I say "kind of, sort of" because, while I'm not a pessimist, I don't like to expect the best outcomes. I've miscarried before, I've had tragic accidents before, and I try not to view myself as someone to whom bad things are unlikely to happen. Defense mechanism? Probably. That said, I am a touch excited. And anxious! This is just a life change, right? But a monumental one, and not just for me. I worry about the potential I've destroyed. I'm happy to welcome the potential I've created.
Space Marine is a great deal more stressed. I try to tell him we don't have to follow the normal social roles: he's not obligated to house me, feed me, be the sole responsible financial party for our budding family, but he insists that's not true. He doesn't want me not working, but if I were to choose that path, I think he would view it as his responsibility to maintain our lifestyle. And probably give up his dreams doing it. I love him. I won't let him miss out on adventuring and med school over our mutual accident. So, I've got to figure out a way to help, and fast.
I thought I had more to say -- something about the little monster on the ultrasound screen having a nose, and a couple ears, and a heartbeat, and some assorted phalanges. All that was cool. Oh, right. The coolest part: I can poop again. \o/
