Today I am 9 weeks pregnant with you.

I woke up to a very happy email from my doctor, telling me I am not a carrier for a few genetic diseases we tested for 2 weeks ago, including Cystic Fibrosis & some other not fun things. I wasn't too concerned about these things, but I am relieved nonetheless.

I have been feeling that low-grade nausea again, which twistedly comforts me. I am also experiencing a sad condition that requires the ingestion of lots of fiber as relief. Gah.

Your grandfather, my pops, is oddly suffering with some of my first trimester symptoms. I am secretly delighted (just as long as it is that, and not some other issues, pops isn't the healthiest right now) because I am happy to see him involved with my pregnancy. I fear I may lose my shit the first time I see my dad hold you. Though we had years and years of no contact or shitty relationships, I feel closest to my dad nowadays, and I guess he's feelin' close to me, as demonstrated by his nausea and constipation (sorry dad).

So anyway, your grandfather gifted me with his treadmill that I've been after for years. Since I've gotten pregnant I've been afraid to work out too hard, then I was too tired to work out, and honestly, I haven't been to the gym since the day I took a pregnancy test and it was positive. So I've been feeling exceptionally gluttonous lately and lazy and tired, and I knew I needed to start some sort of exercise soon. I've been walking on the treadmill for the past two nights, and plan on keeping it up every night for as long as I can. It sure isn't the 12-15 miles I was running a week, but the treadmill was useful after the four slices of pizza you told me to eat last night.