I just want to state, right off the bat, that I have a problem with blogging. I have tried oh-so-many times and failed at each attempt. I had livejournal going there for about four years, but somehow coming out of my teenage years led to a coming out of my ability to update even that on a regular basis, though I'm sure my angsty musings on why the world hated me were of no real contribution to the web at large in the first place.
I am hoping, however, that having a theme (and this particular theme) for this blog will cause its chances of survival to shoot through the roof. About a month and a half ago, I was in the bathroom, pointing at a faint pink line and insisting to my husband that, even in its barely visible form, this line was the first sign of my impending waistline expansion. A week ago, we were at Fort Jackson watching a nurse plunge another little stick into a cup of my urine.
I am hoping, however, that having a theme (and this particular theme) for this blog will cause its chances of survival to shoot through the roof. About a month and a half ago, I was in the bathroom, pointing at a faint pink line and insisting to my husband that, even in its barely visible form, this line was the first sign of my impending waistline expansion. A week ago, we were at Fort Jackson watching a nurse plunge another little stick into a cup of my urine.
Tomorrow is my first prenatal doctor's visit, at which I hope to confirm that I am ten weeks along, due sometime in the middle of December to pop out an adorable rendition of my husband and me, cooing and drooling all over the place. We couldn't be more excited.
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