If I said that I’ve craved and willingly eaten a pickle for the first time in my life,
that the stupidest commercials, signs, songs, -even seeing a man put his arm around his wife in church- are makng me tear up like a silly goose,
that going to bed earlier is becoming more and more attractive,
that getting frustrated for no reason at all is becoming easier and easier,
that hugging Mckayla holds a new level of sweetness for me,
that my house is growing messy and I can’t seem to do anything about it,
that I can only eat about 3/4 of what I used to, but that I’m very thankful for any appetite at all,
that Paul coming home at the end of the day seems like a great prize that I wait all day for,
that some mornings we’ve had to postpone school so Mommy could rest on the couch,
and that $.77 boxed macaroni and cheese has made it back into the lunch rotation,
you might say that I may be pregnant.
And you would be right.