We both worked from home today. This never happens. It was kind of fun and we were both productive in different rooms but got to meet up for lunch. And have profound, kid-free conversation.
Me: I lost track of
how many weeks pregnant I am. Turns out
it’s 22.
Steve: But you aren’t
to the point of wanting to not be pregnant anymore, are you?
Me: Yes. I want the baby to grow to full term but I’m
ready to not be pregnant.
Steve: But remember
how hard it is to have a newborn?
Me: Yes, but there’s
alcohol, caffeine, and laying on your stomach.
Truth be told, I am terrified of having a newborn again. Terrified/in denial. I'm sort of blurring the whole sleepless time from when baby is born to when we are moved and unpacked. Those will be the survival months.
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