Monday, September 20, 2004

Pregnancy Related Babble

So it happened to me again. But I think that I am at least developing a sense of humor about it. Karen and I went to Target on Saturday to research Diaper Genie vs. Diaper Champ vs. The Odorless Diaper Pail vs. Tied-Off WalMart Sack In A Trash Can (it's a fierce debate, truly it is.) A lady with a baby overheard us as we poked at the Diaper Genies. "Those are terrible," she said. "Get a Diaper Champ." We continued to have a nice discussion with her on poop and odor and disposal, and then wandered off.

About ten minutes later, she found me again and said, "Listen, I gotta ask... You can't be pregnant. Are you?" "Argh!" I yelled in mock agony, as my sister buried her head in some Amy Coe bedding, knowing the lamenting that was to follow. "Believe it or not, I am halfway through my pregnancy." She was stunned, and I actually thought that she was going to start pulling other shoppers into the baby aisle to examine my stomach. I swear, I was the eighth great wonder of the world. Come one and all, to see "The Pregnant Chick With No Tummy"! Bah.

Well, whatever. Jason got to feel some kicks last night, though. She usually wiggles and squirms when I crawl in bed at night. She was doing it, so I slowly reached over and put his hand on my stomach. She immediately socked it to him. He was very impressed, for about five more minutes, then went straight back to watching some documentary on winged migration. Which, by the way, I hated, because I CANNOT STAND to see those realistic documentaries where animals get shot or killed, such as in real life. Give me those old Disney 60's "Peter the Prairie Dog" shorts any day. So to avoid watching poor birds get sucked into toxic sewage at a Romanian smelting factory, I watched my stomach move. Sort of funny, considering that in any other circumstance but pregnancy this would put me in a ward with the rest of Jason's clients.

Jason is already turning into the overprotective father. At lunch yesterday, we went to McDonald's and he eyed me suspiciously as I slurped on my drink. "Is that a Coke?" he asked. It was, and I assured him that I only have one every few weeks, I promise. "Hrmph." said he. Later we went out for a birthday Mexican food dinner with my sister and her fiance. The lady asked for our drink orders and I gave Jason a pleading look. "Absolutely not. You already had caffiene once today." I begged (I hold no bones about it, I am a Coke addict but have managed to stay clean for my whole pregnancy.) "That's it!" he pronounced. "You aren't allowed to have my baby." I settled for a nasty ass Sierra Mist, while Evil Karen and Evil Bill enjoyed their Mexican Cokes (from bottles, no less) right across the table from me. know, I vaguely worry that my blog has turned into Pregnancy Babble Central. But honestly, this stuff is mainly what is going on in my life. So I suppose, babble on.


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