When you reach the halfway point of an Appalachian Trail thru-hike (somewhere in Pennsylvania), you have the opportunity to take the "half-gallon challenge" to eat a half-gallon of ice cream.
(I didn't partake when I was on my thru-hike because the ice cream store was closed for the season, but I did enjoy living the challenge vicariously through other hikers. Here's a particularly entertaining account of one hiker's half-gallon challenge.)
But I'm not here to talk about half-gallons, or ice cream, or even hiking. I'm here to talk about halfway points.
Today (Friday), Hubster and I are at the halfway point of our pregnancy. (Does that sound silly, to call it "our" pregnancy?) I'm 20 weeks along, with 20 weeks to go. See?
Baby Scout is now about 10.5 ounces, about the weight of my Z-Rest foam sleeping pad. Baby is also about 6 and a half inches from crown to rump--just longer than a white blaze on the AT. If you include those kicking little legs in the measurements, Scout grows to about 10 inches.
Scout is swallowing a lot, practicing, I guess, for his or her own half-gallon challenge for, oh, eighteen or twenty years from now. Scout's also producing meconium (poop), so I guess I'd better put an orange shovel on the baby registry.
It's hard to believe I'm at the halfway point. It's been a challenge, just getting here.
I think I'll have some ice cream after all.