Caution

Don't eat pizza.
Or. Do eat pizza...because who can resist those saucy little triangles? Certainly not me!
Just understand that you will be up at 2 am having endured some pretty funky pregnant dreams.
And you'll be thirsty...oh, you will be so thirsty.

(That was a note to self. But I hardly ever listen to myself.)

Here I sit on this spherical bouncy chair, looking frequently down at the floor for the that nasty earwig I saw a couple seconds ago. Squiggle away, you morbid little creature. No one likes you. I don't want you in my house, but I'm too much of a wuss to kill you.
So we will cohabitate peacefully...for now. Tomorrow morning my husband will find and end you.

Yesterday we found out that our baby girl is still a baby girl. It's good to know that I won't have to re-paint those cute pink dresser drawers, or begin a frantic search for boy clothes. Hopefully she stays a baby girl from now until birth. And afterwards also.
We also discovered that she has pouty lips. And a slight frown...which may have been due to the ultrasound technician's prodding and poking, which she obviously objected to.

"To which she obviously objected," says the grammatically correct portion of my brain, which is surprisingly awake, although groggy.

There was one picture of her looking straight at the ultrasound wand with her eyes open, which is a little creepy. Possibly responsible for me not being able to sleep tonight.
Nope, that's the pizza.
Those yummy morsels, eager to exact sleepless revenge on all who gleefully partake.

Okay, okay. I'm done waxing eloquent. Tomorrow morning I'll undoubtedly look back on all this and wonder why I let myself
1. write anything at such a late hour, and
2. push  the "publish" button.

G'night everyone.