So the Fish Said...

Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem, I whisper with my lips close to your ear.

- Walt Whitman

Meet the Fish

I want to get a pet duck and keep it in the bathtub.
I am addicted to chap stick and altoids.
I am freakishly flexible.


World's Most Beautiful Child

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World's Most Handsome Child

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Other Important Things

Clive Owen

Clive Owen
Pretend Celebrity Boyfriend


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Scenes from the Office

Scene One: They replaced the light bulb in the refrigerator in the "break room" at work. I estimate it had been burned out for at least two years. Some things are best left in the dark.

Scene Two: There is a little piece of something (I know not what) on the floor in the ladies room. It has been in the exact same spot, completely undisturbed and unmolested, for the past two weeks. This does not give me confidence in the overall state of cleanliness of the ladies room.

Scene Three: The picture of the day on one of my two cat calendars is a cat's butt. That's it, just the hind end of a fluffy cat. Here's proof:

catbutt.jpg

Yes, I have two cat calendars. One is from my charming husband and the other is from the beautiful Dawnie. The cat butt is on my husband's calendar, Dawnie would never send something so crass.

Excuses

1. I am very busy. Busy, busy, busy. I am also very important, such that the planet cannot continue to rotate on it's axis without my constant engagement. I also have super powers, such as the ability to use my psychic abilities to diagnose and fix problems on a server in Omaha and to make all others bend to and obey my every whim. Therefore, all idiots should immediately cease speaking to me as it disturbs my concentration.

2. I am very hungry. Hungry, hungry, hungry. I must dedicate every moment of free time to finding, procuring and consuming food. About six weeks ago I lost my appetite entirely and had to force myself to eat. My appetite came back. Apparently, all 6 weeks worth at once. I hesitate to look at pictures of food for fear I will eat them. I am considering working from home so I can just sit in my fridge and shovel food into my mouth. Hey, are you going to finish that?

Hey - since I am so busy and hungry and boring, why don't you all go congratulate Jenny, Daddy and Big Brother on the birth of the healthy and certainly beautiful Madeline Grace?

I'm so cute!

I just wanted to mention that I look really freaking cute today.

I should be pregnant all the time.

Fetish, anyone?

I may live to regret this.

So, the other day I got a very polite and friendly email from a belly button fetishist inquiring into the current state of my belly button (for those keeping score at home, still an innie, but less so every day). (Is it really weird that I answered the email? Like I said, it was very polite.) Anyway, it got me to wondering what the rest of you fine people find especially attractive for no reason whatsoever.

I'll go first. I have a huge thing for the sartorius muscle, which runs from the inside of the kneecap to mid-top thigh and which just occasionally if just the right guy moves just the right way you can see running from his inner thigh over the top of his leg. Fortunately I don't see it too often, because when I do it's about all I can do to not lick it which neither the man in question nor my husband tend to appreciate.

Ok, your turn. Please keep in mind that I am in a delicate condition, so possibly you should not tell me anything too daring.

Can't

The updated list of things I can no longer do (26 weeks pregnant version):
Button my leather jacket.
Make the bed. (New mattress, lovely for sleeping but very thick and heavy.)
Roll over in bed without careful advance planning.
Squat. All the books I want lately seem to be on the bottom shelf. Not happening.
Carry laundry baskets up the stairs. Ok, carry anything up the stairs. Or down.
Carry my laptop. (To be fair, I can carry it from the house to the car just fine, but the car to my office is a very long walk.)
Go more than an hour without peeing (but I drink an awful lot of water).

Things I can still do, although I think the days are numbered:
Touch my toes.
Wear my regular jeans.
Sit on the floor and get up again.
Stay awake past 9:00.

Keeping Your Cool

I may be the world's leading expert at remaining calm and rational in the face of adversity. As an illustration of my skills, and as a helpful guideline for those of you who do not share this amazing talent, I have decided to present the step by step process that I used to deal with a recent problem I encountered. I hope that it will be helpful to you all throughout the rest of your lives.

It's come to my attention that I should say from the very beginning that everything is totally fine. Really. Peaches and light over here. Swear. Ok, now you may continue.

Beth's Little Instruction Book on How to React when you are 25 Weeks Pregnant and Discover Spotting in the Form of Three Nearly Microscopic Drops of Blood While at a Concert with Everyone You Work With and No Car

Step 1: Cry hysterically.
Step 2: Make four trips to the bathroom in 10 minutes to check for more blood.
Step 3: Cry some more.
Step 4: Decide to call your husband to come get you.
Step 5: Curse your husband for being an hour away and having neither a private jet nor a Star Trek style transporter.
Step 6: Decide to call an ambulance.
Step 7: Try to be rational. Decide that three nearly microscopic drops of blood is not worthy of calling an ambulance to pick you up from the concert. Decide to wait and call the ambulance as soon as you get home.
Step 8: Realize it is almost time to leave. Go find everyone you work with and try to act normal.
Step 9: Sit on the steps of the concert venue with everyone you work with while they drink beer and get even more hammered, because when you have a charter bus you can never really be sufficiently hammered.
Step 10: Finally finally finally head home while trying not to cry or scream to all the drunk people that you are about to go into premature labor and could they please show a little respect or at least give you some of that vodka.
Step 11: While driving past the hospital, decide to go running into the emergency room screaming that your baby is dying and they have to help you right away. Decide to compromise by calling your doctor as soon as you get home and waking her from a sound sleep to report the three microscopic drops of blood and insist that she rush straight to your house immediately. In her pajamas, there is no time to change.
Step 12: Get home. Make another four trips to the bathroom in 10 minutes to check for more blood.
Step 13: Break out the Doppler and check the heartrate. Twice. Ok, one more time just to be safe.
Step 14: Check email. (Shut up, I admit I'm an addict.)
Step 15: Decide everything is ok. Decide not to wake your husband and freak him out because you are freaked out enough for both of you and have decided everything is ok.
Step 16: Go to bed. Get up every 10 minutes all night to check for blood. Get up every 20 minutes all night to check the heartrate. Around 4 AM run out of ultrasound gel and start using hair gel instead. When you run out of hair gel, switch to olive oil.
Step 17: Call the doctor first thing in the morning.
Step 18: Call the doctor back after the office actually opens. Cry hysterically. Realize you have called the wrong office.
Step 19: Call the right office. Cry hysterically until they give you an appointment just to get you off the phone.
Step 20: Go to the doctor. Realize you have worn black socks and get upset because they look so tacky in the stirrups and clash with the drape.
Step 21: Try to act funny and intelligent for the doctor, making it clear that you realize you are being a little irrational but also making it clear that she had better do whatever it is she needs to do to be able to tell you that your baby is fine and perfect and healthy and will certainly win a Nobel Prize before she is 30.
Step 22: Pretend you are somewhere else and not really lying on a table while someone pokes you in the cervix.
Step 23: When the doctor tells you that everything is fine, pretend like you knew that all along and only came in because when you called the nurse just to say good morning and see how she was she threatened to steal your entire collection of Winnie the Pooh baby clothes if you didn't come in right away.
Step 24: Act very calm and rational when you tell your husband about it. Make it clear that it is no big deal and be slightly condescending about how silly he is to get upset over such a little thing.

Too bad you can't see her toes

Wanna see my beautiful baby? Ok, ok, stop begging, it is so unbecoming. You can check her out over at her place.

Ambivalence

I've been desperate to have a baby for about three years. When the biological alarm clock finally went off, it did it with a vengeance and when Chris and I decided to wait a little longer to start trying I thought my intestines were going to fall right out of my body. And then we did start trying, and it was hard. My lazy ass ovaries refused to cooperate. So there were doctors who were unable to find anything wrong and then a particularly horrid summer where having a baby seemed like the stupidest idea I had ever come up with and then out of what seemed like nowhere a little pink line. Two little pink lines actually. I was thrilled. And terrified.

It's hard to describe how I feel about this baby. It isn't love, exactly, although I'm sure it will be once I meet her. It's more the feeling that nothing I have ever done or ever will do will be more important. I can't wait to see her, to meet her and feed her and bathe her and change her diapers and walk her around the living room for hours when she cries and see her learn to crawl and walk and talk and read and write and dance and drive. I want this baby. I adore her. I want to spend the rest of my life caring for and worrying about her.

But sometimes, I wonder why. Sometimes, it all seems like a colossal pain in the ass and I wonder why I wanted this in the first place and whether I really want it now. I think about having a screaming toddler or a mouthy, sullen teenager. About driving to ballet class and soccer practice and having my house always a mess with crayon on the wall and juice stains on the couch. I think about how I will probably be giving up a job that, while it does not fulfill my soul, I am very good at and for which I am well compensated and I think about how long it will take me to start over and work my way back up. I think about not being able to go out to dinner or a movie whenever we feel like it because we won't have anybody to watch the kid and probably won't be able to afford it anyway. I think about all the diapers and all the laundry and all the hours reviewing spelling words and trying to teach her algebra and how I really can think of lots of ways I would rather spend my time.

I resent all of these things, and then I hate myself for thinking them. But I wonder, do I really want this? Am I really ready to make all these sacrifices? Did I really want to give up so much of what I have to take on this new thing that I cannot yet fully understand or appreciate or anticipate?

Yes. I'm terrified, but yes. I question it, but yes. I don't fully understand why I want it, but yes.

Yes.

Final Score

My beautiful baby girl: 2
Doctors who tell me she might have some horrible birth defect based on bogus evidence: 0

We had our third (and hopefully last) ultrasound this morning. Lima Bean is healthy and beautiful and kicking me in the bladder. She weighs two pounds and has my toes. The cyst from the last ultrasound is gone. (Oh, I guess I didn't tell you about the cyst. No point telling you now, since it's gone.)

I didn't cry. I climbed up on the roof and cheered, but I didn't cry.

Strings

Ok, I've never done this before, but I do occasionally read through the search strings that bring people to my site. Lately, I am getting lots of hits looking for playmates, thanks to calling myself Miss March, and lots of hits looking for pictures of naked pregnant women. So apologies to anyone who came here looking for boobies, but I can offer you a really lovely belly shot if you hit the archives.

Anyway, yesterday I saw a search string that made me laugh so hard I nearly fell out of my chair. I tried it myself and found that I was the third hit for this particular query, but that there were three pages of results, which made me laugh even harder. I really wish I could tell you what the search string was, but I just can't. Instead, I decided that since I had gotten so much entertainment from my search strings, I would share some of my favorites with all you dear people.

rent my boobs
Thanks, but I don't need to anymore. I finally have my own.

falling down the stairs when pregnant
I got this one like 8 times. Yes, I fell down the stairs while pregnant. Is there anybody who didn't fall down the stairs while pregnant? I've never met them.

can you touch pregnant woman's belly?
Not if you are attached to that hand.

pictures of whine poo
I really hope this was supposed to be Winnie the Pooh, because otherwise I just can't imagine.

beth naked pictures
I already said no. I know it's crushing, but you need to get over it.

why are people short waisted
Because someone has to compensate for my 4 foot long torso.

men forced to wear maternity clothes
It was only once. How did you find out?

how to get a fatter belly
Because this is something you want?

things not to say pregnant woman wife
Pretty much anything

cutest belly
I know, but I hate to brag.

beethoven moo
Moo? Moo?

is it ok to poke the baby while pregnant to make it move
Yes! As much as you like! But don't ask your doctor because she will tell you to stop.

a cranky wife
You've been talking to my husband, right?

flaming butt
Ouch

ugg boots and pantyhose
Ok, Ugg boots were hideously ugly to start with and have also been thankfully over for at least a year. Also, pantyhose are disgusting.

amnio wine
I might have agreed to the amnio if I knew it came with wine.

what is the difference between a pregnancy belly and bloating?
You mean other then the fetus?

random facts about boogers
I just wanted to say boogers on my blog.

how do twinkies get babies
Probably has something to do with the creamy filling.

Things that have made me cry in the last week (abridged version)

The vending machine at work running out of animal crackers.

Reading Love You Forever.

Blog paranoia. Not familiar? It goes something like this. "Gosh, Suzie hasn't commented on my blog in a while. Actually, Suzie hasn't responded to any of my comments on her blog in a while either. She must hate me. No, wait, she's just really busy. No, she hates me. I'll bet Katie said something bad about me to her and now she hates me. Or else she really is just busy. No, I'm positive she hates me." Repeat daily, or more often if needed.

My husband. He shouldn't be making me cry, right? He should be psychic and able to tell precisely at any second the exact right thing to say to me to make me not cry. I think he just isn't trying.

My job. I mean, they want me to do actual work. I can't work, I'm pregnant.

All the ice cream vending machines at the zoo being broken.

All the bananas this morning being either too ripe and mushy or still green.

Knowing that I have to have another sonogram on Wednesday, because clearly they screwed up last time and this time will find something terribly, terribly wrong.

Getting a sunburn. Not because it hurts, just because it is unattractive.

Every single baby I have seen.

Why I rock and am also nuts

Wow. You all are some crazy, baby-naming fools! Thanks for all the recommendations; I will submit them to the committee for consideration. (The committee is me, Chris and the cats. Yes, the cats get a vote.)

So anyway, on a non-baby topic, I just got promoted. Yay me! Except that I am not really promoted in that I don't get any more money or a different job grade and I get people theoretically reporting to me but not really, so basically I get to do more work and I get nothing in return other than the satisfaction of a job well done which as we all know does not buy any pairs of shoes and therefore sucks as recompense. However, I did get an email sent out to various people I work with listing other people I work with as reporting to me, so now I feel all powerful and important and am going to make my new peons go wash my car. Or maybe I will wash their cars, because honestly I've done management before and I suck at it. (And by "done management" I mean that I have been management before, not that I have done management so you can all just get your minds out of the gutter. Except wait, Chris has been in management too, so I guess that technically I have done management after all and done it fairly well, if I do say so myself. Wait, I think this is going somewhere I really don't want to go. Nevermind.)

I am curious about two things about my new sorta promotion. First, I am going on maternity leave in 108 days. Second, I blog all day. Does this seem odd to anybody else? I seem to have some sort of special golden aura when it comes to jobs, because people love, adore and promote me no matter what I do. I don't understand it, but I live in fear that someday it will stop and I will have to start actually making an effort. Let's hope that doesn't happen anytime soon, as I am currently too busy being pregnant to do a real job.

Since I am being disjointed and nonsensical today already, I will leave you with a conversation Chris and I had last Friday as we left the lovely yummy Indian restaurant where we had dinner.

Me: I always think that sign says Burpa Thai.
Chris: It does.
Me: No, it doesn't.
Chris: Oh, you're right. I thought it was Burpa Thai too. You know, like Hug Your Dog, Burp A Thai.
Me: (Silence)
Chris: What? I mean Hug Your Dog, Burp A Thai, as in burp an actual Thai person.
Me: Yeah, I got it, I just don't see the connection between hugging a dog and burping a Southeast Asian person.

(I know it's only funny if you were there, and also were us, I just feel the need to occasionally prove that my husband is as insane as I am.)

Name that baby!

Chris and I have started seriously talking about coming up with a name other than Lima Bean for the baby (although I think Lima Bean Bupkis has a certain ring to it), and I thought I would turn to you, the brilliant and beautiful internet people, for a little help. Now, this game sort of sucks for you, because we aren't going to tell anybody what name we choose until the Lima Bean is actually here, and I probably won't even tell you what makes it to the short list, but you should play anyway because I'm pregnant and therefore it's all about me.

For anyone who came late to this particular party, Lima Bean is a girl.

I'll take first names only or first name middle name combos. Also, bonus points for any name that incorporates the name of one of our grandmothers in a way that isn't a horrible cruel thing to do to a child. (Their names are Marie, Pearl, Lucille and Carol.)

Double bonus points for avoiding recommending any names that I hate based on them belonging to someone who has emotionally scarred me for life. However, I'm not going to tell you what those names are because I think it's more of a challenge that way.

And finally, anybody who recommends a name we use will receive a prize, however it will be after the baby is born so it may take me a year to get it to you and it's also possible that the prize will consist of some pocket lint and a half empty tube of diaper rash ointment. On second thought, maybe the prize will be the right to opt out of receiving the prize.

Ok, I think that's it. So come on people, Name That Baby!

Pregnant girls are crazy

Pregnant girls are crazy. At least, I am choosing to believe that pregnant girls are crazy because I prefer it to thinking that I am this crazy all on my own. Oh what, you want proof? Fine, here are the latest examples of how I am stark raving mad.

I am wearing a clearly-identifiable maternity shirt to work today for the first time. I have been avoiding this like the plague even though I have been down to 3 non-maternity shirts that still fit for several weeks, because if I wear a maternity shirt to work PEOPLE WILL KNOW I'M PREGNANT! Is that bad? No. So why does it freak me out? No idea.

I got no sleep on Sunday night. And I don't mean "I got no sleep" as in "I only got a couple hours." I mean I got no sleep, as in zero minutes, all night. It was sort of fun, in that at 2 AM I decided to amuse myself by listening to the Lima Bean's heartbeat with my Doppler and at 3 AM I decided to go out and refill the windshield washer fluid in my car. Also, during my night of zero minutes of sleep, I learned that Lima Bean parties all night long. She started going to town at about midnight (do you have any idea how long it has been since I have seen midnight?) and went pretty much non-stop until about 5. Which first of all, yay! Second, no wonder I didn't feel her move earlier. She has to sleep all day to save up energy to breakdance all night. Third, clearly she already hates me and only moves when she thinks I won't notice. Yup, my unborn child hates me. It's the only explanation.

Over the weekend, I was sitting on the couch and Lima Bean decided to move around and she kicked the same spot on my belly a couple times in a row. So, I got Chris to put his hand there in case she did it again. And she did! He felt her kick! But, he hasn't blogged about it. Clearly this means that he doesn't love the baby or else that he already has had three babies by three other women and got all excited when those babies moved so now a baby moving is totally old hat to him. Oh, if for some reason you happen to have had my husband's baby, would you please let me know how big the baby's head was?

Oh yeah, the head thing. I had a really big head. Well, I still have a great big melon head, but it matters less these days since nobody has to squeeze my great big melon head out of any part of their body. Anyway, I am terrified that Lima Bean is also going to have a great big melon baby head. I mean, you know those blow up beach balls? That size. And somehow, I think that would hurt. So I've pretty much decided that she can just stay where she is forever, except that then I would never get to dress her up in Winnie the Pooh outfits.

So yup, being pregnant has made me crazy. Or else, just very very smart to figure out all these things I should be worried about.

Weekend update and some pictures

Long weekend

So let's see, so far my long weekend has included a prenatal massage, shopping for fat clothes, shopping for baby clothes (I didn't mean to, it just happens), ordering nursery furniture, ordering a new mattress to replace our lousy mattress in the hope that it will somehow make me comfortable enough to sleep for the next four months, a pedicure, two naps, dinner at an Indian restaurant, two nights of take out to continue the long-weekend-cooking-boycott, two pairs of new shoes (since my feet have not yet swollen and it is the only thing I can still buy in my regular size), cleaning out my closet to replace all my lovely normal clothes with somewhat less lovely maternity clothes, two bad movies, lots of karate chops from the Lima Bean including one right into Chris's hand, sitting on the couch doing nothing while Chris put the second and third gallons of primer on the nursery walls, and sitting in the sun for all of 20 minutes and thereby earning myself the first, but certainly not last, sunburn of the year. All in all, four days of nothing very productive, which is exactly what I was going for.

Now, for the photo essay portion of the post. You may have gathered that I am somewhat obsessed with Winnie-the-Pooh, although only the original artwork, not the Disney crap. In my defense, I present my entire collection of Winnie-the-Pooh baby clothes. I think this is a very reasonable collection, although I still have four months left. (Also, notice that I am not offering a picture of my Winnie-the-Pooh stuffed animals because clearly a 30 year old woman is too mature to collect such things.)

And second, just for posterity, the 24 week belly pic. I feel I must point out, again just for posterity, that I am 24 weeks pregnant and those are still my regular jeans. And they are even actually buttoned.

Go ahead and hate me

Did I mention I'm taking a four day weekend? No? Well, I would love to tell you all about it but I can't right now or I will be late for my massage and pedicure. I'll try to fill you in this afternoon, unless I decide to get a facial too.

Never a hose when you need one

Ok, I know it's a gym and that we are all there (at least theoretically) to work out, which frequently involves getting sweaty and sometimes not exactly powder fresh. I am also willing to admit that although I am a delicate flower I have been known to occasionally break into a light, although very sexy, sweat myself after an hour or so on the treadmill and while I firmly believe that anything I produce smells like tulips and joy I am willing to entertain the possibility that I may occasionally be less than ideally scented. However, Dude. If you are already so ripe when you walk in the door that your particular odor can turn my stomach from five feet away, it may be time to seriously reevaluate your personal hygiene practices. Please, for the sake of humanity.

It's all about Meme

I've been tagged by Etherian!

You're stuck inside Fahrenheit 451, which book do you want to be?

Alice in Wonderland


Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?

Anne from The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell. What? As long as I'm having a crush on a fictional character, why can't it be a girl?


The last book you bought is:

The Baby Book by that Sears dude. It was recommended by a friend who's opinion I trust, and as it turned out it was not quite as psycho hippie freak as I thought it would be.


The last book you read:

Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life by Amy Krouse Rosenthal. She used to write weekly online columns - you may have seen them on Amused.com - handwritten, short vignettes about life in general. Totally brilliant. I don't know if a book was the best format for collecting her pieces, but it was still an enjoyable read.


What are you currently reading?

You Are Here: A Memoir of Arrival by Wesley Gibson. Although I just started this last night and was very tired so think I only read about 8 pages.


Five books you would take to a desert island.

Catcher in the Rye J. D. Salinger
The Sparrow Mary Doria Russell
Les Mis‚rables Victor Hugo
Ender's Game Orson Scott Card
Leaves of Grass Walt Whitman


Who are you going to pass this stick to (3 persons) and why?

Oh gosh - any volunteers?

Update: And the volunteers (so far) are:
Krush
Irene

Give me your money!

Well ok, don't give me your money. Instead, go give it to the lovely and clever Coleen. She's doing a Breast Cancer 3-Day and needs donations. We all like breasts, right? Who's not in favor of breasts? So go on, head on over there and make a donation for a good cause. I'm doing it. All the cool kids are doing it. Don't you want to be cool too?

If you prefer, you can go directly to Coleen's donation page here.

Sweet Revenge

I had an early meeting this morning, which meant that I had to get to work on time today which is very difficult lately thanks to the fatness and laziness of my (smokin') ass. So, last night I tried to get to bed and to sleep early so I could get myself up on time this morning. Just as I started trying to go to sleep, Lima Bean found her sea legs. I think she was doing jumping jacks because that kid was banging all over my belly. Ten times? Fifteen? I lost count. Now, she certainly isn't kicking hard enough yet to keep me awake, but I didn't want to go to sleep until she did because I didn't want to miss a single right hook or hip check. If there's a more truly incredible feeling than feeling your child move, I don't know what it is.

She's finally getting back at me for all the poking. I've created a monster and I couldn't be happier about it.

Weekend o' Beans

I'm always a little nervous about meeting bloggers in person. What if it's one of those awkward things where nobody can think of anything to say and we all sit around and stare silently at each other? What if they are bigger dorks than we are and we are too cool to hang out with them? What if they are totally psycho and somehow manage to conceal that fact on their blogs so they can lure unsuspecting fellow bloggers into their foul clutches? Well, this Saturday I met up with the fabulous Ms. Beans and her equally fabulous sister, and I need not have worried. First of all, we are definitely bigger dorks than they are. (Even though we were trying to be very cool and took them to Georgetown for lunch, there is just no hiding dorkiness.) We did not steal anything, we did not drive into a pillar (although that was a very near thing), and most importantly, we did not put Jesus in a box. All in all, I thought it was awesome, but we'll have to see if Ms. Beans ever speaks to us again now that the full magnitude of our dorkiness has been revealed.

Other than that, we also went to the National Gallery, saw the less than impressive cherry blossoms, and nearly died in a rain and hail storm. Well ok, we didn't nearly die but it was very loud. I wore an entire maternity outfit out in public for the first time, I think there are rats living in my attic just waiting to drop on my head one night when I am sleeping, and there are about 9 million different choices when it comes to nursery furniture so who wants to pick for me? I also hooked the Lima Bean up to the iPod via headphones strategically placed on my belly to see if she would dance, but she just ignored me and went back to sleep. I'm sure she's just saving her energy so she can spend 20 hours a day screaming after she is born.

A little help from the moms

Ok, Moms, I need your help. I've been going nuts because I haven't felt this baby move, and everybody keeps telling me that I must be feeling her move and just not knowing it - that I am dismissing it as gas or as hunger pangs. Everybody is wrong. It isn't that I feel things and think it isn't the baby, it's that I don't feel anything. Nothing. I have some pain from stretching ligaments and I have itching from stretching skin. That is the sum total of all sensations from my belly region for the past 6 weeks. I am just not feeling this baby move.

So this morning, I was lying quietly in bed just mentally willing her to move for me. Ok, I admit it; I was poking the hell out of her. Anyway, I was lying on my side and I sorta poked my belly from the bottom and then I put my hand on the side of my belly. And I felt a thud. A definite thud. So I did it again - poke, poke, poke, (pause,) thud. And a third time - poke, poke, poke, (pause,) thud. But here's the thing. I felt the thud in my belly, but I also felt it against my palm. Can that be her? Can a 23 week fetus kick so hard that I would feel it from the outside? Or is last night's pineapple pizza staging some sort of rebellion and going over the wall?

So tell me the truth, Moms, I can take it. Was that the Lima Bean? (Or you know what, if it wasn't her go ahead and lie to me, because I had a nasty week and a little bit of happy would go an awfully long way right now.)

April!

April first! Today is April first! Take that March, you bitch, you languorous old cow, you dilatory wench. I hated you from the beginning. I was totally over you two weeks ago, but you couldn't take a hint. Oh no, you had to stick around and rub it in, lord it over me in your annoying little singsong voice "March, March, it's still March." Well April first has vanquished your languid ass and I will have no more of you for a full eleven months.

Would you all please promise me that April is going to be better than March? Please? I don't mind if you lie. Also, I think you all should send me tulips and daffodils because they are my favorites and it would make me happy and naturally, it is all about me. You can just send them to my office, I'll be here until 5.