I’ve kind of gotten away from these weekly updates, and if you’re absolutely lost without them, I apologize. (And please seek help.) I head to the doc tomorrow for a brief check-up, but the NEXT visit is the one I’m looking forward to: we’ll learn the gender sometime mid-July.  I need SOMETHING to be motivate me at this point, and gender is as good as anything else.

We can also choose a name when we have a gender.

So, anyway, life at 16 weeks is a lot like life at 15 weeks, honestly.  The exhaustion comes and goes, but what I’ve noticed more is the immediate fatigue.  For instance, I run out of breath walking up stairs.  Not tired, but out of breath.  So, often, I’m walking around, gasping.

All of that gasping has to go SOMEWHERE, and that’s been the most fun development of 16 weeks.  I poot.  A lot.  And it’s not even like one of those gastric blasts that you feel coming (because I am a master clencher when it comes to stifling those).  No, these sneak up (out?) on you.  While you’re walking.  IN PUBLIC.  Bryan says it only gets worse, which is making me contemplate stuffing some sort of plug up there to ease my suffering.  Global warming doesn’t need any more pregnant farting women.

I haven’t felt the baby yet, or maybe I have and I’ve confused it for gas, and that’s kinda bumming me out.  Bryan put his hand on my tummy in Knoxville and said, “OH!  I felt the baby move!”

Of course, he was totally kidding, but I reared back and smacked him on the arm.  How dare the baby kick for him and not me? (Dur, Sarah.)

And that’s about it for 16 weeks.  My baby is the size of an avocado (which is how we have to judge the size.. I only know food), and now has all sorts of cool toys in there.  I am currently trying to figure out what shows next season need an infant in them, because my baby will be the ULTIMATE stage whore.