Treats and Snoozin’, Snoozin’ and Treats

In the last three months of 2011 I only posted here six times. Six.

Those three months held so much collective WHOA that I should have been posting every day. I had a lot to say. Or, rather, I’ve been thinking a lot about an unnerving amount of things. I didn’t turn here, I didn’t write in my livejournal, I didn’t even write in my actual non-virtual journal. I just didn’t write, fullstop.

I have theories about why I haven’t been as accessible in the blogging, but none that I really want to share. The good news is that I’m pretty sure my head is in a good place now and I’m ready to get back in the thick of things.

Oh, and here’s where I just talk about things of the baby variety.

I’m just about 21 weeks. That’s more than halfway there. Turns out this little bean is a boy bean. I didn’t expect that, at all. And when it comes right down to it, having the sonographer tell us, “It’s a boy!” was probably the biggest shock of my life. (And I’m a pretty excitable person.) I was 100% convinced this child was a girl. I was 100% convinced my entire life that if I was ever to have a child, it would most certainly BE a girl. Even the thought of raising a boy was unimaginable. I’m a product of a long line of women, all sisters, all nieces and between all 18 of my parents’ siblings, there’s a mere 5 men spread amongst them. I simply and truly don’t know what it’s like any other way.

But a boy I’m having. To tell you the truth, as shocking as that announcement was, I was much more concerned that the rest of the ultrasound go well. I had been so worried and anxious about the health of this baby that the sex wasn’t key to me in that moment. I needed to hear her tell me the heart was developing beautifully, the organs were exactly as they should be and the brain, the most crucial brain, was the picture of health. And when she did, and I cried with relief and then slowly started to let the rest of the news sink in.

It’s much more real now, and I’m looking at books about raising a son and picking out names (apparently, the consensus isn’t behind me bestowing Tiberius as a middle moniker) and looking at options for how we’re going to make our urban condo infant ready. (I really never realized how much glass and sharp corners we’re surrounded by. It’s amazing I’m still in one piece.)

And I’m sleeping. A lot. So much of our English holiday was spent resting and sleeping that I’m surprised I’m still so tired.


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