I'm Not Telling.

I'm still madly in love with my Acupuncturist.

I told him the good news today, and we high-fived.  He's totally "pumped."  He said so several times.  He couldn't stop smiling the whole appointment.  Everything, according to him, is going just right.

And I also don't have to drink that gawd-awful tea anymore.

Apparently, Acupuncturists have a special sort of magic magic where they can predict the sex of the baby with the pulses being stronger on one side over the other.

So, whether, at week six, this is actually diagnostic is up for debate, I still have an idea of what might be.  It coincides with what Thuper Thpermth, Z, my Mother and I all suspect.

But I'm not telling you.  Hah-hah!