And Trump won this thing. I have no words, and I have too many words.

My pregnancy limbo continues but it’s not looking promising. My 48 hour HCG levels have been 37, 55, and 66. I don’t have today’s results back yet but my line hasn’t gotten any darker.

When I start bleeding I really want to collect it all and send it to our future vice president so he can make sure it gets a proper funeral.

Cameron is fine. Well not fine fine, but fine enough, not the kind of not-fine that an ER visit implies. (Hello semantic satiation…)

He got sick a week ago, and I know this kid is really sick when he wants to sleep. After spending the evening sleeping on the couch, and sleeping in my arms, we tried to put him to bed for real. He was fighting us like crazy and as we finally got his pants off something looked horribly wrong. One testicle was swollen and the other looked completely deflated. We fought his pants back on and drove to urgent care.

I’ve mentally allocated one urgent care visit per age so we’re right on schedule.

It also turns out that testicle issues get you pushed to the front of the line. Someone was ready to take us back before we even finished registering. We got sent to the ER for an ultrasound, again with a room waiting for us when we got there. “Hopefully it’s a hernia,” we were told as we left urgent care and I had to ask Andrew, “A hernia’s the good result?”

Cameron watched Curious George from his hospital bed until he told us to turn it off, slept in my arms, put up with an ultrasound, and eventually got discharged with instructions to follow up with his doctor. A hernia at three, just like his dad, with surgery in his future.