Yesterday, Donald and I went to yet another doctor’s appointment, but this time we left with a brand new word for our vocabulary: prelabor. Doesn’t that sound important?  PRELABOR.  Like I might bear down and scream bloody murder and bring forth →MORE...

As of today, or maybe yesterday, or possibly sometime tomorrow, I have survived twenty-five weeks of pregnancy.  There should be a badge of honor, some sort of gold medal that reads “HEY NOW, I CAN NO LONGER TIE MY SHOES, SO →MORE...