Truly, you can blame Girl Scout cookies for an astounding number of things.

So, yep. Preggers over here.

First, thank you so much to everyone for the wonderful comments, e-mails, and tweets. Since we play it close to the baby-growing vest over here in the Kate-Adam household, it was really great to be able to share the news with more than my mom (eagerly poised to buy out T.J. Maxx’s baby section) and a few close friends (all of whom are evidently finely tuned to the weakness of “I know! Turns out I have the stomach flu for the SEVENTH week in a row!” excuse, the cagey buggers).

HA HA ANTI-NAUSEA GUM

Everyone living everywhere has fallen victim to at least five pregnant women’s Huge and Hulking Stories of Early Pregnancy Woe in their lives, so I’ll spare you the details of the first trimester, except to say OH NO NEVER AGAIN THIS IS IT YOU CAN BET BIG WADS OF MONEY ON THAT. My pregnancy with Aura was so easy, so hey!-sure-let’s-go-out-to-dinner-at-a-place-with-smelly-foods-then-stay-up-until-midnight! fancy-free. And I think I vomited all of twice in that first go-round. I guess this pregnancy isn’t all that different, as long as you multiply the vomiting towards infinity and add in a huge helping of Hell. Then they’re super even.

ALSO: KIND OF-HA HA ANTI-NAUSEA WRISTBANDS

If the past three months have taught me anything, it’s that I’m prepared to take whatever steps necessary to ensure nausea of this magnitude never happens again. Adam doesn’t seem to appreciate this quite as much as I would expect, so to emphasize the point I like to walk around the house making scissor motions with my fingers and yelling “SNIP SNIP GET READY” when he least expects it.  Because that’s what love is.

Things have been much, much better the past few weeks, though. In fact, I went out to an actual dinner and an actual movie with some friends last Friday. As we walked out of the theater, I took a deep breath of late evening air and announced gleefully, “So THIS is what 9:30 at night looks like!” (Note: Best not to say this around women who have not yet committed to the whole having-kids thing.  Though the panicky expressions are kind of fun, especially if you throw in “And WOW is it nice to not have thrown up that sandwich! YUM!”)

I am a two-month-old photo of a blob. I am immensely difficult to blame, which is immensely frustrating.

Anyway, I’m beyond grateful to be feeling better. Now if we can just get through next Tuesday’s anatomy scan with no complications or oh-my-God moments, I’ll be golden. After our experiences with prenatal testing with Aura, we chose to forgo some of the tests this time around. I will say that the baby better not have three heads, since I have not drunk Diet Pepsi/Diet Coke for three months for that very reason. I see a third head, I’m setting up an aspartame IV and going for it. There’s sacrifice and then there’s sacrifice, if you know what I mean.

My one request at this point, besides a healthy, third-head-less baby, would be to look even vaguely pregnant. So far, it looks like things are going to be go the same way as they did with Aura:

1. Grow giant, porn-star-sized chest. (check)
2. Develop two stomachs: one larger lower mass of fat and presumably baby, then a second, higher mass of more fat and presumably Thin Mints.  (check)
3. Wait until six months for a single stranger to ask when you’re due. (ongoing)
4. Accept the fact that you now appear to be nothing other than your run-of-the-mill Hefty Girl. Or Big-Boned Girl. Or Simply Fat Girl with Really, Really Big Knockers.  (door #3)

Thanks again for all the well wishes. Countdown to boy-or-girl: six days. Since I only know how to raise girls, this next blog post might be offering a boy for sale. Head’s up, bargain seekers.