End of the first trimester realizations

It might be a little late in the game to come to grips with this, and you probably are going to tell me i would have been better off realizing this say maybe four and some change months ago. Mixed in with this month’s copy of Vogue and Wired I got a letter from our health insurance company granting me permission to have a baby. Damn am I glad they said it was ok, I had no idea that I needed to ask them about it first. Though, honestly, I can’t begin to imagine what impact a phone call to the insurance  company would have on foreplay, but I guess we would have figured out some way to make it work…

In my permission slip there were a bevy of things that they said was ok: ultrasounds, doctors visits, and vaginal birth. Hold.the.freaking.phone. I was a stellar anatomy student and I have even watched that slightly disturbing Ricki Lake movie that shows her ta-tas, but zomg I just realized that an entire human being is going to have to make it’s way out of here somehow. And if all goes according to the insurance company’s permission slip, that “somehow” has me scared stupid right now. As mentioned in paragraph one, that just didn’t quite click with me four months ago.

While I am letting this all sink in, and now pondering the lack of epidural-inspired fan art, the glass of growth hormone-free chocolate milk isn’t half empty by any means (or else I would certainly be refilling it). I am no longer counting down the hours until bed time from the moment I start my morning routine, and that nauseous feeling that made me just wish I could puke and get it over with is all but completely gone. I still cringe at the thought of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but luckily my generalized lettuce aversion has abated to a repulsion focused on dark green or hot lettuces (yea… I don’t understand it either, but I am hoping the kid will know why so I will ask in a few years and get back to ya).

I still don’t know if I am harboring a little geek or princess and won’t find that out until December according to the doc. But if you must know, my heart says team pink but the rational side of me is pulling for team blue. Really, boys equal less drama and more video games, but girls equal cute names that sound like they came from a Victorian phone book. It’s a tough one, and I just couldn’t live with the guilt of naming a boy something gender-neutral. And yes, I am totally owning that sexist remark, but can I at least be considered a sexy sexist or something?