...because they didn't do an ultrasound today. But they did use the doppler- baby's heart rate is 160, so by wives tales wisdom we should bust out the flowers and frills and pink stuff.
Today I saw the Physician's Assistant or something like that- she was cool, and she was a runner. She said "Giddy up" when I asked if I could lift things and run and stuff. She did say my round ligaments (gesturing to the crease where leg meets torso) might hurt some later on when I run, but that she's had mothers run through the 7th or 8th months. She also said no biking after the 4th month because of falls.
This morning Tiffany and I went for a run at the Arboretum and I got us lost in the buggy muddy trails of the nether regions of Abority. At the end of the doctor's appointment no fewer than FOUR people had to give me directions to where I should go to get to the lab, which was around one corner about 15 feet from where I started.
And here's the worst pregnancy-brain admission ever revealed on the internet. Gather round, it will now be revelated:
I forgot that yesterday was J's birthday.
Mom and Dad will be driven nuts by this fact because we talked about the blessed event for much of our trip. It was a running joke on the hike- I would ask him, "So, what do you want for your birthday?" and he'd say "I don't know" but without words- just sort of humming mmm-nn-mmm, like a little kid. Then five minutes later I'd go, "Hey, what do you want...". And so on and so forth.
Then Wednesday we woke up and what did I say to him? What?! "Honey, do you have to open and close the closet door so loud like that?" Except I said it three octaves higher than you just read it in your head, and whiny-er.
Then we went to lunch. "Gee, honey. Thanks for lunch."
Then we met for a photo shoot. "Here, I brought your stuff. And a Diet Coke."
Then he finally said, "I think we should go to a movie tonight. Can you imagine why I might want to go TONIGHT?"
And then my heart fell out on the floor, but no one really noticed because it's shrivelled and salty and black, like that one bad peanut in every jar.