I've been keeping a secret for 15 weeks.
That's hard for me to do. I'm a talker. A BIG ONE. (In case you hadn't noticed).
And for 15 weeks I've been tired, bitchy, crabby, tired, hungry, tired, anxious, nauseous, pissy, and growing.
I'm the size of a linebacker, towering a good 3.5 inches and 30 pounds over my husband. Dress me in green and... well, you know what you have (I can't even bring myself to say it).
The only thing I haven't been yet is excited.
Because when you've been through what I've been through (as many of you have) you just don't know when to be excited. Loss takes that from you. That ability to be giddy and joyful and full of utter exhuberance is swiped from under your feet and leaves you almost without a will for anything but worry and doubt.
But I've decided that it's not fair to anyone, especially Little Poopypants the 2nd, for me to be anything but totally and 100% excited...
...that Baby #2 is alive and kicking INSIDE me.