that's one hungry baby

I'm blaming it on baby. Today, despite the tantalizing plethora of restaurants available to us in the Austin metropolitan area.....I had to have Applebee's. Yes, Applebee's. Not one of the approximately three billion unique, tasty, well thought out restaurants the Austin area has to offer....I wanted to do as the apple says and eat good in the neighborhood. (The neighborhood located inconveniently far from our house and close to nowhere we needed to go.) Random.

I ate my salad, and half of J's (the veggie part....gotta get those veggies in). I resisted the urge to lick my salad plate for the Thousand Island droplets. Next I polished off my Fiesta Lime Chicken, and tucked into the fries. I stole a few chicken strips of J's plate. As he pushed his plate away, loosened up his pants, and began to look ill, I chewed my fries, asked if he wanted that last chicken strip, and whipped out the dessert menu. "Seriously?" he has the nerve to ask. Bad idea. "THE BABY WANTS IT! SHUT IT!" And shut it he did. As did the waiter after I placed the dessert order, when he asked "two spoons?" and I frantically shook my head no. "Just one." Mama's hungryyyy. (I'm not selfish, J doesn't even like what I ordered. And he still looked ill.) I totally showed that maple nut blondie what was UP. The ice cream too (calcium!) The sad part is, as I looked over the ruins of my 8,000 calorie meal, I wasn't even that full. We left, ran a few errands, and my phone rang. It was my aunt, wondering if I'd like to join her and her boys for Mexican. I'll be damned if I wasn't tempted. J looked afraid. Or grossed out, who knows. (I didn't go.) Anyway, morning sickness seems to be fighting a losing battle here. It wants to hang out longer, but its time seems to have come. I'm feeling more cravings, fewer gaggings. There are still moments of misery, but overall, I'm sensing a change. And a rapid outgrowing of my pants in the not so distant future.

I had another ultrasound on Monday, and it was beautiful. And so exciting. As I emerged from the bathroom, cup o' pee in hand, Nurse K was waiting outside, looking ecstatic. "11 WEEKS! SWEETIE, THAT'S WONDERFUL!" I put my pee down, and we hugged as she congratulated me and said how happy she was that things looked so great. (I love this place.) My nurse practicioner was just as excited, and I couldn't help but feel special to finally be the patient they're happy to see. The ultrasound looked wonderful. Baby was wiggling all over and making it very difficult to get a good photo or measurement. Heartbeat strong, measuring ahead of schedule, every part looking perfect as can be. Next up, Monday's 12 week appointment and NT scan. After this, we tell the whoever will listen.

At home, the doppler continues to be my very best friend. I love it. I love laying there, listening to the proof that baby Cinco is in there, working away at growing big and strong. I'm 12 weeks now and amazed that I've made it this far, that the "second trimester" chapter in my pregnancy books will soon apply to ME. More and more, we talk about the baby in "when" terms instead of cautious "if" terms. We've got names on the short list. Of course, there are still moments of worry, where I'm afraid to feel too happy, too attached, to hopeful. But those are fewer, and we are happier.