Then there's the issue with the name. I'm over wanting to use a boy's name. So over it, in fact, that I'll happily disclose with you the name we were thinking. Ready? Drum roll, please....
Eliot. But spelled E-L-L-I-O-T-T-E for the sake of femininity. My husband loves it, still wants the baby to be named Elliotte. Me, not so much. I keep going back to my original name choice. Any time I attempt to "talk" to the fetus,
BTW - I've taught my son the name that I've chosen - he said it for the first time today, and it sounded SO cute.
Perhaps I should create a new poll. Leave it to you, dear readers, to choose how to rectify this situation. Those of you who know the names I've chosen are with me on this one, with the exception of one person. If you feel like it, rock the vote.
In conclusion? Stretch marks are ugly sons-of-bitches. Didn't get any with baby boy. This time, they're big and bright and right in the front. Ugh. My stomach would qualify as something to be used to administer the Rorschach Inkblot Test.