The Palace Park

The Palace Park

Friday, 4 September 2009

So. You're seven weeks and a hair. How does it feel?

Thus far I notice the following: there is this very weird metallic taste in my mouth in the mornings when  get up until about mid-day.  I am also exhausted, though I chalk this up to caffeine withdrawl.

Your father left today for a 10 day  trip to Vegas. He will fly to San Fransisco through wildfires but fret not because I made him write out a will. Now, he'll point out that he had already written a will but this was written the same night he had  to scuttle a plan by your unlce Clarkie and Martin to invade France via lifeboat. What I can say? Those two don't get out much. At least Martin doesn't.

The will is more for my piece of mind. I am also apprehensive about your father traveling and worry that if he were to die the ground might open me up and swallow me whole. That's how I know I'm knocked up: I'm overly emotional. Lesson learned:   Love is hard, life is hard; people live, they die and we move on until we don't. And most of the time, all of this is worth it.

In other news, you've brought with you the gift of vomit. Friday, I felt squiffy and took a taxi home. I barely made it to the front door before I was sick all over the front garden. Bless your father, as he cleaned it up.  On Monday, the same again but with more bite.  But it is manageable and I wouldn't have it any other way.
 

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