Hey Loki Sprog!
You're "blowin' and goin'", as my fav old irish priest used to say. We saw your heartbeat two days ago again at our first midwife appointment, and you actually looked like a baby, and not a nutter butter.
We considered this an accomplishment.
What devilry have you had me on lately?
- Grape welches soda. I know, kid, where in the WORLD did you get that? I didn't like it when I was growing up, and I shouldn't like it now! But I do.
- You are Most Certainly part Kraut. I think I could eat french fries every day for breakfast, lunch and supper and you would not complain. With a side of weiner schnitzel. In fact, it's the only way to shut you up. (I kid, I kid. You like your fruit and yoghurt smoothies, too)
- Dude. Because of you, my child, I now have a rack that is regularly oogled - and not just by your papa. LOL! It's insane. I want to get a shirt that says, "My eyes are UP HERE" with a big arrow. (And to get things straight, you could say before I was sort of a board with buttons. Um, not anymore)
- Sick. Siiiiick. SIIIIIICK. If you don't regularly get your nosh, I'm feeling ready to hurl. And I do mean regularly. Sheesh. And OH TIRED. I can now fall asleep sitting straight up at my work desk. Which is pretty freakin amazing. Especially when the boss is talking to me.
- The cat boyz Do Not Like You. I do not like things touching my underbelly now (even bought Preg pants, to circumvent this. I cannot talk about that. I am too scarred) and so the cats are forced to either lay to the side or default to hooman number two, aka, your papa. So let's hope they don't sit on you and squish all the breath out of your lungs when you're out. Or your papa doesn't pull a Homer when Bluesey tries for the umpteenth time to sit on his stomach.