No shit!

At 10 weeks of pregnancy, I am reading that Fetus Marie is the size of a small plum. Now we're getting somewhere! She's lost her tail, her fingers and toes have separated, and her tooth and taste buds are now forming. She also intensely desires hot cinnamon candy.

I threw in that last part.

A few weeks ago when I had some time to kill in the Outer Sunset, I browsed in a small candy store. The sight of most of it didn't do anything special to me, but at the very end of the aisle, my eyes fell upon what seemed to be the loveliest sight:



I bought a few ounces of them. Oh, holy Jesus, did they taste divine. I've never been a big gummy candy fan, but I cannot stop thinking about these goddamn cinnamon bears. I've tried to fight it. I certainly don't need to be eating all that sugar--especially now--but oooohhhhh.... During a few moments of weakness, I found a website that sold them and just looked at pictures. Then I very responsibly closed the page and tried to forget. But I could not.

So I just gave up ordered 5 lbs of the damn things. I'll probably need to turn custody of them over to Ivan so that he can allot me a daily ration. At least until I freak out and hold a knife to his throat until he gives up the stash.

It's been a rough fucking day.

This week, the www.i-am-pregnant.com website advises me that I may find myself "feeling moody" and "getting distressed easily."

Uh, you think?