. Why? Well, I've been using heat patches the last three days, so either the heat has worked and my muscles are more relaxed, OR it bothered the baby so much that it moved away from the nerve it was pinching. Either way, I'm enjoying the break.

In case you're wondering if the magical transformation from Oh God, What Have I Done to Oh, Thank You God For This Little One has happened yet, the answer is not quite. Don't get me wrong, I do believe there is an affection growing somewhere between the knife in my back and the girth in my gut, it's just slow going and understandably so. I talk to the kid more, now. Mostly when I'm feeling terrible, I'll ask it how paradise is feeling. "Swell and swole", it says.

I guess I can drop the vague pronouns.

It's a boy!

He refused to show his face during the sonogram, but had no problem mooning us. Truly, cut from my own cloth, this kid. He's a little big for his "age", but the beauty of being a boy is that he could stay fat his whole life and it wouldn't really matter. We girls...we just LOVE personalty, don't we? Ugh. I feel like a wet sack of flour. 

Actually, for the first time in many years, I went out looking like shit and felt absolutely fine about it. 

I haven't been able to shave my legs, really. Having my leg propped up and leaning forward has been excruciating, so I've sort of just let them go. I was doing laundry, so I didn't have anything other than some giant shorts and a giant tshirt to wear. Those giant shorts coupled with my prickly legs, coupled with my mismatched socks, rounded out with my big black boots...I looked like grungy teenage boy. And for a minute, as I stared at myself in the mirror, I felt horribly self-conscious. My belly still noticeable in spite of the largeness of the shirt. My ugly legs. My ugly shape. Then all at once it occurred to me - I'm married. There's a living thing growing inside of me. Why on earth would I still look 19, moreover, who am I trying to attract? 

It was an instant weight off my shoulders. Thank God my husband is vision impaired.

There is a good deal I've left out, but I'm crunched for time and shift change is nigh. Maybe I'll write a grittier part two later. 

Hooray Herbert!