In about 28 weeks or so I will have a little one that WILL look like me, though. One that will call me "Mommy" instead of "Karen". Maybe. It's likely that the little one will be confused, as everyone in the house calls me "Karen," so that may stick with him or her, too. That would hurt, seeing as I pushed that watermelon outta a peach. I'll be like that Mindy cartoon on Animaniacs, where she just calls her mom "Lady" all of the time. I bet it's funnier when you're watching it on TV.
I got off topic. Shocking. Ok, HERE'S the 8-week picture of the bot.
He/She has little arms and legs :) That was four weeks ago. Of course, you can't tell if he's got my features or Eric's, yet. I stare at the picture and hope she gets Eric's perfect skin and lovely blue eyes and my little ears and pretty hair. I stare at the picture, and I hope he gets Eric's masculinity and brain power and my determination and grace.
I stare at this picture and ask myself if I've ruined her life by conceiving her with my maybe-broken-a-little-bit genes and adding my nobody-knows-if-they're-messed-up chromosomes and pumping her full of my science-can't-figure-out-if-this-causes-it blood. Is he doomed to a life of training, therapy, doctors and medications? Are we? Will my high-functioning Asperger's mutate into her low-functioning autism? Will his big brothers be defending him in school and at the park and in Kroger for the rest of their lives?
Will he or she live a full life anyway? I do know that answer. Absolutely. This bot is loved. Unconditionally.
