Week Thirteen.

Second trimester say whaaaaaaaa?

I'm still feeling good - so good in fact that I often feel badly when I'm asked, "so, how are you feeling?" (often delivered with that concerned and empathetic eyebrow-squishing move - you know the one, right?), because I feel as though I should meet their concern with reason for it - and there is none. No nausea. Little to no food aversion (though Aaron's chinese food the other night did leave me thinking that I'd never eat sesame chicken again, if given the choice), and no weird food cravings. It's just been more of the same - a tendency to run low if anything, a pleasing ability to bolus right as I begin eating (as opposed to pre-bolusing 15 minutes ahead, which is my norm), and a general case of sleepyheadedness.

And we can now add "epic pregnancy-induced clumsiness" to the list.

Clockwise, from top left: beginnings of baby bump; a "good" day; a "what the hell happened" day; my broken heart.

Yesterday, somehow, I managed to drop my phone iBGStar-first into the dog's food dish. As a friend put it, it seemed to have landed on its self-destruct button, because it busted into a bunch of unrecognizable and unsalvageable pieces. (Actually, I just think it's the weight of the phone - and landing in a ceramic dish - that did it, but I like the other imagery better.) I've been finding the iBGStar app data and charts immensely useful during pregnancy, so I was disheartened to lose it. I'm using my Verio IQ in the meantime (a fine meter itself), and I found out this morning that Sanofi will send me a replacement iBGStar, so my data withdrawal symptoms should only last for another 24 hours or so. Woo!

I'm also noticing some old wives tales rearing their heads - if you can believe those sorts of things - which has Aaron and I (and all of our families) guessing the gender. We will be able to find out at my OB appointment next month, and I don't know how I'm going to be able to wait that long.

In the meantime, I'll be eating fruit by the foot (as in amount, not the candy, because gross) and restraining myself from buying any more gender-neutral footed onsies.