This Week's Sarcasm, I Mean, Ticker: Vol. 2 No. 20

See, that's just not nice, kid. Like the too-many-dunkin-donuts gut in place of a cute little baby bump wasn't enough? Wait, that one's more MY doing...oops. All right, you're forgiven for the stretch marks. But more heartburn for me will equal no Barbie Powerwheels Jeep for you, got it?

Really, I feel fine. Enter the crazy paranoid nut: Am I feeling too good? Every once in a while I do flash on this thought. Especially with friends sweetly asking me how I'm feeling about 10 times daily. I love them though, and who doesn't like a little chit-chat? Then there's the moments when I completely forget I'm pregnant - don't tell this child later please, I'd rather avoid therapist bills if possible. "I feel fine, thanks. Why do you keep asking me...oh, riiiiiight. "

I do remember feeling pretty darn messed-up last time I was pregnant. Wait, you want me to get up off this chair and do what? Teach?? Pfft! Except I remember pregnant as 9 MONTHS PREGNANT, which is a far sight different than this piddlin' 20 weeks thing. I'm feeling great for the most part. (Knock wood-veneer desk.) Tired, sleepy, exhausted, and worn-out. But when I'm not tired...pretty darn good.

I very often forget that when a news report says something about "pregnant women should" or "we caution pregnant women not to"...they're talking to ME. Oh yeah. Mental note to get a flu shot. Eat more fish because of the Omega's. Get 9 hours of sleep a night. And eat less fish because of the mercury. You talking to me?

Aw, how sweet. My own built-in alarm clock. She's never actually awakened me, but once I'm up I'm quite aware of the gymnastic routine going on in my abdomen. I love every second of it, especially at this mild stage. As I recall, later the tiny bumps become gut-wrenching kicks...we'll have to have a little talk, kid. But now she keeps me awake just waiting for her to kick again. I missed that feeling after Maddie was born.

Ultrasound from last week: 90% of the people I showed this to had no idea what they were looking at. They were pretty sure it was meant to be a baby. I'm not majoring in modern art here, so I'm going to clearly spell out what you're seeing.

Little D is on her back. We see only her head. (Ready for your close-up, girl?) The top of her head is to the right of the picture, her body to the left. Her profile is facing up. I've been told already that this one doesn't look like me either.