I signed up for Sarcastic Mom’s Birth Carnival, but, uh, I’m not really feeling up to reliving all of the details at this very moment in time. If you should be interested, feel free to read this. It’s long as all get out.
Just so you know, all of you with your niceness and emails and support and shoulders…so rad. Better than rad. The RADDEST. Somehow all of that helped to make this a little less scary and a little more realistic. And thus beginneth the first bitch session. Cuz you knew I’d be bitching, right? I mean, hello? Professional complainer over here!
Point One: adoption isn’t selling a baby and trying to convince me so will not convince me to have an abortion, just so that you don’t have to tell your family, again, that you’ve been shtooping your ex, again.
Point Two: I’m massively psychosomatically-influenced. As soon as I’ve known about a pregnancy, bam, symptoms show up and this time is no different – though a lot of them have been around for a week or two. Today, I got to throw up three times. And I’ve got a killer headache. That might be from the lack of caffeine.
Point Three: The best suggestion of the day from him, past that whole baby-selling thing, is that I won’t be able to take care of Isobel if I’m pregnant. Seems to me, I’ll be whale-like, not dead – cuz lordy-lordy, women still can take care of already-born kids while incubating another one.
Point Four: Seriously, why am I so effing tired and hell bent on baking when there’s a work deadline breathing down my neck?
Point Five: It’s kinda scary how easy to visualize it all is. Like really really easy to picture. But dammit, no decisions will be made for at least a few months.
Onto cuter things…
thigh love
