Raspberry

Hey! Remember last week, when I said all that stuff about being a late bloomer, what with the slow onset of the symptoms? Turns out I’m not a late bloomer after all, just a late ovulater. At my appointment last week, the one that was supposed to be my 10 week appointment, it was determined (with the help of an ultrasound) (see exhibit a) that I was only 8 weeks pregnant.* Which explains a lot. For instance, all of those negative tests that should have been positive. My official new midwife-sanctioned due date is September 20th.

.: exhibit a 

However enlightening this appointment was, I’m not going to lie; I was really looking forward to that 12 week mark, and the sense of security that comes from being past my first trimester, and now it’s even farther away. And we all know I’m not the most patient person. But what can I do? Three weeks and I’m there.

I wish I could say more, but I feel like garbage. Maybe tomorrow (next week?) I’ll tell you about our Sunday dinner meeting my little sister’s first boyfriend for the first time (he’s a hugger), or about how close we are to finally putting our home on the market. Or maybe something else more interesting than I’m capable of right now. Ugh. Week 9 sucks.

* You can read my mom’s account of that appointment here.