23 weeks

I wish I was reporting 24 weeks but we're not quite there yet. Twenty-four is a huge number; a milestone of immense proportions. When doctors rub their hands and nurses stop cringing. It passes by barely noticed by most parents-to-be and is an amazing first sigh of relief for others. We are the others. The others who dissect the calendar at least once per day to ensure dates are correct. The others who have already packed the hospital bag, handed out door keys and developed Plans A, B, C through H for all the what ifs. The Os agonize over every little symptom as it scares the shit out of them wondering what it means. We Os apparently pass these insecurities to our current offspring as they make their own feeble attempt at defining their existence by refusing to eat, beating their defensiveless, horizontal mother over the head with toys and swan diving from furniture.

So we maintain the status quo; Chris operating in hyperdrive attempting to hold our household and son from quite literally falling apart, and I, horizontal, occasionally bored, often ineffective but persistently incubating.