Tuesday morning something-or-others (13 weeks)

I wasn’t going to post today, because I have a ton of work to do and I’m trying to pace myself so I don’t run out of material in the next 189 days. But then I got the weekly update from BabyCenter.com and it was loaded with fun facts (some of which are unfit to publish in this space), so I decided to share some of the more family friendly anecdotes.

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No news is good news

In the immortal words of Lt. Frank Drebin, “All right. Move on. Nothing to see here. Please disperse.” (Please don’t disperse. Keep coming back as often as possible. I just can’t promise you any real news for a little while.)

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Bracing for a ‘Chile’ reception

You did what, now?!?

For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure, meet Chile, our beloved cat whom we rescued from my parents’ farm when he was a kitten and emancipated (or imprisoned, depending on one’s perspective) on what has since become known as The Day of Trauma. But that’s another story for another blog.

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The Nectar of the Nauseous

The Nectar of the Nauseous

I honestly can’t say whether we’ve hit the food craving stage yet, because aside from a few cravings for favorites such as calamari ricardo from Carrabba’s, burgers and fries (and more important, dipping sauces) from Cheeburger Cheeburger, and a fairly perpetual need for chocolate of the dark persuasion, Megan’s appetite has been fairly normal. She has always been prone to cravings, and these are not unusual things for her to desire.

There is, however, one new thing we’re suddenly buying in bulk, and that is ginger ale, or as I have just started calling it, like, six minutes ago, “The Nectar of the Nauseous.”

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“Lime vs. shrimp,” or “Is this baby shrinking?”

At the suggestion of a couple friends, I went to BabyCenter.com and signed up for their e-mail newsletter, which sends an update each week on developments in your pregnancy.

It’s a very cool service that demystifies the process somewhat, especially for the dad-to-be, who can sometimes feel like days go by without anything happening and start to annoy their wives with prying questions about how they’re feeling.

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Un-’condition’-al love

Something tells me the next six months or so are going to become heavily laced with inside jokes between Megan and me, the first of which has quickly become our running commentary about her “condition,” which she unsurprisingly uses as an excuse to ask me to do things she used to ask me to do for no good reason, such as cleaning the kitchen, cleaning the bathroom, vacuuming, changing her laundry from the washer to the dryer and picking up things she has dropped.

But I’m trying my best to remember that her condition really is a much bigger pain in her ass than mine.

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I *heart* irony

OK, it’s Alanis Morissette irony, and not real irony, but whatever. Came home from the ultrasound appointment yesterday to find a hot pink flyer folded up and stuffed in the newspaper slot below our mailbox.

CLINICAL RESEARCH STUDY FOR BIRTH CONTROL

I’m sure the free samples of Cialis will arrive any day now.

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Words to live by

One of our friends just launched a new Web site called “Lowcountry Child,” and by “just launched” I mean, like, today, which is kind of awesome timing for us.

I’ve been excited about the site’s launch for weeks, because I’m quite certain it is going to be a tremendous resource for us, and it didn’t take long to find confirmation of that belief in this link, the gist of which comes in the last line:

Oh, and good luck, Dad-to-be. It’s going to get crazy.

Much more on that subject to come.

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Meeting Mr. (or Ms.) Peanut

Today was doctor day, er, nurse practitioner day. See, we were supposed to go in for an appointment last week, but Megan decided she wanted to switch doctors, and the new doctor couldn’t get us in until this week, and then only with the nurse practitioner, and …

To make a long story short, the last doctor’s office was – how you say? – kind of ghetto.

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And so it begins …

This afternoon, a mere 204 days or so before our due date, I paid a $45 registration fee to get “Baby Jarrett” on the waiting list at a daycare, thus marking the first of many moderately absurd moves made on this child’s behalf.

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