I know, can you believe it? I’m still even now working through my initial LOLWUT reaction. 

But today marks the end of my 20th week, which is the halfway point of this here pregnancy of mine, and wow. All told it’s been pretty great so far (knock all the woods), and I feel fantastic. Yes, I was sick throughout my entire first trimester (with a short reprieve for our wedding day, mercifully) and yes, I’ve had stretches of ligament pain while all my insides make room for the kid, but I am in love with my belly, and that is a brand new thing for me. It is round, it is firm, and it totally de-emphasizes my boobs (which are in their own way lethally majestic. Smaller breasts want to orbit them [thank you, Celia Hodes.]). My body is fucking awesome. I’ve had bad days and bad weeks, but right now, right this second, I am at peace and happy and I’m pretty sure I am literally glowing. I mean literally: I think my body is actually emitting light.

All this comes as a complete surprise to me, because I never would’ve thought I would enjoy being pregnant this much, or have anything resembling an easy pregnancy. I figured given my horrendous periods (immobilizing cramps, back pain, acne flare-ups, etc.) and my age, that I would be miserable the whole time and look like a wizened warty hag by now. And I may yet get to that point, but the thing is: I don’t care. Because my body is doing this astounding thing and my kid is clearly already awesome and I finally found my true center of gravity and I feel great. I could use a haircut, though.

(I should note, however, that I don’t always feel like this. Some days I am Earth Mother Goddess Woman [who still can’t get a damn seat on the subway], other days I am a snarling rabid she-wolf, and still other days I’m just a mushy sentimental fool who cries at everything, like the other day when I was walking to the subway behind a couple who gave each other a quick peck on the lips before going on their separate commutes and it was such a lovely thing that I got all teared up, and hormones are a helluva drug.)

The biggest news, however, is that we now have unequivocal, irrefutable, ocular proof that I’m having a boy. So. Han Solo it is!

(Or Bolt Vanderhuge.)

(Other possible names include TV’s Frank and Danger Zone.)

(I totally cried when I saw my kid’s dingus.)