We’re pregnant. We just found out. Probably seven weeks along.
Cautiously ecstatic, of course, but think — in the past seven weeks, Working Mom’s had wine a few times, oh, and don’t forget that appendectomy by the way, and therefore morphine, an abdominal CT scan, general anesthesia. Yike.
Blastocysts are tough, right? But still… nerve-fucking-racking.
I know you’re not supposed to talk about these things in the first trimester, but sorry, you know. I need you along for the ride.
Oh, and despite this morning’s fun, no, I’m not kidding.