I incessantly worry about Emory's health. I know he is safe and warm, tucked away in my belly, but I just need to know that he's okay. I want him to take as much time as he needs to grow and mature in there, but it will be such a relief to hold his little body, and kiss his little cheeks, his tiny toes, his little feetsies, and squeeze his little chub chub, and hold his wittle hands. I'm thrilled to be a mama.

I've read that pregnant women have bizarre dreams. I'm not really sure how scientists have proven this theory. I've always had pretty weird and vivid dreams but this one.....this one was pretty damn weird.

I was at school and pulled Emory out of my backpack to nurse him. He was a popsicle. A green lime popsicle. I started to breast feed the popsicle then put him back in my backpack when he was done. Time must have past by and I realized I had forgotten to check back on Emory. When I looked back in my backpack he had melted. I was devestated and woke up feeling awful, like I was already a horrible mother. It was one of those dreams that feels sticky.