The Digital Age

I know there are many out there who claim to have been born in the wrong generation, but I for one am exceedingly grateful to be raising a child in the digital age. Do you know how many home videos my parents have from when I was a child? Zero. None. Zilch. I think they had one, at one point, of my brother and I at Christmas, but it got lost or destroyed. And sure, they have snapshots. Photos snapped with the hope that they turn out well, taken to the local WalMart for photo processing. They’re stacked together, loose-leaf style, in an envelope. Except when they’re not. My mom was pretty great about putting together photo albums until we got a little older and life got in the way. Discovering the photos now is always a guessing game of well your hair is longer/shorter/curlier or you had that dress/those glasses/that watch to pinpoint a year, but we’re really never sure unless some foresighted individual happened to date the back of the photo in 1994.

Me? The dumpling is 2.5 years old and I have literally thousands of photos and hundreds of videos. I have them effortlessly organized into albums, some for sharing with the grandparents and some just for us. The albums are sorted by years for easy access and reminiscing. I’ve put together little collages for decorating my office and a Father’s Day video for my dad. I’ve shared a picture, here and there, on social media. I’ve captured smiles and giggles and songs and quirks (his brief, yet passionate obsession with a pink umbrella). I’ve guiltlessly purged the bad. I’ve marked my favorites.

The ease and simplicity with which we document our lives is astounding.

And yet.

There are things that I fear I will forget. Because there are things we just can’t capture. The way his eyes light up when he sees me at his classroom door, reunited after a day of school and work. The way his body, still so small in the grand scheme of things, feels so solid and strong next to mine. The moment I pick him up and realize that he’s heavier than the last time I carried him. The moment he reaches for something and I suddenly realize he’s never been able to reach that before. The feeling of his arms wrapped around my neck. How he pats my back when I carry him or fiddles with my shoulder blade. The way he clings to me when he’s scared or melts into me when he’s tired. I hope to never forget those feelings.

I love the way he runs: up on his tippy-toes, shoulders lifted like he’s trying to fly. His hips wiggle back and forth like an excited puppy.

I love the sound of his feet as he pitter-patters across the house, always at full speed. Never slow.

I love the way he tucks me in, when he plays pretend, covering me softly with a blanket, offering me kitty or puppy.

I love the way he sings our goodnight song to me, taking care to change the words to “goodnight mama goodnight.”

I love the pride in his voice when he finally accomplishes something he was trying to do. “I did it!” he exclaims.

I love hearing his voice from the other side of the house when I bump into something. “You ok mama?” he asks in concern.

I love laying in bed and listening, over the monitor, to him giggle with his dada on the mornings Luffy gets him. They always seem to have some game going.

I love when he declares that kitty is sick. We take her temperature and determine that she needs snuggles. He takes such good care of her.

But probably most of all – and more un-capturable than all the rest – there’s this moment we share sometimes. He’s in my arms and our eyes will meet. And he just looks at me with the purest love. He’ll place both of his hands on my cheeks and lean in close, almost for a kiss. But no, he just looks at me like I’m his everything. Like I’m the most beautiful and mythical creature in existence.

My sweet, sweet boy. I hope I never forget.


Pancake morning

If someone – a friend, a neighbor, a random journalist interviewing me – were to ask me for my top two parenting tips (Parenting hacks! Click here for 5 hacks you’ll never believe work!), it would be:

  • Always cut the sticker sheets in half, or quads, or hell, sticker-by-sticker.
  • Never, ever ask a kid what they want to eat. You tell them what they’re eating.

I have been burned so many times by asking the dumpling what he wants for breakfast. Especially back in the hellacious 18-month-old toddler-hell-demon phase, when he seemed primed for a tantrum each morning day night 24/7. Because inevitably, he’d say something we didn’t have (sausage!) or something just flat-out unacceptable (cake!) and I’d have to break his poor heart that we didn’t/he couldn’t have that. Mean mommy.

Luckily, he seems to be past that for the most part (though, as a side story don’t get distracted Belle! side story at the bottom*). This morning, he refused all of my offerings though until he spotted the syrup in the pantry (and that should be my actual tip up there – never let them see in the pantry). He decided he wanted syrup! For breakfast!

“What are you going to put the syrup on?” I reasonably asked him.

He pondered this for a minute before very seriously answering me.


Now let’s pause here for a second. This right here is the type of situation that makes my working arrangement invaluable to me. My job may not have a lot of upward movement in terms of responsibilities or job titles (I’ve been doing the same thing for six years at this point), but I don’t care. They pay me well and I literally can’t put a price on working from home half the week. Because if I had to go into the office this morning? I would have had to say no to impromptu pancakes. If I’d had to go in yesterday, I wouldn’t have been able to take the dumpling for a walk at 7:30. If I’d had to go in Tuesday, I wouldn’t have been able to witness the dumpling sing-shouting Twinkle Twinkle Little Star at the neighborhood park. It’s wonderful to have more time with him in the evening (especially when he was little and had a 7pm bedtime), but the mornings are where the real perks lie.

Most of the mornings, I don’t have to rush him out the door, trying to make sure I’m not late myself. And if there’s one thing every parent knows, it’s that rushing a preschooler means that everything will take twice as long as they staaaaaaaaallllllllll. Fact. Instead, our mornings are leisurely spent eating breakfast, reading books, or watching Daniel. We’re able to be flexible getting him out the door, depending on his moods, which makes everyone’s morning a thousand times easier. We can take a walk or run an errand (I’ve definitely taken him to the grocery store in his jammies when I discovered we were out of milk). And I don’t have to worry about getting myself presentable for work because I just need to be dressed. That’s it! No hour-long commute or putting on business casual clothes. No making sure I have everything I need for the day before heading out (and I can’t tell you how nice that was as a pumping mother). Our mornings are far less stressful, and most times downright pleasant, because I work from the house.

“Pancakes?” I said, skeptical at first, “… that does sound pretty good. Can you help me make them?”

“YES,” he enthusiastically answered me.

So we set about making pancakes. I measured ingredients, he poured them into our bowl. We stirred and stirred and stirred, taking turns (mama stir fast? he’d ask me when it was time for me to do the real whisking). We got them into the skillet to cook and debated who should flip them. He, of course, got the first batch and ate them at the counter while I continued to make pancakes. Once Luffy got his (and took them to eat at his computer in the living room), the dumpling decided that he wanted to eat on his chair in the living room. So he hopped down and took his plate to dada for help getting set up in his chair. He adorably chowed down, asking for milk or help cutting up pancakes. I stayed in the kitchen, devouring my own plate of pancakes while also finishing up cooking the batter (I like to freeze any leftovers so that I can pull them out when he requests them later). I also took care of the dishes and was charmed when the dumpling brought me his empty plate to wash.

From the living room, I heard this exchange:

“Did you tell mama thank you for making us pancakes?”

“Yes,” he answered, but that wasn’t accurate and Luffy knew it.

“Can you tell her again?”

[pitter patter of a running preschooler]

“I love you,” he tells me as he peers at me around his tower.

[sound of my heart melting]

“Awe, I love you too sweet boy. And you’re welcome for the pancakes.”

Side-story: While he doesn’t make wild requests anymore (most of the time), we do run through this hilarious conversation occasionally:

“Mama! I hungry, I want breakfast,” he’ll say to me, rubbing his presumably empty tummy.

“Ok, let’s get you breakfast,” I’ll say, walking into the kitchen.

“Do you want yogurt?”

“No! I want breakfast.”

“Ok, how about crackers?” (meaning his Belvita crackers)

“No! I want breakfast!”

“Hmmm – a strawberry bar?”

“NO! I want breakfast!”

“Ok, what about an apple? Or applesauce?”

“NO mama, I want breakfast!”

“I know child! What do you want for breakfast?!” is what I always want to say in response to that sass. I abstain though. Go me.

And suddenly there were two… part 3

Or is this more like 2.5? I’m not really sure, but you probably know where I’m going already…

Weekend intuition confirmed: I’m pregnant.

It’s very faint. Luffy missed the lines on both tests, though I can’t hold that against him because yeah, it’s super faint. But! I’m really comfortable with that, almost pleased with it. The results are fainter than my positive test with the Dumpling (a test which was taken two days later, cycle-wise).

I didn’t ever really mention it, but after I wrote about being sure my dates were off or something as the explanation for the strong positive at such an early date, I stumbled onto another theory: the high hCG level was an indicator for the miscarriage. High hCG could be an indicator of lots of things, including multiples (which OMG) or fetal abnormalities (like the egg missing genetic material or an egg that was fertilized by two sperm). Now, I know I can’t scientifically or precisely say how high my levels were, but I can say that eight days after ovulation (with the day of the positive ovulation test being day 0), my levels were high enough to produce a no-questions-asked result on a test with a threshold of 25 mIU/mL. Eight days! Then, I got a positive result on a digital test five full days before my expected period. The digitals aren’t as sensitive and mine in particular only detects about 60% of pregnancies at that point (according to their website anyway, which isn’t always the best of resources).

So what I’m saying is that while it’s definitely possible I just had my dates wrong, my levels were far too high for that. Even adjusting the dates back a bit, my hCG levels were high. And while it could have been nothing, it also just might possibly have been an indicator of the un-viability of the pregnancy.

All that said, I’m very happy with my squinter at T-4 days until my expected period. Now I’ll just keep some happy thoughts in my head to hope that this little bean sticks around. Happy thoughts!

Trucks and Goats

Can I preface this by saying that I’m still way too busy to be here? Too busy to take the half an hour or so to jot all this down? So busy that I shouldn’t even consider taking the time to be here? But…. we also had a pretty awesome weekend and I just can’t let it go by undocumented. So. Here I am. Don’t tell anyone.

Our weekend started off with a whole lot of walking.

Let’s rewind back to Friday afternoon. I picked up the dumpling from school and he requested, rather forcefully, that we take a walk. Sure! That sounds fun! and I loaded him up into his wagon with his water and milk and off we went!

However, when we came upon our usual time to turn back (completing the circle around our development), he requested that we cross the street into the next development. Sure! A little extra exercise never killed anyone! and we crossed the street, talking about the traffic and some birds. I walked and walked, pulling him along (which, I have to say, dumpling + wagon is getting to be quite the heavy load nowadays). I walked several blocks down, with the intention of turning back, except that every time I tried, he adamantly insisted we continue.

Finally, I convinced him to at least turn down a street (rather than make a u-turn) and I sort of maneuvered him on a path that would take us closer to returning home.

All of my maneuvering went out the window though when he spotted the playground at the elementary school. He quite literally took off running, leaving me in the dust, and was three-quarters through the whole thing by the time I caught up. We spent probably half an hour there and I only got him to come home with me by doing the parent-patented all right, well have fun, I’m gonna start walking back, byeeeeeeeeee move. When he finally decided to come along with me, he wanted UP-UP-UP as he always does. I’ve been trying to work on this a bit because (1) he’s old enough now that I shouldn’t need to carry him everywhere and (2) he’s big enough now that it’s genuinely tiring to carry him, especially when I’m also pulling a wagon. So I would carry him a few houses, then put him down and convince him to walk for a house or so before we’d repeat the whole thing. Also, I should note that this whole process makes the walk ten times longer because we’re stopping every 30 feet. And we had already been out and on our feet for an hour and a half at this point. Suffice to say that I was VERY ready to get home.

So I gave in a bit and carried him further so that I could at least power walk some and get us in our own development instead of a mile away from home. So I’m hoofing it, preschooler on my hip, wagon trailing along behind me, cars whizzing past – probably wondering why on earth I am carrying my child when I have a clearly empty wagon behind me – when all of a sudden the dumpling leans towards me and gives me a big kiss on the cheek.

Just like that! Muah!

It was precious and made the whole walk completely worth it. I stopped and we spent a few minutes giving each other kisses on the cheeks (because he has to kiss both cheeks and then he also needs kisses and I was so delighted that I gave him several and he felt the need to reciprocate).

Anyway, we eventually made our way home and I fed him some dinner since it was now getting very close to his bedtime.

We also had a blast on Saturday at a Touch a Truck event near our home. I happened to spot it on Instagram as I was scrolling through (waiting for the dumpling to wake up from an impromptu car nap). So we went! And we saw firetrucks and ambulances and garbage trucks and police trucks and SWAT trucks and farm trucks and a school bus.

It was great fun, but of course there were lines everywhere. We did wait in the line for the fire truck, allowing the dumpling to sit in the back (he adorably wanted to take off his shoes, make himself comfortable). We skipped most other lines, just literally touching the outside of the trucks rather than sitting in them. The dumpling seemed happy enough with that.

And then on Sunday we visited a goat farm!

Our friends recently made a major life change and decided to give up their day jobs to start a goat dairy business. They sold their home in the city and purchased land (and a home) about a half hour southeast of Dallas. This is their first kidding season (aka birthing season), so that’s what prompted us to make the trip. (These are also the same friends that we had wanted to see for the birthday party last year, so it felt like a milestone of sorts, to actually be able to go.)

We got to play with the baby goats. They have ten right now, with four being born within the past three days and one more pregnant goat waiting to give birth in a couple of weeks. I fed a baby goat and helped the dumpling hold one. He thought it was ok, but mostly he was excited to run around on their farm and play with their little boy. We busted out the water table and they played on the tractor. So much fun!

We rounded out Sunday by playing on the neighbor’s trampoline and introducing the dumpling to Nerf guns. What a weekend!

Missives from the North Pole

Disclaimer: I am not actually at the North Pole. I am actually at my office, in downtown Dallas, where it is currently 27 degrees outside and, perhaps more importantly, maybe 50 degrees inside. Seriously, building maintenance has been called because we can feel cold air blowing – blowing – around us. It’s frigid. I am sitting at my desk with my overcoat on and a blanket and I’m still cold. Luckily, I brought some soup for lunch today.

We had a pretty good weekend, even with the freezing temperatures. We made cupcakes on Saturday, much to the dumpling’s delight. He discovered the perks of making them at home: being mama’s taste tester for the frosting. He adorably got a tiny little smidgen of frosting as his first test and then I guess it was pretty good because he dipped the spoon back in for a huge spoonful. (And yeah, we talked about clean spoons and double-dipping, but not exactly the hill I want to die on.) He took his cupcake while I frosted the rest and when I checked on him again, he’d licked off all of his frosting. Second perk of homemade cupcakes: mama re-frosted his cupcake. A few minutes later, he handed a licked-clean cupcake back to Luffy, announcing that he was all done.

Probably the peak of excitement for the weekend was spotting a bobcat outside our window Sunday afternoon. The dumpling had just gotten up from his nap and was still a touch cranky about it. I showed him the bobcat and he wanted to go outside to see it. It was only 40 degrees or so, but you know what, we’ve all got a bit of cabin fever at this point… let’s do it. Of course, by the time we got ourselves bundled up and outside, the bobcat was long gone, but we looked for it anyway. I gave a nice long spiel about inside kitties we pet and wild, outside kitties that we don’t pet while we walked around a bit. We only lasted ten minutes or so, but it was nice to get outside.

Let’s see, what else did we do? We read The Goodnight Train five hundred million times – OH WAIT – I just realized that I didn’t tell you about this. So the dumpling has really been into trains lately. He has a Duplo train set and another little train and track set. He watches Dinosaur Train. He loves seeing pictures of trains in his books about things that go. I had an epiphany last weekend to see if I could find him some books about trains and was able to get him two: The Goodnight Train and a little set of four classic Thomas and Friends books. They came in Tuesday while he was at school, so I told him when we walked in the door that evening that I had a surprise for him. (He adorably calls the little Thomas books his “surprise” and will say that he wants to read his surprise.) He LOVES The Goodnight Train. Since it came in, I’ve probably read it to him at least a hundred times. We read it in the morning, in the evening, at bedtime. One day last week, he ran to get it from his room so that he could read it in the car on our way to school. (And yes, he’ll read it to himself by flipping through the pages and saying “goodnight train – choo choo”) He likes the little Thomas books too, don’t get me wrong, but it’s The Goodnight Train he’s obsessed with.

So we read that a bunch.

We cooked. We chased dada. We ate pancakes (and I’d like the record to show that he actually did eat his pancakes for once!). We visited yeye and nainai (Luffy’s parents). We colored. I limped around.

Oh right, that.

So I’ve injured myself. The bottom of my foot, near my inner heel, is very painful when I walk. I’m not quite sure what I did because the pain started Friday, when I didn’t do anything except work all day. My best guess is that I wore boots on Friday (because of this blasted cold!) and perhaps I came down too hard on my heel. Anyway, I taught my class Saturday morning, but I’ve found a sub for this evening. I did my best to rest it over the weekend, but it’s a little hard to stay off your feet with a preschooler commanding you to “come on mama” as he runs off to gather his animals. We did tell him yesterday evening that mama needed a moment to rest. I was on the couch, a little sprawled out actually, when he came around the corner. Luffy told him that I needed to rest and I explained to him that my foot is hurt. He crawled up on me and laid with me for a moment, before getting closer to inspect my foot. I took my sock off to show him my KT tape, still yammering on about being hurt, when he leaned down to give my foot a kiss.

Sweet boy, taking care of his mama.

He gave it one more kiss before trying to put my sock back on. When he couldn’t, he called dada over to put it back on for me! Such a sweetheart. I told him I had to sit, but that I’d be happy to read to him. So he brought The Goodnight Train and his surprise and then allll his other books and we spent a happy 45 minutes reading until bedtime.

All the cool kids are doing it

And that, my friends, is how I ended up at an axe-throwing parlor (??? is that what the cool kids are calling it???) on Friday evening. Our friend’s younger brother decided it would be an awesome spot for a birthday party, so off we went. I was pleasantly surprised with the outing. We had a lot of fun. I didn’t always manage to stick the axe, but the two times I did were a bulls-eye and just off-center. Go me!

Other than dipping our toes into axe throwing, we had a great weekend. My mom came into town, so we hung out with her. When we showed up at the dumpling’s daycare Friday afternoon with Grandma in tow, the little dude nearly lost his mind. Grandma’s here! Oh boy! I had to laugh the next morning when my mom could barely take a moment to herself without the dumpling calling out Grandma?! Where are you? You know what this meant right? It meant I could actually pee in peace. Oh sweet, sweet bliss.

We were completely lazy Sunday, I mean, almost pre-child levels of laziness. It was awesome. We watched Daniel and Dinosaurs and football and read books. I highly recommend you get yourself one of these lazy Sundays.

On a much less positive note, I went to have my blood drawn again today and realized that I would have been 6 weeks along tomorrow. Weird. I wonder when that will pass? When will I stop pausing on Tuesdays and wondering what symptoms I would have been experiencing or how my belly would have changed my then? And what’s going to happen when September 14, my due date, rolls around? I hope I’ll be ok. I try to be ok, but there’s not exactly a “normal” way to process all of this.

In the meantime, I’m just trying to find the things to enjoy. Sharing a bottle of champagne with my mom. The fact that this new class format is kicking my butt to teach right now and how much more challenging it would be if I were still pregnant. Little things like that help me keep a positive frame of mine.

To end on a funnier note: the dumpling pulled out a new trick this weekend. He’s recently acquired the verbal skills to protest diaper changes. When he has a dirty diaper and he knows it, he’ll say no wipes though, of course, we have to use wipes. He told me the other day that they’re cold, which I get. Probably also starting to dislike the invasion into his personal space, which I also get. Anyway, Saturday he did something different. I had him on his changing table and he laid there and said no wipes and then he busted out I sick! complete with the perfect amount of woe as he covered his eyes with his hands. I dutifully wrangled him took his temperature and offered some Tylenol. He seemed just a bit too pleased with the Tylenol is all I’m saying.

And suddenly there were two… Part 2

If you’ve been around here long enough, I probably don’t even need to explain, but who am I kidding? I’m going to anyway:

I’m pregnant!

It honestly feels so crazy and, dare I say it, easy that I can’t really believe it. I mean, after it took us nearly 18 months to conceive our dumpling – 18 months! Numerous doctor’s visits. Fertility drugs. Literally hundreds of ovulation tests. Dozens of (negative) pregnancy tests. And here I am, pregnant with our second within our first month of trying.

But wait?! I’m confused… didn’t you guys decide to stick with one child?

Yeah. We did. Luffy didn’t want another at the time and there’s not exactly a lot of room to compromise over the second child question. So, we were decided. So what happened? Luffy changed his mind. It happened last September, just a week or so before we were going on our vacation. His decision came out of the blue for me. We were eating dinner, him and I, and he just announced that he wanted another, if I still did. Though it seemed unexpected to me, knowing Luffy, I’m sure he put a lot of thought into it. I remember laughing, in a way, because he said over dinner that perhaps next year (as in 2019), when the dumpling was three, we’d talk more about it. But then, just a couple of days later, we had to go over our health insurance selections for work and he mentioned trying in January (which is obviously much earlier than the dumpling’s birth month of October). Anyway, this part is getting really long and rambling, suffice to say that once he changed his mind, he really went full throttle. We mutually decided to have my IUD removed in early December, to give us about four attempts at conception before we’d discuss holding off.

[We’re planners, as I’ve mentioned before, so we have multiple reasons why we want to conceive in the first few months of the year. (1) Fall birthdays give an edge to kids because they’re automatically some of the oldest of their class. We could of course “hold them back” if they just barely meet the September 1st cutoff that most schools have, but this way we don’t have to. (2) For health insurance purposes, getting pregnant at the first of the year means that all of your costs for the pregnancy are within a single deductible cycle. This lowers your out of pocket cost as the insurance company is forced to shoulder their portion of the pregnancy/birth. It would sort of suck to have met your deductible in the first eight months of your pregnancy, only to give birth in January and face a newly reset deductible. (3) I really liked having the holiday season during the dumpling’s newborn months. It gave me something to look forward to in the monotony and stress of the newborn days. I think it helped me avoid PPD in a way.]

So any-anyway (jeez, I can sure get verbose about things, can’t I??) I had my IUD removed in early December, right before my next period was due. And here’s where I need everyone to start paying attention because we’ve got a mystery on our hands! slaps hands together and settles in to give ALLLL the details

[TMI warning! You and I are close, but you might want to head out if period talk bugs you. I won’t take any offense!]

So I had my IUD removed on December 5th. As it was cycle day (CD) 29, I was expecting my period within the next week or so. You guys know I have irregular cycles. They had settled into a “pattern” of short and long cycles. So I’d have one cycle that was 32 days and then the next would be 37, then 34, then 42, you get the idea. Just enough inconsistency, that I could never really pin it down. My previous cycle though had been 33 days, so I expected the next one (in which I would have my IUD removed) to be on the longer side.

So my IUD was removed on CD 29. Shortly after it was removed, on CD 32 (aka a Saturday), I started spotting. Very light. Very inconsistent. Spotting usually heralds my period within 12-24 hours, but no dice this time. Sunday (CD 33) brings the same, as does Monday (CD 34), and even Tuesday. By Tuesday though, it was a consistent enough flow that I decided to call Tuesday the first day of my period (aka CD 1). At the time, this weirdness didn’t seem like a big deal at all. I went on to have a ridiculously long period (ten days of bleeding), followed by another week or so of medium to heavy spotting. Very weird, though I figured the removal of my IUD caused it.

But! This was going to be our first cycle to try to conceive. So I looked at the calendar to figure out when to start ovulation testing and settled on CD 17 (aka the Thursday after Christmas – aaka A WEEK AGO). I figured it might be a touch early, but that’s ok, after all, we didn’t want to miss it. I got up and tested that morning and was met with a resounding positive. I was definitely in an LH surge. I had my first woah moment as I stared at that test. I meant it up there, when I said I had gone through literally hundreds of ovulation tests the first time around. All that summer when my body tried multiple times. Through failed rounds of Clomid. So. Many. Tests. So many, in fact, that I didn’t hesitate in ordering 40 for this round of trying. Have your own woah moment: Hundreds of failed tests for pregnancy 1.0. 40 ordered tests for pregnancy 2.0. Used one.


So CD 17, as in last Thursday, I get a positive ovulation test. Luffy and I do our part towards conceiving a child. Maybe a few times for good measure. And then, this morning, I could not shake the urge to test. Just couldn’t. I was literally having the argument with myself mid-peeing, that it was ridiculous to test this early. It’s way too early! Only CD 25! Only nine days after my positive ovulation test! You’re just wasting a pregnancy test Belle!

And yet, I couldn’t shake the urge. So I tested. And it was positive. Just like that.


So now I’m actually questioning my dates. I mean, my results were much more pronounced this time around than they were the first pregnancy even though I’m using the same brand. Last time, I got my positive result twelve days after ovulation (and it’s a barely-there, squint-to-see-it result). This time, I got my positive result supposedly NINE days after ovulation and it’s an unquestionable positive. Makes me wonder if that CD 1 up there (good gracious – three paragraphs ago – I sure meant it about alllll of the details) was actually CD 4, which would put me ovulating on Monday or Tuesday of last week (as opposed to Thursday). Perhaps my positive ovulation result was the backside of the LH curve (the first chart on the page). That would mean this positive pregnancy result came eleven or twelve days after ovulation. That seems much more likely. I mean nine days post ovulation is five days before my missed period which is just inconceivable, especially with a test result as unquestionable as mine is.

Oh, wow, didn’t realize you were still sitting here; I’m just yammering on to myself. Thanks for reading so far, for listening to me as I try to wrap my mind around the fact that just. like. that. I’m pregnant with Little Dumpling 2.0. I need to think of a better name for him. Or her. Oh my god I’m gonna have a baby.