I managed to get an awful lot of writing done this weekend, which was something of a miracle, because I was tossing an awful lot of cookies. (That's just a saying. I haven't eaten cookies in a very long time. I guess, technically, I was tossing a lot of crackers and toast.) I have a doctor's appointment on Wednesday to check things out. (We may even get to hear/see your heartbeat again!)
I'm a worry wart about you. When I have a hard time keeping water and juice down, I worry that I'm dehydrating you. When I have a hard time keeping toast down, I worry that I'm starving you. I wonder if I'll still worry like this after you are born? I bet I will. I'll be that mom who holds mirrors under your nose while you're sleeping to make sure you're still breathing. That will only get weird when you're eighteen or nineteen years old, and I have to sneak into your college dorm to do it. (I'm kidding! Also, let's not talk about college just yet. It's too soon. My pregnant emotions can't take it.)
This past weekend, your dad got a new game called "Skyrim." As excited as he was about playing the game, he still took breaks to rub my back when I was getting sick. That's love. :)
Thanksgiving is next week, and I keep thinking about how much I have to be thankful about this year. (So much.) Maybe you and I can even work out some kind of a deal, so that I can try some mashed potatoes and stuffing? What do you say, Baby?