December 8, 2010: Someone has to tell my mother I am pregnant.

To begin: I am preggo! Knocked up! Mit Behbeh! 14 weeks this week! That's three months. I have a three month old little tiny person inside my body.  This person, says the internet, is about the size of a lemon with articulated finger and toes and a face. A face, would you believe?


I wasn't convinced at first that I was harboring a fetus; the only symptoms outside the obvious missing monthly bill were a) the sleeping- I could easily sleep 14 hours a night and, b) THE HUNGER. I can eat, and will eat, anything at anytime, but most of all pancakes. I never really liked pancakes and have avoided them most of my adult life, but these days I crave a flapjack, often at 4 am. 


We haven't told the Moms and Dads yet. Rob's birthday is this weekend so the Layne clan will get the news. We haven't decided when and how to tell Magda just yet.  This will have to be combined with a well reasoned argument about how now is not the best time to sell the house and move next door to us.  Even before becoming pregnant my mother has been anticipating this event.  She came a little unglued when I announced I was getting married, and ever since she has been (not-too-subtly) hinting about wanting a grandchild, a perfectly normal desire. A example of a conversation shortly after I quit smoking:


Magda: "So, are you still not smoking?"
Me: "Yeah, its been a few months and I don't want to smoke at all!"
Magda: "Do you have SOMETHING to TELL ME??"
Me: "Yes, I do.  Mind your own damn business."


I think I am going to insist Rob talks to her. He is much nicer than I am.


So, we have proof that this thing growing inside me is in fact a human and not a rare pancake-craving tapeworm. On December 1st we had our first sonogram and yes, indeed, there is a face and body and arms and legs. The first round of prenatal test are coming back with excellent results and we got some gray, grainy pictures of our little nugget. 

Here is my favorite: two wee teeny little legs all kicked up.  Do me a favor and while you admire the picture of my insides, sing the theme to the Benny Hill Show to yourself and think about those little legs a-kicking.