...so that once you're born and you learn to talk and all, you can ask me questions about what it was like when you were in my tummy (or, more likely, I will just randomly decide that you should hear about it, probably when you turn 13 or so and I realize that you're almost ready to go to college and leave me forever, you know, after your lacrosse game or some other time most likely to leave you mortified by the thought that you were ever in my tummy)...
Anyway, apparently this is a conversation we will have at some point, and if I don't somehow record what it's like as it is happening, I won't remember it well enough to tell you-- in other words, I will cheat you out of your memories.
So I when I first found out, it seemed to silly to record the details as suggested by BabyCenter.com-- who did I tell and what was their reaction? Duh. I told your father and your grandparents and everyone was happy. See, we're not a bunch of cheezy goobers who have a vomitous "precious moments" poem for every occasion (as you know by now, that kind of stuff makes me want to gouge people's eyes out). The thought of taking a picture of the urine soaked HPT and sending it out to sundry family and friends made me laugh, laugh, laugh, then gag. Literally gag. Maybe it was morning sickness? (I bet you're laughing, too. Don't. People Honest-to-Pete DO THAT! I know, right? Man, I'll tell you some of the other things I've seen someday...you'll cry.)
Anyway, I waited and waited to feel something, to see something, to know you were in there. And I said I would start recording as soon as there was something to record.
And guess what? It's June, you're coming in November, and I'm still waiting... And as impatient as you now know I usually am, I am surprisingly OK with waiting, because I already know that you are more than worth waiting for.
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