Well… we‘re pregnant (well, I’m pregnant, Tye helped ). 18 weeks to be exact. Baby Buck will make his or her grand appearance early March – and later this month, we’ll actually know what “the Baby” is. You know what that means. Time to shop (well, shop more – for smaller things).
And we’ll be able to stop calling it, “the Baby,” which I hear every single morning at 7 a.m. when Tye rolls me over to the tune of my alarm and sleepily urges, “You’re crushing the Baby.”
Last night at the gym it was, “You’re bouncing the Baby” – with a swift pop to the red ‘STOP’ button on the treadmill.
And every night it’s, “the baby wants mint chocolate chip frozen yogurt.” Which may or may not actually be true, but I definitely want need it. Scout (our peanut colored pup) joins me for a bowl every evening. This has turned into a bit of an obsessive problem – but it could be worse. Really, no one should eat frozen yogurt alone, especially when they’re moody(ish).
151 days to go.