Dr. J

After dinner tonight Jack was administering his particular brand of medicine to everyone, especially my Dad who had come over to eat. After checking all of his vitals, Jack says, "Yep. You're old."

No, I am not Santa.

There is nothing like a burgeoning belly to make you feel isolated...at the top of your body. I can no longer see past my belly. Like a rocky swell before the looming mountain range, my chest is merely a small hill before the rounded peak of my tummy blocks any sight of my southern half. Presumably, this creates some problems...especially for shirts. I have stubbornly been wearing my Life Is Good wardrobe along with running shorts for the majority of this pregnancy. Well, unbeknownst to me, my belly has been peeking out of the bottom of my shirt. Who knows how long this has been occurring...not me---the me who is situated at the north pole of this planet of a body. So I will be purchasing some "cute" tent-like shirts soon. Or else falling back on my nudist whippet farm idea.

Hil-Hil-Hilarious

Jack thinks that cramming a handful of fruit loops down my cleavage is the height of humor. He will make a totally awesome frat dude.

Happy 33%

This weekend Dan and I celebrated our 5-year wedding anniversary, and the fact that we have been together for 10 years. TEN. I told him, "I've wasted, er, spent 1/3 of my life with you!"

We dropped Jack and doggies off with my parents (sorry Mom!) and drove down to Wrightsville to lay on the beach in utter quietude. It was amazing, and it was only 4 hours and 12 minutes into our little vacation before we dropped the J-bomb (a conversation about Jack). You know how people joke about how the minute you get away from your kids you start talking about them? Well that's not funny.

The beach was all of my dreams come true, breezy and warm. There were some little kids running around near the water and squealing, and it was so nice to hear it from far away and know that it required NONE of our attention. Ah bliss.

We checked into an amazing bed and breakfast, The Graystone Inn, and were instantly transported back to 1905 where houses were beautiful and showers were small. Dan and I both used the early 20th century claw-foot tub with trepidation (some of us because we are rounder than usual and some of us because we are round). Then, down the cobble-stone streets of old town Wilmington to the Pilot House where we ate right on the river! It was glorious and the wind blew my hair out of my face all evening with what I imagined to be a romantic effect, and hopefully distracted Dan from my upper-belly crumb-collecting as we ate oysters, low-country seafood and amazing desserts. I would highly recommend both of these places for anyone with taste-buds and a love of comfortable beds.

Then off to tour the 25-some small bars and bistros throughout the town...OR, in reality, back to the B&B for an early bedtime because we were stuffed and old. As we lay on our huge four-poster fancy bed, Dan asked, "Is it even nine o'clock yet??" I cringed as I told him the time...8:28pm! I can't tell you how lovely it was to relax without having to corral children and animals, without having to give baths, feed, clean, clothe and coax to bed the small creatures of my life.

I was up early to give Dan lessons on how to open shades (I'm resisting the urge to make a joke about quick tugs here) and we had breakfast in the enormous dining room of our Clue-mansion-like vacation home. Legitimate French toast stuffed with cream-cheese with a hint of lime. Fresh fruit, fresh pastries, their own brand of coffee and fresh OJ. We sat with a lovely couple from California who couldn't get over how lush and green North Carolina was. It was fun to revel in the things that we take for granted with them.

So we left gorgeous Wilmington with only minor casualties--a sunburned shoulder (me) and a sunburned belly-button (Dan) because WHO DOESN'T PUT SUNSCREEN IN THEIR BELLY-BUTTON? As we made our way home to rescue my parents, Dan couldn't stop talking about Jack. Personally I could have used another day and night of vacation from my critters, but it was killing Dan to be away from them...he clearly needs mental help.

Overheard

My Dad: Here Jack, catch this!

Jack: I'm gonna hit you in your berries!

Her body was shaped like a coke bottle...a 2 liter coke bottle.

Ah the joys of maternity clothes. As if you weren't the most awkward and ridiculous shape, the makers of maternity clothes feel that you might as well have clothes that don't fit correctly either. Now I can imagine that designing clothes for someone shaped like a moose can be quite difficult, but COME ON. Space travel, wireless internet, clones, a BLACK PRESIDENT, it is time for some progress in this department!!! We will be reproducing forever! Unless we somehow manage to develop artificial uteri that can be worn (by men) outside the body, something that I would not hesitate to vote for, maternity clothes are a necessity. On that note, I'm thinking of starting my own nudist colony. You are not invited.

Just so you know that my rant is leading somewhere, I will tell you: it is. I was wearing a pair of "maternity" shorts yesterday that had buttons on the inside of the waist so that you could adjust the tightness. Well, these buttons, having been pressed into my upper-ass flesh all day, had left red button marks on my body.

While I was using the toilet, of course Jack was in the bathroom with me, farting around in the bathtub (fully clothed, no water), he happened to notice the button marks on my ever-growing rump and asked me about them.

"You have a button on one of your heineys!" he exclaimed. "What is that from?"

I explained about the buttons on the inside of my shorts and how they had been mashed into "one of my heineys" all day.

"Oh Mama. OUCH!!" he yelled. I couldn't decide if he had sympathy for my button-marked ass or the fact that I apparently have two of them.

Two For Two

Yesterday heralded the much awaited ultrasound. I was eager to see if I was indeed growing a human baby, and Dan really wanted to verify that it was a boy (because there are 95% men on the Tarkenton side of the family, and you-know-who is in charge of the variable chromosome). We waited together at the OB/GYNs office, a place where every man feels at home. Dan attempted to accompany me into the bathroom, and then in to get my blood pressure checked, and finally when it was really time to go into the exam room, I had to beckon across the waiting room for him to follow. Sheesh.

The tech was a brilliant lady who talked a LOT. I really love this about the South--there is absolutely nothing but warmth. She rambled on explaining the various measurements that she was taking (head=large, heart=2 ventricles, 2 atriums, all functioning, brain=check, spine=long) and our ninja baby obliged everyone by taking a few pot-shots at my liver on screen. Then the baby flipped over like a little monkey to show us a bony behind. I saw what I thought were male-parts and started saying, "It's a boy! I bet it's a boy!" and the tech said, "No, see this? That is a girl's business!!!"

Needless to say Dan had to immediately sit down on the provided chair and I started tearing up. "I am 99% sure!" the tech bubbled, as Dan cradled his head in his hands. When we were finally alone to de-jelly my belly, Dan looked at me and said, "This is it--when we get home I'm cutting my thing off!"

The first person that we called was Dan's Mom (who, when we started seriously dating, implored me to relieve her of the position as the only woman in the family). She had to hear the news three times before she really believed Dan.

When Jack got home I told him that he was going to have a baby sister. "I know Mama," he said, rolling his eyes condescendingly, "Baby Cheeto will play with all of my toys, but she will have her own too."