Peeking

Keeping myself cooped up in bed/house has kept me from going to my favorite place in the whole world, Tra.der Jo.e's. I guess that's ok, because since it went up last year next to the Babi.es r U.s I've really made an effort to not look to the left at the waddling ladies going in, the carts full of gear coming out, and that special parking for special moms.

At this point it's even too early to think about loading up the credit card with pink or blue things, although I did sneak a look over at craig.slist to see what folks were offering up. I don't have the faintest idea of what a newborn needs outside of breast and blanket. I asked my friend if she would duplicate her registry and set mine up, but setting up a registry is on the list of things she was only doing once (the other thing was having a baby).

Screech! Halt! Stop! Why am I even going there? At 17 weeks, I mean, really. I suppose I am allowing myself to think I'm going to need to shop at some point. I certainly am attached, and we have a lot of emotion (and dollars -- just got the hospital bill for the cerclage holy shit did they charge me for the warm pillowcases for my legs too?, and let's not forget all that fabulous intercourse and the off-chance ovulation in the longest cycle ever) invested. Day by day, I'm taking it day by day, and allowing for some sunshine from time to time.

And I miss my girls day by day. Wannabe dad misses his girls day by day. And we'll never stop missing them and wondering about everything that comes with missing them. Sigh.