My due date is exactly four months from today. June 4.
In weeks, my due date is 17 weeks and 1 day away.
Fun with numbers, I know.
I can’t seem to find a picture of me from my first pregnancy around this same time, but I am convinced I am not showing as much as I was then. Women carry girls differently than they carry boys, I’m told. Or maybe she’s just smaller. Or maybe I started bigger.
In any event, four more months till she’s here. Sheesh. Writing every day makes this the longest and shortest pregnancy ever. Don’t ask me to explain.
Besides being pregnant (and having heartburn, duh), today consisted of a movie with my son (Moana, which was great), two trips to the grocery store, making dessert for the Super Bowl party we’re invited to tomorrow, reading the new potty training books we got no less than 10 times, cleaning up after I broke a brand new bottle of Mexican vanilla all over the counter and kitchen floor.
I also dropped an full gallon of milk on the floor. Luckily, it did not break open. The carton is just mangled.
I blame the milk and vanilla on what I like to call pregnancy fumble fingers. It’s real.