First of all, I have to thank you all so much for the incredible outpouring of excitement and support. Jeff and I feel so loved, and so does The Bean/Baby Z/Fetus Kahlo/Beh Beh LaZor (my sister came up with that last moniker, based on Zsa Zsa Gabor).
Secondly, I meant to blog last night, but falling asleep before 10 kind of cramps my productivity. In fact, I fell asleep on top of Jeff on our couch, and when he attempted to move me I actually kicked and wailed. He then tried to pick me up, and I whined, "I'm not a baaaaaaaaaaaaby."
"Could have fooled me," he replied. I sat up.
"Well, actually," I said, pointing at my stomach, "I am part baby."
That is the biggest perk of pregnancy so far: blaming the baby for everything.
I can blame it for inexplicably crying while doing dishes... and then abandoning said dishes until they begin to form the same slick, cheesy coating that is currently protecting The Bean from being pickled by amniotic fluid.
I can blame it for the state of my digestive tract at any given moment, and any effect it may or may not have on the air around me.
I can blame it for weight gain, regardless of how many entire pizzas I may have consumed that week.
I can blame it for forgetting to do things like return emails, brush my teeth, or pay my taxes (right, IRS?)
I can blame it for my constant fatigue, since it makes me get up twice a night to pee (and is, in fact, peeing inside of me as I type this. So, double pee.)
I can blame it for not being able to wear pants, and thus favoring a fetching evening ensemble of my oversize Tim Gunn t-shirt and sweat socks.
I can only imagine all of the future things I can blame it for: missed work days due to "child illness," financial ruin, loss of bladder control...
This baby is going to be born such a sucker.