So to expand on the post from yesterday, Mrs LDR last had a "visit from Aunt Irma" quite some time ago.
Now our thoughts were not "baby" but "something not right" (due to medical stuff that is rather more personal than ought to be described in detail online) but her doctor brushed it off several times with mumblings about hormones changing because she had lost a fair bit of weight. Eventually we demanded a blood test, which basically gave us the option of 6 weeks pregnant or cancer. In my optimism i barracked for the 3rd option of "the test was wrong".
So off she went for an ultrasound, and the radiologist's first words were "it's a lot more than 6 weeks". After some more looking about the verdict was 20 weeks. 5 whole months!
I was at work while all this was happening, so it was a good thing i was sitting down when she popped in to let me know. But hey, pregnant is a much better option than dying, and the little one appears to be perfectly healthy and with a reasonable number of fingers and toes (which in Kin Kin means less than 40 of each).
Then it was just a matter of making ONE MILLION phone calls to let my ridiculously large extended family know (The highlight of which was my youngest sister just saying "WHAT?!" over and over for nearly a minute).
So it looks like i'm going to need to get REAL grown up REAL quick, i mean at 27 i'm not completely out of my depth but i certainly wasn't expecting this for a while yet.
Anyway, the Mooloolaba Triathlon is on tomorrow morning, the Frankenshiv is as complete as it's going to get, and it's time to don my horrifically effeminate skinsuit and turn it up.