It is now a certainty that I am not growing a human, contrary to the nausea that still plagues me most of the time.
I can now quit telling the doctor, "June...2006."
And I can now blame hormones for my bad attitude, whether or not that is true.
But seventeen months (or better, 25) was a pretty good run, don't you agree?
We should all be so lucky.
Be careful what you wish for. After my last "break" of about that long, I then had one EVERY DAY for the next nine months.
Welcome to the "real" world where our husbands hide from us once a month.
And so do our children.
Come to think of it, it's not so bad.
Mrs. Nurse Boy
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