hand me downs

Oh man, we just got a bucket load of hand me downs. It is so exciting. It was pretty fun to go through it all and just see all the cute stuff I never would have thought to buy or never would have bought for myself. There are some REI pants for a 6-9 month old that have those zip-off leg-parts, can you even believe it? Everything is of the “gender neutral” variety too, so we don’t have 8,000 pink things stuffed in the “in case it’s a girl drawer” (which we don’t have anyway). We basically won’t have to buy any clothes or toys for at least a year. At that point I imagine the grandparents will have sent us enough stuff to last way beyond that anyway! It’s also nice not to have to think about shopping. How do I know which toys are age appropriate? How do I know what size winter clothes to buy this baby? I don’t know, and now I don’t have to. Someone just gave me a wide variety, from a baby born just about this time last year, and we’ll see what works. Plus, your very own Average Joey got some sweet camouflage Capri maternity pants thrown in for free. Yipppee!

A very nice aspect of this handing-me-down was the time I got to spend with the mama getting rid of all the stuff. She kept asking me if we had certain things, from Wyatt, and wanted to know about important things like did I already have maternity bras if my milk came in last time--things like that which people either don't know to ask because they never had babies or don't want to ask because they feel sad and weird. It made me feel very justified as a mum, and sharing baby clothes felt like a very normal, mum thing to do too!

A journal or two

For Baby Wyatt, a journal’s all I really have. So, it’s pretty important, as you can imagine. I write him letters once in a while. Less often as time passes. Then I feel guilty of course, but I try to catch up and tell him everything he’s missed. Which doesn’t feel like much in the shadow of his little baby angel self. But I recently completed the first journal and had to buy a new one. I felt a wave of accomplishment, signing off on that last page, knowing that I was sticking to something I told myself I would do for him. I know he can’t read yet, gosh, he’d only be 11 months old, but it feels good to share and just feel sad and let the tears fly once in a while. I don’t always cry, but I would say usually I do. There’s too much loss in there because I just wonder what he would be doing if he were here instead of there. I think this journal will help my living children—God willing—understand him better and maybe know him a little more. I dunno. I did get a cute new journal with dogs on it though, so that’s pretty great.

For Baby#2, I started a journal pretty much before I knew I was pregnant. I was kicking myself for not keeping better track of my pregnancy with Wyatt; it’s all I had. I thought it was annoying to see people’s “Month X profile photo”s on Facebook and therefore never even took any myself. I thought I’d jinx myself for doing stuff like that. Well.

So, Baby2’s first journal is on my computer, so it’s not the letter-writing kind, just an update on Baby2 and my life. I put in photos from every week and try to come up with enough stuff to write about that it fills a page. The first few weeks were pretty boring, just about me being nervous. But now it’s getting hard to fit it all on just one page. This also brings a feeling of success: I’ve got stuff to talk about and share again! I suppose this is my plug for journals. Gooooooo journals!

Crib strength

We did it: we bought a crib! Baby Nugget will have a sleepy-time home other than at its mama’s breast or in some sling or something. And it’s not even some stupidly expensive, enormous, ridiculous looking contraption that also turns into a toddler bed, big kid bed, marital bed, Cuisinart, and wipes the baby’s butt for you (although that would be a nice perk). It’s simple and normal (and safe). Hooray!

This actually wasn’t as difficult a purchase as I expected. I still think “well, crap, what if we set up this crib and no baby gets to use it…” but I didn’t have a panic attic or start crying when forking over the credit card. I really thought this would be a bigger step for us—making a pretty big purchase for a baby we haven’t met yet—but I played it totally cool. I’m not sure what that means, but it feels good to look back and think my behavior was unexpected in a good way. We’ll see what happens when it’s time to set up said crib, but for now I am the victor!

Wills and things

Here is something grown-ups do: make wills. You can imagine how I felt about doing such a grown-up thing: weird. Since Hubby is a lawyer, he was able to get one of his buddies to help us perform such an adult act (and not F it up). It was even written in language I could understand, so it seemed to be a pretty legit document if I do say so. We brought some witnesses down to the notary and got those wills signed and delivered. So, now they’re real and everything. Baby#2 has a place to go if its world collapses. Our “money” and “assets” have places to be. Even the dog has a home—actually, any dog we have (sorry Puppy#1, but there will come a day…). I feel, well, grown up!

We also did some medical power of attorney documents. I like to call them the plug-pulling papers, but they’re a little more than that (a little). It’s hard to think about having to make ridiculously difficult decisions about Hubby if he becomes “incapacitated,” yet I feel very smart making and discussing such decisions now, under no duress. In fact, I was sitting in some sweats, probably eating a snack. No duress here. But there is a small dark cloud over all the anal planning-ahead going on around here. It’s just that we never got to this point with Wyatt. Poor Baby1 came too early to get any of this special grown-up behavior. He never got to know us as the responsible-on-paper parents we are. It stinks. 

Mother's Day

What a drag.

The past few weeks have been Mother’s Day this and Mother’s Day that. Every store has some giant poster in the window, every restaurant and spa is offering some deal, everyone is worried they won’t do their mom justice with whatever gift they decide to give. I was more nervous about making it through the day then I actually had trouble once it was here because of this commercial mayhem. Silly build-up.

Unfortunately, in the frenzy, some mothers get forgotten. And some "motherless" children too—they’re sad too, don't forget them. Well, screw that. Happy Mother’s Day to ME. I got sunburned on a snowy hike with my brother, Hubby, and dog, had a Shirley temple while watching some basketball playoff game in a bar, ate gross nachos, and watched a few episodes of Jersey Shore. Maybe nobody was here to give me a present, but maybe someday there will be. That will have to be enough for now. 

Jealous Me vs. Excited Me

I have this problem with other pregnant people: I am super excited for them or I am super jealous of them. I know I’ve mentioned before that there doesn’t seem to be any rationale behind who gets which feeling directed at her; it changes even for the same people. So really I guess the problem isn’t that I have and recognize these emotions but rather than I can’t figure out when which one is going to strike. It’s very confusing. I’ve given up trying to predict how I am going to react though. That would be even worse to get all mixed up every time my mind and heart pulled a fast one on me.  

So here’s an example: there’s a baby shower coming up. Luckily, I had a great excuse to turn down the invitation (I’ll be across the country!) and I didn’t have to spend any time agonizing over my decision and then agonizing over how to share that decision (because let’s face it, I wouldn’t have gone). So, this pregnant lady made me jealous of planning a shower and all the excitement people are having over the afternoon, the registry, and blah blah blah. I’m jealous because I can’t do it, I just can’t. I’m jealous because she gets to be normal about it. I’m jealous because everyone gets to share in her joy and anticipation. I’m not mad at her, just jealous. A little green, if you will. At the same time however, I can enthusiastically and happily and giddily shop for this mama-to-be. Oh yes. It doesn’t seem fair to my wallet now does it? But I spent some time considering the registry options (judging some of the choices, naturally), and I spent even more time perusing the racks at the Carter’s outlet store and making the book-page that was requested as part of one big shower gift. Baby girls’ clothes are way more fun to shop for than gender-neutral-surprise clothes. As a Leo, I am supposed to enjoy giving to other people anyway (I think). But it’s funny, that this shower can make my heart race in trepidation yet allow me a fun afternoon in the mall at the same time. Hmm. 

The Big Nursery Purchase

When you think of a baby nursery, I can guarantee you don’t think of what we have in store for this little Joey. Currently, this second bedroom is Hubby’s office and ski storage area as well as a place for my photo albums, arts and crafts supplies, and a bulletin board where I hang random things I need to remember but never look at. Stuff sits precariously on a too-skinny bookshelf which, I just noticed, is propped up on the uneven carpet with a folded piece of paper. There’s also a crappy old, stained, sea-foam colored swivel chair from approximately 1983; I’m not sure how this got from New England to Colorado but I vaguely remember my father refusing to deal with it otherwise when helping us pack the U-Haul. We do have a small red-painted dresser salvaged from my parents’ flooded basement and passed on to us as cute little baby furniture. It’s been collecting cloth diapers and dust, but not much else as we cautiously navigate Baby #2’s potential imminence. Hub’s clothes, ski passes, important legal documents, coffee mugs, and other detritus litter the floor. About once a week I walk by and notice the mayhem, so I ask dear old Hubby if he is going to clean up “his room.” Sometimes he does. I suppose he’s saving a good cleaning for “some day” when we might actually get to use this second bedroom as, well, a second bedroom.

Exhibit A
(except ours has a baby-saving rim
around the edge because it's awesome)

I am starting to believe, a little, that that day will come. Exhibit A: the changing table I bought on craigslist. Yes, it is used, yes, it was only $50, yes, it is a combination dresser so if we don’t actually get to change poopy messes on it it won’t be so glaringly obvious and sad and lonely and can still be used as something…but a changing table it is. First, I wavered on going to check it out. Then, I wavered on buying it. When I finally bit the bullet, handing over the cash, I felt unexpectedly elated. I was making future plans! I even made the couple selling it load it into my car because I’m pregnant and pregnant ladies don’t have to lift stuff and get to make other people do it. Sure, it then sat in the corner of the room, facing the wrong way for a week and a half before we did anything with it, but yesterday, when we moved it and unloaded diaper-stockpile-madness onto it, we loved it. And even today I love it still. It’s scratched, and needs a pad and all kinds of accoutrements, but it’s there. That has to count for something, right?

The [dreaded] shower

I’m supposed to be a glowing, basketball-bellied, excited mama to be. I’m supposed to be giddy and giggling and have ants in my pants about the unknown. I’m supposed to complain about how much weight I’m gaining, worrying about stretch marks and pooping on the delivery table (some baby magazine said that was the #1 concern of 64% of expectant mothers in one poll!) and oh, how annoying it is to be pregnant. I would say I’m about 50% those things and 50% completely different things. Being pregnant for 7 months and giving birth to a perfect little boy who just happened to not be alive will do that to you next time around I suppose. In fact, 50% might be pretty good, all things considered!

So, I may be wary, nervous, and feel at times like an absolute worry wort (wart?). I may have sad memories and awful predictions as compared to other lucky, naïve moms-to-be. I may get mad that I have to think this way. But one real kicker, really kicking me when I’m down, is: the baby shower. The dreaded shower. Really. Oy. What could be more awful than sitting around with a bunch of ladies, drinking tea, eating decadent snacks, having people fawn all over you, and opening baby presents?

 If it doesn’t sound that bad it’s because it’s not. I mean, people love showers. Especially the people who throw them. So I feel terrible warning people they better not try to throw me a shower—or else. Capital ELSE. I couldn’t take it. I can hardly stand it anyway, being anti-social and uncomfortable in groups, but celebrating something I don’t even have yet seems to be asking for a big slap in the face. And what if I have to pack those presents away because Baby#2 can’t use ‘em? What if I have all these cute photos from the shower and I just end up wanting to rip them to shreds to erase the memories? It’s so totally unfair that this is my point of view, but it is. Alas. I can’t do it. I will have to eat bonbons and buy things by myself. The real pain though is that I feel guilty. People want to throw me a party. They want to buy presents. They want to be a part of this difficult time in my life. Those are not bad things. And I have to push them away and say no. It’s terrible. But this Average Josephine is bucking tradition for the sake of her sanity. You can send me a present later, ok?

Oh, shopping

 Girls are supposed to love shopping, right? Well, for me, especially now, not so much. But online shopping—or at least online window shopping (what’s that called?)—has become a wonderful tool in my “subsequent” pregnancy.  If I get excited about looking for something, I can just do it. I mean, that’s the whole point of online shopping anyway, but for most people it’s the simple convenience factor of remaining on the couch that’s the draw, not the fear factor that’s the repellent (I suppose for some people it’s both). I can shop for baby and mama stuff without having to see smiley, happy, oblivious pregnant people everywhere I go who remind me what it should feel like and how sad it is I can’t feel that way.  Or I can at least online “shop” without buying anything so when I do go into a store I know exactly what I want and I can get out of there ASAP (for the same aforementioned reasons).

Now, we’re pretty conservative in what we think is important to have before Nugget comes (we don’t have any money anyway), but I still want to try to be a normal pregnant lady and have a little fun spending cash and dreaming about cute little clothes and fun , frivolous nursery decorations. The Internet is where I get to be that lady. I’ve braved myself into a few stores, but mostly at curious times of day when they’re not busy and I have errands to run so I can’t stay long regardless of what I find. You don’t have to be brave to type in some web address and look around! Actually buying stuff has become a little easier as time passes…but I’m still holding off on the big purchases. I just can’t do it yet. Sometimes I feel lucky we hadn’t done much shopping for Wyatt—there wasn’t too much stuff to seal away in the attic. But sometimes that makes me sad because he don’t have much we can call “his” and therefore hand-me-down to whatever little creature comes out. So mostly I’m just in a non-buying limbo, thinking about fun stuff we can get ready at some undetermined time in the future. At least it’s good for the bank account!

ps. this is only a dream image of Average

Josephine braving the world of cute onesies 

and other fun, unnecessary things

it's a new month

I have to admit I extra-enjoy ripping off calendar pages these days. Throwing February in the recycling bin was a fun activity that gave me a puff of courage: one more month down, one less to brave ahead. I have nothing against February of course; it’s just the months between now and my due date in general that I’m not so keen on. Plus, our lacrosse games start in March (tomorrow in fact) and that means I can actually see how I’m doing at my job and how the heck we hold up under pressure and in real competition, so that’s a bonus. Also, it means I will be extra busy and I’m hoping that means the time flies by. We’ll see.

It’s funny how sometimes life seems to go so slowly or so quickly and you can’t even be sure why it changes or what makes the difference. I’d like to see some psychology studies on that. Since November I’ve definitely felt the days dragging, yet turned around and suddenly found it three weeks later than I thought it was. While I’m not rushing through the days, I highly enjoy when they’ve passed and
I’ve still got a baby on board (obviously). As hard as I try to avoid the
morbid thoughts, they sometimes hit me. It’s usually when I’m tired,

p.s. check out this crazy pillow for the knocked-up

which makes me cranky and hormonal anyway, and I just can’t help but wonder if everything’s okay at the same time as wishing I wasn’t in this situation. I had a baby 7 months ago…but I don’t have a 7 month old baby. It’s so unfair! I just want to punch stuff. 

But mostly I’m good at remaining positive—

as long as I get enough sleep I’m fairly optimistic. 

Note to potential dads out there: let your woman sleep! 

genetic screening

We’re coming up on the time for second-trimester genetic screening. This is when labs check some hormones in the blood to see the risks of the baby having certain disorders. More blood tests, obviously. What am I, a science experiment?  These tests don’t say “yes” or “no” about having the chromosomal or neural issues, but they give you a 1/x chance. Like people at my age have a 1/350 chance of having a baby with chromosomal defects, but the test can show 1/6500 (like Wyatt, who clearly aced it of course) which obviously should make you feel better. If it doesn’t look better than chance, you can get more invasive tests that can tell you more definitively. I’d rather not have a two-foot needle poked through my uterus to actually diagnose problems, but we’ll worry about that later if we have to (knock on wood for me).

I think they can look for a bunch of “markers” on the mid-pregnancy ultrasound too. I can’t wait to see that sucker, but I need to learn more and ask lots of questions, sigh. With Wyatt, I had one screen in the first trimester, but my doctor didn’t talk about that one this time and I guess I forgot to ask. Maybe because we discussed having them around 16-17 weeks I let it go? It’s kind of blurry, looking back. His 1984 ultrasound machine probably doesn’t do the first trimester ones anyway, ha. I kind of wish we had both screens done, now that I’ve actually brushed up on my research, but I suppose I trust this kind of screen just as well. It’s still nerve wracking. I mean, I’d like to know what’s going on in there, but even if I had every diagnostic test known to man there are still so many unknowns, as we know from experience. Additionally, it might show elevated chances and then I’ll have to decide if it’s worth doing the more invasive tests…and have even more stress. Or maybe it will say everything’s fine and then it won’t be, which only postpones the stress, grr.

Some people don’t want these screens. They don’t want to know if their baby has problems because it doesn’t matter to them. I totally get that—your baby is your baby and you love it regardless. It might also be about religion, or morals, or...whatever. But me, I’m eliminating as many secret surprises as I can. I need to be prepared, because last time I sure as hell wasn’t (it wasn't about genetic defects, but still). It will be surprise enough to hear a baby crying after I push it out this time; I’d like to be prepared for everything else that follows. I should have faith that the baby is okay, considering 90-something % are born perfectly, and alive, but I just need to check. I really do. It’s one thing I can control. 

I know it’s a human baby, so I’ve at least got that going for me.

Superbowl meltdown (off-field)

Oh jeez, who would have though Superbowl Sunday could bring me to tears? Well, I’m sure plenty of Pittsburgh Steelers fans maybe cried that evening, but I was happy not to see them win again. That’s not the point though, the point is I came home from the game and cried on the couch for a good hour, desperately upset about a stupid stroller I saw at the party we went to.

We bought Wyatt a stroller. The day, literally, before he was born. We’re lucky it re-sold so damn fast on craigslist once we were brave enough to post it (we made $10—cha-ching!) because I just wanted to throw it in the highway every time I had to step around it in the garage. Our Superbowl party hosts, Hubby’s boss and wife, are about halfway through “their” first pregnancy (it feels weird to say it belongs to both of them, but I guess it does, and it’s easier to write it that way). 

They had a stroller and car seat set-up in their basement, where we watched the game. Luckily, I didn’t see it until our walk out (too many drunken people between my perfect viewing position and the back wall) because it sent shivers down my spine. I immediately panicked for them: what if their baby dies now? By the time we got home I couldn’t stop remembering I was pregnant and I had my own Nugget to worry about. What if my baby dies now that they bought a stroller? Wait, that makes no sense. IT DOESN’T MATTER. It made me cry forever. Finally a Tom Brokaw documentary about the guy who had to rip off his own arm in the Utah canyons distracted me. It was a good show. But it didn’t make me completely forget the first stroller I ever bought for my first baby and how we’ll never get to use it. Sigh. 

I heart cloth diapers

The first, and just about only, purchase I made for Baby Wyatt was cloth diapers. A few weeks after we moved to Colorado, we started our research with a “seminar,” if you will. Some store hosted a “class” on cloth diapers, knowing full well that most people around these parts want to save the world but can only picture ratty, gray slits of cloth and sticking our babies with pins by mistake and need some education. Truth.  We attended said class and learned about the new generation of amazing baby booty protection—no pins involved! Then we oohed and aahed around the store yet resisted buying anything from them, ha. So, you can still get your granny’s old school style cloth dipes, but they are updated and have safe, catchy pin-together-without-pointy-parts contraptions and obviously newer, better fabric options. With those, you have to get cute little waterproof cover so your baby’s tinkle doesn’t run through onto…well, everything. The latest and greatest styles, however, involve no pin-like contraptions whatsoever and come with diaper and cover combed into one. They are magical. You rip the whole thing off and wash it as such. Done and done. The ones Hubby and I are into have a “pocket” in which you slide extra inserts of pee and poo-absorbing goodness, if you want. You can even double up when you have a “heavy wetter.” We’ll see if Nugget wants to be one of those, oh boy. This type is the same as the all-in-one deals but I guess they wash and dry easier/quicker because they can be taken apart a little. Easier washing and drying? Win!

]

Let’s discuss the idea that perhaps using cloth diapers is not as eco-friendly as it may at first seem. After all you have to wash and dry those puppies, and detergent is bad for the earth and water is a precious resource. Well, friends, it doesn’t matter. Studies show you still make less waste; in places like sunny Colorado you don’t even have to use the dryer. So there. Also, if you are like me, you seriously consider cash flow as a very close second to not using plastic. This is why you should really use cloth diapers: you can get as many as you need for $600. Maybe I’ll spend more because I like them so much. Compare that to the $1500 or $2000 you will spend on ONE child’s crappy disposable diapers and you really cannot argue.

Because there are now so many companies making these amazing plastic-reducing, landfill helping, wallet-friendly diapers, I can spend hours online shopping for the cutest ones and reading all the reviews. It is unfortunate I did not get shopping sooner, but it is fun that I still have to work on our collection. Can you say procrastination? I can! And I do. 

Home Doppling

I’m not sure Doppling is a verb, but I think it sounds good anyway. It reminds me of German class. (Note: I’m not sure if that’s good or bad, it’s just an observation). So, home Doppling, as one could infer, is the act of using a Doppler at home. I suppose this could be for weather predicting, or some kind of research involving sound travel, but for me it relates specifically to the observation, and hopefully hearing the heartbeat, of Nugget. Hubby got me this incredibly cool Doppler contraption for Christmas; as many gifts tend to be, this one was bought equally for the use of the buyer as the receiver, but that’s okay, really. He needs my cooperation to use it anyway. The directions were definitely made for doctor-types, which makes me wonder how we got a hold of it (and really if we should be using it), but we figured them out enough to see that the heartbeat may be audible around the 10 week mark. Of course we had to try it this weekend, since Nugget hit 10 weeks on some previous weekday. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get my hopes up, considering the giant may looming in the directions, but we slapped some gel on the ol’ wand and gave it a whirl. I know my heartbeat ain’t in the 130s, and I don’t think there should be any other living creatures in my body, so it totally worked!

Now that it works, my problem is that I can’t become obsessed with it. I mean, working part-time leaves a lot of time to mess around with gadgets and Google stuff. Translation: find things to worry about. The key will be not to play with the Doppler every day and not use it in lieu of actual medical attention. Once this baby starts moving I know I can find some other signs of life and goodness, and hopefully not need to check the heart rate as much, but what if this one doesn’t move that much, like Wyatt? I had absolutely no idea he was dead because he never that much told me he was alive; if it’s like that again I’ll be going through tubes—no, tubs—of gel like some whorehouse. But I suppose anything that can ease my mind is worth it, right? Unless of course I find something on Google that tells me too much Doppling is bad news bears…oh dear.

Gimme, Gimme!

It’s registry time! The grandparents-to-be are swarming us with gift ideas, asking what to tell their friends about gift ideas, and generally getting on us to become “prepared.” What, you don’t just bring home a baby from the hospital and wing it? Dang.

Registries are very fun and very, very awkward. Why should we presume people will buy us gifts? And on top of that, why do we get to tell them what to buy us? Who do we think we are, anyway? Well, as awkward, and I would say even rude, as they feel (maybe it’s just me?), we are putting one together. If someone wants to help us out then we should let them know how, if they’re interested. (If they are buying us a gift I assume they are interested…but anyway.) Something about it just feels really wrong though. Like you get to actually tell Santa what you want for Christmas and he might listen.

The fun part, though, is really fun. I would say it’s half the thrill-factor (we can ask for anything we want?) and half the procrastination-factor that make it so enjoyable. Don’t want to do work? Check on the registry instead. Changed your mind about that pea-green jumpsuit? Go change its color! The wonderful, wonderful World Wide Web can honestly make anything happen. Probably I’ll register for a Wii (I guarantee some baby store has them), new skis, and a cable subscription just because it is possible someone would buy those for us. And if they don’t, I’m not any worse off am I?

Ps. www.myregistry.com lets you complete a “lifestyle” registry. This means you need absolutely no reason for asking for gifts other than you have a “lifestyle.” I told you it was amazing!

Stretchy is good

I have to admit I’ve taken to unbuttoning my pants after meals. I suppose this is a sign that the belly is coming in after all. Because said growth has sneaked up on me, my only defense is the old unbuckle/unbutton. I think I’m still weeks away from hitting up the maternity store, but as a first timer I’m not guaranteeing myself anything.

Wearing a belt is a pretty good way to not admit I’m loosening the old waist: no one has to know, because a buckled belt looks the same no matter what hole you use. This does mean I have to wear belts to work every day, but I’ve got a few big buckles I can trade in to spice it up. It’s not a big deal, and if I can keep people from seeing how I’ve begun resting my hands on my belly while I lean back in my chair then I think I can make it eight more work days until my contract runs out and I leave—and then tell everyone as I’m walking out the door so they can’t make a big deal because I’m already on the subway and waving goodbye.

It’s pretty liberating to just let your gut hang out when it’s too big for your pants. This may or may not become a full-time habit. Soon I can use my "BellyBand" which I bought on sale at Target, like, forever ago. It is a sweet contraption that covers the top of your un-buttoned pantalones and the bottom of your belly so you can keep wearing all your old pants even though they aren't even close to closing. I bet it is snug and cozy too.

They're everywhere!

Or should I say we’re everywhere. Pregnant ladies that is. Literally, I see them everywhere. Did you know the lady two doors down is pregnant? How about at least one woman at every train stop on the way to and from work? And the opposing coach from the other day? I even saw some mama in the Boston Marathon with a six months preggers belly (she advertised the date on her back). None of the others have made me feel lazy, but that was bound to happen now wasn’t it. Jeez I guess I am slacking.

Hubby’s getting into strollers, so that’s what he sees everywhere. His fave is this BOB doohickey he’s trying to get me to save up for. Really Hubs? You need this four-wheel drive, double-decker contraption with shocks? I don’t even know what BOB is, but I suppose as long as one of us is doing the research I’m feeling good. Well, except about that bitch showing me up in the marathon.

Other things to do

I pretty much forgot the whole baby thing for the past few days. As far as I can tell from movies and TV, that’s not normal. I’m supposed to be obsessed with getting pregnant, doing headstands after sex and then running to the bathroom to take a pregnancy test. Didn’t the Bachelorette (the one successful one) go through, like, 100 pregnancy tests? She must have had a good payday from that show because let’s just say those things are not cheap. Something you pee on and then throw away should really be cheaper. Really.