This is not "The Pregnancy Chronicles."

Unfortunately, I can't think of anything much to write about lately that isn't of at least tertiary relation to gestation.

I shocked Will this morning by informing him that our little pumpkin seed is [this] big (I was holding two fingers just over an inch apart) and no longer tadpole shaped. (This led to him calling his child "froggy." So precious!) In fact, ears are happening right now, so we might need to watch our cursing.

We have our first prenatal visit with our midwife on Thursday. We have opted to eschew the traditional (American) medical model of pregnancy and birth, and will be doing it all at home with (close to) zero intervention, barring any serious complications. (It is to be hoped that home is not this apartment by May, as I do not feel comforted and safe here.) This had led to some disapproval and fear from some family members. While concern is always appreciated, it does seem to me that perhaps people would give me the benefit of the doubt and assume that I am not jumping into this blind. I make informed decisions. So if you have any criticisms or stories of midwifery gone wrong, keep them to yourself. (I will, however, be happy to answer any and all questions of the non-judgmental variety.)

I was terribly amused the other day when I referred to myself as nine weeks pregnant and the woman I was talking to asked me if "they" had dated me. Um, no. I did it myself. You count the weeks from the start date of your last period. Which is dumb and imprecise, but that's how you do it. And I know there are ladies who don't keep track, but still. Dumb question.

(I can also tell you when we conceived, but that would mean admitting that it could have been any one of five times, which would mean admitting that I did it with my husband -- more than once!)

I don't really have much else to say. I just didn't like having so little actual content up lately.