8 weeks ago today, the focal point of my world shifted. Against all odds, a second line appeared and told us that our lives were about to change. I went to my calendar that evening, and counted out the days - "August 8th, Jimi, that's when we can start to breathe." 12 weeks. Of course, I didn't realize yet that they don't actually consider your first trimester over and the second begun until week 13, but still - it's a milestone I set in my mind, and so it must be acknowledged now that it's arrived. "If I can just get to twelve weeks," I told myself regularly thereafter, "I'll feel much better and know that everything's going to be okay."
I'm here! 12 weeks today, and Baby Trogdor is over two inches long, or about the size of a lime, according to Baby Center. Did you hear that woosh of air this morning, about 7 a.m.? I was waking up and realizing the day, the date, and that was my huge sigh of relief.
Of course I know there are still threats and troubles we could face. There are no guarantees here. I'm going to pretend, though, okay? I'm going to just go with the assumption that everything is perfect and life is awesome and this little miracle is the awesomest part ever. I spent the first month or so convinced this was temporary, so let me enjoy the flip side, please.
I've been sick, like morning-throw-up sick, for the past two days. It almost caught me last night too, but I was able to thwart it with cake and red raspberry leaf tea. Mmm, cake.
I'm hungry all the time, but my appetite really seems to take off right when I'm home from work. The letting-go of the workday stresses seems to signal game-on to my belly. In fact, I asked Jimi to start dinner like thirty minutes ago and he's still sitting here...
Okay, now he's on his way to the kitchen, like the good man he is. ;) (Sometimes I'm glad he doesn't read my blog.)
I feel good. I'm so fucking happy. I can't imagine life getting any better, but it will. It's going to get better, and that woosh right there was the sound of my mind being blown.