Now that the morning/evening sickness is finished, and I am cruising through my seventeenth week, I am feeling good. Not just good, but great. I've got more energy, I sleep better at night, I feel I can focus on reading and work, and the urge to knit has returned (I just need to photograph some FOs!). I have this feeling of camaraderie and love for the people around me that almost feels... drug-induced, which isn't to say that I didn't love my husband before, but that I find myself thinking specifically about it and saying it out loud a lot lately. It's great. It feels like when we said our first I-love-yous, with butterflies in the stomach and the whole shebang. Best of all, those butterflies are genuine baby movements! Little Mutie has been flopping and kicking and practicing Tai-Chi and wiggling and who knows what else, and finally, finally I am tuned into it. I realized once I felt it that I had probably been feeling it earlier, but just so faintly that I thought it was just indigestion/mild cramps (sorry, little one!). I am a natural-born worrier, and so every moment that passed between the last midwife visit left me wondering if everything was okay. I mean, there was no proof that the baby was still kicking... but now there is. All the freakin' time. The baby wakes me up in the morning, and kicks me goodnight in the evening. And yesterday, a totally cute baby/dog moment happened- Vandal jumped up on the baby gate (I had corralled the pups temporarily in the living room) and kissed my belly. I just about melted, although I realize that I had probably just wiped a potato-chip hand on my shirt. I suppose I can dream of a harmonious family where dogs love babies and nobody gets jealous...
In the next 24 hours I will have a project photo and the reveal of the new craft room, for anyone who doesn't care about babies.