Finally had my first doctor's appointment. I left feeling as if the doctor didn't give me a whole lot of detail or instruction, but I guess the major items on the agenda were accomplished. Yes, I'm most definitely pregnant. I'm due July 9th. And I had my first ultrasound and got to see the beating heart of my child.

Here's the thing about the ultrasound, though. Every time I've seen somebody get an ultrasound (I'm talking TV and movies, of course), it's involved a squirt of jelly on the tummy and then something that looks like a Target price scanner being rolled around atop the tummy surface, with the image being projected on the monitor. Granted, I got the image on the monitor- the kid looks just like me, might I add- and, yes, there was some sort of jelly lubrication substance, but- get ready for this- the ultrasound was performed not with the Target price scanner on the belly but via a device stuck up my hoo-ha. Imagine my surprise when the doctor says that it's time for the ultrasound and inserts the thing while I'm getting ready to open my napkin gown to expose my stomach. A little warning might have been nice. I got over my shock pretty quickly, though, when the screen was tilted at my face and there she/he was, beating magically away.

So, tomorrow we're telling our parents, probably both sets if we can make it to both T-day gatherings. I shudder to think of telling my mother. If you've ever met my mother, you are likely feeling my pain right now. As an example of how she generally takes good news, when I called so many years ago to say that Chris and I were engaged, her reaction was to sharply intake her breath and ask, "Are you sure you want to do that?" So, I'm expecting something very similar tomorrow. Actually, I'm putting money on her asking me whether or not this was an accident. And then mentioning something about the financial burden this baby will cause. There, fifty dollars. Anyone want to take the bet?

I wish I had something else to blog about other than this, but life has been pretty dull otherwise. And nothing else seems all that consequential. I suppose I just have to wait for the wonder and awe of this to wear off and then I can go back to issuing clever observations. Tell me- when does the wonder and awe wear off exactly?

That's what I thought.