TB3 is the size of a GI Joe.
I’ve spent most of this week battling a nasty cold or allergies…not really sure. So if you see me and I sound like death or like I’m trying to cough this baby up, I promise I’m okay. I’m resting as much as I can and my midwives and primary care physician are on top of it.
At this point, I’m convinced TB3 is gonna singlehandedly change the world. After all she or he is singlehandedly changing me. That’s gotta count for something right?
Good news is that T-Daddy turned 30 this week, so now I’m not the only one having a child in my 30s. And apparently, Week 24 is the first week of viability. Still doesn’t seem real that from this point on there’s a person that can (with a lot of medical intervention) survive outside of me.
Tomorrow is Week 25. I like the number 25. Not sure why, but hopefully that means it’ll bring some more good with it.
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