When I poke my tummy, I can feel the baby. Not like it wiggles around enough to be felt, but there's something hard and out of place there. Baby.
Tell me twelve weeks is the end of my first trimester. Cause twelve weeks is three months, and you're pregnant for nine months. See how my math makes sense? But then when you divide forty by three, you get something higher than twelve. Sad face.
The other day we were on a walk; Matt walking Max, and me pushing Maura in her stroller. We walked by a house with a moving truck in front of it, and a woman popped her head out and asked us to wait. Because she saw Maura in the stroller, she brought us two giant bags of baby clothes. Girl stuff. Almost all of it is too small for Maura. Like two pieces would do us any good if Maura was really our baby, but it makes me wonder if this baby is a girl. What good will a bunch of adorable baby girl's clothes do a baby boy? Either way, eventually we want both boys and girls, so it won't go to waste, but it made me stop and wonder about this little one. Wonder if God is providing her some free clothes before we even know what clothes we need.
Now that I've put that out there, it'll be a boy.