Sid is fascinated by my boobs. They just keep inflating. It's alarming, really, because I'm bloated all over anyway, and then there's these huge porn-queen boobies topping it all off and they HURT. And he wants to touch them. SQUEEZE them. Okay, one, my boobs are not squeaky toys. Two, IT FUCKING HURTS.
I've got a doctor's appointment this afternoon, the standard thyroid check, and I made the appointment before I knew there was a sprog in the works. So it should be interesting to tell her and get that particular ball rolling. I'm operating under the assumption that I need a referral from my primary care provider to see a specialist, in this case an obstetrician or certified nurse midwife. I know for sure that I'll need to have my routine thyroid checks done more frequently now. I wonder if she'll finally be amenable to upping my levothyroxine like I wanted her to when I first started trying to conceive?
And in other, weirder, news... I think Sid is having a sympathy pregnancy. Seriously, I've been weeing like a fiend, and having crazy dreams and waking up at all hours of the night, and he's doing the same damn thing. He's eating everything in the house (which I'm NOT doing, but sorely want to!) and conking out on the couch for a nap at precisely the same time I crash and want a snooze. He's even having hormonal hot flashes. It's maddening, because he's complaining so much, and I'm just taking it all in stride and reminding myself that what I'm feeling is A GOOD THING, these symptoms are GOOD THINGS. And Mr Couvade over there is bitching and moaning and complaining he's tired. BITCH BE STEALING MY GLORY.