I’m Moving!!

Hubby is so metro that for a mother-to-be gift he made me a new blog!!! I’m moving to www.heymeg.com – one day soon I’ll learn how to automatically transfer everyone there.  But in the meantime, come and find me!!

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It’s Never Too Early…

To be thinking about Halloween.  Now that we know our baby’s gender we are fully consumed with determining what Halloween costume would best suit a 4-week old boy.  This is a critical decision because it’s the only Halloween on which we will have full authority to choose his costume for him and it’s a chance to maximize our candy intake.  Plus if we play our cards right we’ll have an excuse to put a wig on a baby, which is always a chance worth taking. 

So far the ideas have included a family of farmers with baby as the piglet, and a pioneer family with baby in some sort of sad-looking Christening gown.  If we could get three more baby volunteers we could do a miniature KISS Army with mommy and daddy as crazed groupies, but that seems unlikely.  So, prizes for the best idea; bonus points for incorporating our two huge dogs.   Comments anyone?

Not To Brag, But…

Yesterday at the ultrasound I was told that I “have a perfect bladder.” Not something you hear every day. Even less common to hear it in front of your husband. Don’t be jealous; we can’t all be perfect.

I’ll Never Look At Twinkies The Same Way Again.

Baby Daddy and I are beside ourselves, having learned this morning that we’re having a boy.  In order to tell us this fact the ultrasound technician pointed her cursor at an ambiguous grey blob on the screen and said, “see there, that’s something girls don’t have.”

You have to understand that from the particular angle involved the object in question did not even appear connected to our baby.  After an awkward silence during which I’m pretty sure the technician determined we were complete idiots, I managed to flaunt both my thorough knowledge of the birds and bees and my superior deductive reasoning.  I said, “I know girls don’t have penises, is that what you’re referring to?”  Uh, yeah. It was.

For some reason after that, maybe because she thought we were so dumb, the technician consistently referred to our son’s “twinkie” and his “missile.”  I’m hoping he doesn’t draw any such comparisons himself, as I’d like him to learn grown-up terms for his anatomy.  However, if he gets too lippy with me in his teenage years, you better believe I will remind him of this story.  Humble beginnings, is all I’m saying.  

Just Wondering…

    

  Is there anyone out there who still loves the comic strip, “Cathy?”  

  And why is that, exactly?

Someone Please Smack Me.

On the day I got my bar exam results I was so nervous that I sweated through my suit and so punchy that I photocopied a bagel and billed it to a pretend client. 

Little did I know that the suspense of this afternoon would be so much worse! My 20-week ultrasound is in less than 24 hours and I have become completely irrational.  Good luck following my legal advice today, clients.  Just be grateful I’m not scanning my breakfast.

 

Meow Means Danger.

  Because my 20-week ultrasound is set for tomorrow, I’ve been thinking back to the very first prenatal appointment we had on Valentine’s Day and how weird the nurses’ questions were.  No one talked to me about smoking, drugs, domestic abuse or any number of other things you might consider relevant for a newly pregnant woman.  However, THREE different nurses came in to grill me about whether I have a cat. The prevalent warnings seemed to be “Don’t touch any cats,” “be careful about cats,” and my favorite, “don’t touch cat poop” (as if that’s just a huge temptation).  I know, I know: toxoplasmosis.  But for a disease that’s incredibly rare in the U.S. you’d think they might relax a bit regarding cats.  Especially since I’m CLEARLY a dog person!

Go Ahead, Laugh: It’s Funny!

 From the desk of our family archivist comes a memento that would be sad if not so hilarious.  Those struggling to mainstream kids with special needs may appreciate this early experiment in autobiographical fiction, written when I was about 10.  Suffice to say that 1) My parents were finding it difficult to get my disabled brother the equal education he deserved; 2) “Heather” = Me; and 3) I ended up becoming a lawyer.  A transcript of the bizarre cursive follows after the jump. Therapists, eat your hearts out.

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Sadly, I’m This Pitiful.

Note to men hanging around my office building this afternoon: What about me being 5 months pregnant, hot, tired, hungry and limping along in ridiculous office heels makes you think I would like to be whistled at?

Note to self: Still got it!!!!!

Pregnancy Dreams Are Weird!!

Last night I dreamed my baby was getting old enough to stop nursing, and I was ready to be done.  However we had just adopted a six-month-old baby, prompting a question as to whether I should nurse her too.  I decided no, I would go for fomula – but as a trade off I would put strawberries in it and let her get her ears pierced.  Now you tell me, what the heck does that mean?

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