Bun in the Oven

Yep, that's the secret. I'm preggers! Only six weeks, and the first 12 are dangerous weeks for pregnancies, when things could still go wrong to make the little tiny baby-blob shake loose and die. That's a very simplistic explanation, but it'll do. So it's possible that a few weeks from now I'll blog saying "Oven Gone Cold" but let's hope not.

Yeah! I'm a baby-oven! I never wanted to be pregnant or give birth. It's basically voluntary self-mutilation. But a few months ago, Tom and I started playing with the idea--just playing with the idea--and as the months went by, we were sort of overtaken by a "What the hell? Why not!" kind of mentality.

Here were our big reasons for going for it:
1. We need someone to take care of us when we are elderly.
2. Children will keep things interesting in our lives when academe loses it's highly-entertaining sparkle.
3. We'd have fun decorating a nursery and kid's rooms throughout the years.
4. It'd be cool to have kids so you could take them places and watch them do things (play ball, swim in pools, etc).
5. Tormenting them in their teenage years will be a blast--especially when they start dating.

So today at the doctor I saw the little bugger on TV. It's the size of a pencil shaving and has a little heart that beats. It also has a "yolk sac" which I found interesting because it made me think of chickens. I am not morning-sick, but I have been so freaking thirsty for the past few weeks, it's unbelievable.

So there! There's the secret!