(Yes, I know, "Thank You Captain Obvious.")
But still. It's not like there's a new change every day.
Went to the first "serious" Doc Appt two days ago. While I'm still instinctively NOT okay with some dude rummaging around in my wife's personal regions, I guess I'd better get over it. Doc seems okay, as docs go. S'pose he'd better be okay since he's the one playing catcher at the end-of-season baseball game, as it were. Did the sonogram (and OH MY GOD THAT SONOGRAM TOOL IS NOT THE FLAT PADDLE THEY SHOW IN THE MOVIES. Seriously. My manhood felt overshadowed.) and the sonogram showed a grain o' rice with a heartbeat. Women say this is when things feel more real to you. Meh. Not so much for me. I mean, I accept and believe there's something going on in there, but a wee lil' fuzzy thing on a TV screen with reception that would annoy Great Grandma isn't quite enough to give me THE BIG SHOCK. Amy's still Amy. (Bigger boobs, though. HAR!) I'm still me. Life goes on. Visit was otherwise uneventful, except for me forcing myself to watch when they took her blood for tests. Figure if Amy wants me to be in the delivery room, I'd better get over my quease about needles, blood, and goo in general, eh?
Speaking of the quease... She's got the pregnancy quease going now, but hasn't done the old heave-ho yet. Since I tend to be a sympathy yarfer, that's probably a good thing, as I haven't done the technicolor yawn in several years, or so I choose to recall. We're kind of hoping it won't happen, but what're the odds of that, eh? I'll make sure you voyeuristic lot get all the gory details when she does, fear not. (Assuming anyone still reads this.)
Overall, though, not much changes. No belly bump yet. No complications or strangenesses. Lil' dude or chica's still in there. We're still out here. Our spraying cat appears to have subsided, but whichever cat it is definitely wasn't impressed by the tin-foil-on-the-couch trick. Foil everywhere. Heh.
Mental note for next log - talk about mom.