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It's been 12 days since I last saw SGT T. Twelve days since he left the U.S. in an effort to do his part of what he signed up for. Twelve days to get from one side of the world to the other, and you know what? Last I heard, he's still not there. They are in Afghanistan, but not at their final destination, weather and this little thing called war keep preventing them from getting to what will be home for the next year. He called me a couple days ago, briefly, just to make sure I got to Oregon OK. I guess I forgot to send him an email letting him know that the cat travel adventures went well and that we all arrived safely. Sweet of him to worry when he's in the situation that he's in; you better believe I felt guilty after that phone call!

The cats and I all made it to my parents house without a hitch. Mom came out to help, which was fantastic, and she even bought me my first pregnant-gigantic-boobie bras, thankyoubabyjesus. I am a little amazed at how little backlash I'm feeling from the cats for making them go through the ordeal they went through on the airplanes, but they've been quite good since we got here. I'm back, living at my parents' house, and sharing a room with two cats. Not ideal accommodations for any of us - me, the cats, or my parents, but it works, it's temporary, and I'm grateful. I'm grateful, I'm grateful, I'm grateful. My new mantra.

I'm working on getting settled in and situated, but it's slow going because I have to do some painting in the bedroom and switch rooms with my brother and stuff. See, my brother has the big bedroom which I feel I am entitled to what with the pending extra body to be added to my accommodations. In the meantime, I'm taking down the wallpaper in my brother's childhood bedroom, where I am now, and I am going to paint. Why I'm doing this work in a room I'm not going to be staying in is a little convoluted, even to me, but it has to do with being a little unsure if there is still a baby in my body and wanting the room to be clean and fresh if, by chance, I stay in it.

Which, I guess brings me to the ER story, which turns this into a "Catching up on everything" post instead of allowing me to post multiple times over the next couple days with updates. Dang. When I started week 7 of pregnancy, I started spotting (do I really need to explain what this is? If you don't know, google it). Nothing heavy, nothing painful, but constant and scary. I called the OBGYN advice line for my hospital and they said if it gets worse or changes, or even if it stays the same, to go to the ER to get it checked out. That was Monday. On Friday I decided that since SGT T was leaving on the following Monday, and I was still bleeding, I wanted to go get checked out. So 7 pm on Friday night we headed to the ER. Not a smart decision. Long story short, it took a total of 8.5 hours before I got to go home. The doctor did a pelvic exam, and an internal ultrasound thing, and we got to see the heartbeat. Baby was alive and looked fine. He said that for women who experience bleeding, once you see the heartbeat your chances go up to 90% of having a healthy normal pregnancy. Still at risk, but mostly you'll be fine. Except that since then, I haven't had a single pregnancy symptom. No more nausea, no more overwhelming exhaustion, even my boobs seem to have gone back to normal. With the move and everything I hadn't been able to make a doctors appointment, so I go in to my new PCM next Wednesday for a referral and who knows how long it will be before I get to see my new OBGYN. The only thing that keeps me from being absolutely positively sure that I don't have a baby in me is my super human sense of smell and the whacked dreams I've been having every night lately. We shall see, I'll keep you updated. And that's all for now!