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Paul's head, my ass

Today's scan revealed that at eight weeks exactly, the embryo has Paul's head — a capacious brainpan suitable for thinking deep thoughts about fascinating topics like Jersey barriers and plastic grocery bags — and my rump — narrow, bony, and singularly unimpressive, suitable only for sitting.

It also has a strong heartbeat and attenuated limb buds. It measured either 7w6d or 8w1d depending on the angle, and it moved while we were watching on the ultrasound. I am pretty sure it is plotting a hostile takeover, just as soon as it manages to grow opposable thumbs. It just has that look about it.

I have been instructed to stop the progesterone injections and released into the great unknown, left to scramble to find an obstetrician. I thought of stopping visibly pregnant women on the street here and asking for recommendations, but it is only too likely they'd say brightly, "Oh! I don't know. I'm planning to give birth squatting over a trench in the woods, presided over by a shaman." And then offer me a really good recipe for placenta helper.