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Week twelve marks the official end of the first trimester. It's now late enough in the pregnancy to start telling friends, as the risk of miscarriage has dropped significantly.

I find myself screenshooting the Instagram pictures of Em kissing Aly's cheek. The claim Aly's staked on Emery grows larger with each passing day, which I don't enjoy thinking about.

I suppose that in some sense or another, I've always been jealous for Emery's attention. But I am also happy for him, as any bro would be. Plus, I console myself with the fact that I'm still going to be seeing more of him, sharing more with him and experiencing more together with him than she ever will. Because he's a doctor, Emery and Aly are never actually going to see each other when they're married. Their schedules are so full and conflicting.

Because of this, I honestly didn't think they'd ever decide to get married. I certainly don't think I'll be able to, or that any girl will be satisfied with what limited availability I'll be able to offer. But news of the baby probably played heavily into the decision. Yes, for financial and stability reasons, a baby would ideally be raised by two married people. But the formality of marriage isn't going to magically make them less irreconcilably different or add more hours to the day. And I'm still going to be his best friend.

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