Cetacean

I went to the doctor today (a whole month gone already!) and everything seems to be going well in spite of my forty-three-year old egg; the best part, though, is that now, at sixteen weeks, I feel so much better than I did a few weeks ago. After my appointment, I called Malkhos.

"Well," I said, "The critter's still alive," sparing him the details of fundal height and so on.

"I didn't think it would be otherwise," he replied, sagely as ever.

"Next time, I get to find out the gender," I said. "So our arguments about what to name this child can begin in earnest."

"Oh, I have that all figured out," he said, sounding almost smug, but I let it pass.

Even Madeline is taking the whole thing much better than before; I was pretty sure her generally cheerful disposition would win out in the end. Once I talked to her about it, it seemed that her greatest fear was that I wouldn't love her anymore--as if I could ever ever do that!--or that I would love her less, somehow, but I suppose that's a normal fear for a four-year-old.

When I got back today, I told her next time I would find out what I was having. "What would you like me to have, Madeline?" I asked her.

She jumped up and down happily. "A dolphin!" she replied. She's always wanted a pet dolphin.