I know some of you were beginning to doubt that I actually did go to Aruba, and were probably thinking that I lied and actually vacationed in like, Newark or something and have spent the week trying to Photoshop pictures of Newark into something more tropical-like.
Well, ta-da, Aruba photos, finally retrieved off of Jason's work computer and uploaded into a completely ass-backwards order for your enjoyment.
(Have you ever seen the Aruba 2003 album? It's about the same only more drunk.)
And for those of you following the ultrasound saga: My doctor called this morning, and lo, he was awesome. He immediately apologized for not asking me more about my concerns last Wednesday, and OF COURSE I should get an ultrasound now if I'm anxious about anything at all. OF COURSE. He'll fax over the referral right away, and don't worry, we'll still do another ultrasound at 26 weeks just to double-check the sex and everything else, because really, I should be able to look at my baby as many times as I want.
That was...easy. And I was all set to like, RUMBLE and shit.
Upshot: 20-week diagnostic ultrasound at 9 a.m. next Monday. Mark your calendars and tell your friends.