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.