Little Husband/Little Acrobat

We had our 12 week sonogram on Wednesday and it turns out that Little Husband is quite the acrobat. He kept flipping his butt up in the air while the ultrasound tech was moving the wand around on my stomach. Here are some pictures. I think he's got Husband's jawline (I sure hope he doesn't have mine).



Here's one where he's getting ready to flip his little bottom up in the air. You can see his little flipper arms bracing for the push against the wall of my uterus. Perhaps that's why I feel so weird at times.



Here's one where he's either sucking his thumb (likely), waving at us (unlikely) or none of the above (very likely):



I can already tell that he's a very good boy and is going to be quite a little squirt. I can't wait to meet him!

Of Dead Rats and Dirty Diapers

This past weekend Husband and I were delighted to have M2K2 and her wonderful family visit us for a few days. I think I'm in love. Not with M2K2 nor her husband, but with her two adorable children. I mean, these kids are flawlessly sweet. In fact, after spending time with this awesome family, the terror that Husband and I felt in regards to starting a family has dissipated greatly. Why are we so terrified? Gosh, I don't know. Perhaps it's a result of all those people who seem to take a perverse delight in telling us (in so many words) that our life is going to suck after the baby is born. Yes, people really say this sort of thing and yes, they really are this unoriginal. At this point, Husband and I just laugh when people say this stuff to us. What else can we possibly do?

The second night that the M2K2 family was in town, we took a drive down to SOCO to get some food. Both children needed a diaper change which, impressively, the husband half of this duo did with ease. At one point I saw him holding the soiled diapers in one hand while looking around (presumably) for a trash can. In the confusion of getting the kids strapped into the stroller, I lost track of what happened to the wet diapers.

The next day, M2K2 came over while her husband worked. We had to hang out for a few hours because The Bug Guy was scheduled to come over and remove any dead rats from the attic rat traps. Of course, I did not tell M2K2 why The Bug Guy was coming over, and, as I hoped, she never asked.

I escorted The Bug Guy upstairs and showed him attic #1. He opened the door and the dead rat smell hit us both at the same time. I dry heaved, then told him in a low voice, "Look, I'm pregnant and I don't think I can deal with dead rats or their smells. In addition, I definitely don't want my guests to get wind of the fact that you're hauling out a dead rat. So, would you mind just walking straight out the front door once you've got it in the trash bag?"

The Bug Guy smiled compassionately. "You've got it," he said, "I'll be completely discrete."

I made my way back downstairs where M2K2 was on the floor on front of the sofa playing with her kids. From her vantage point she could not readily see The Bug Guy hauling rats out of my house. My master plan was working.

I made small talk with M2K2 while I kept tabs on The Bug Guy's departure. Soon enough, I heard him coming down the stairs. Just then, much like a Wack-a-Mole, M2K2's head popped up over the side of the couch as she craned to see what he was carrying. Now, I don't think that M2K2 has ever been called stupid in her life and from the pained expression in her eyes, I knew that she knew exactly what was in that bag. She quickly shifted her gaze to me and I just shrugged. What else could I possibly do?

Since The Bug Guy had left, we were free to take the kids on a walk around my neighborhood. I went outside to setup the stroller and encountered The Bug Guy. He was standing next to his truck, not ten feet away from me, with the rat-bag on the ground next to him. I opened up the trunk of the car as the dead rat smell hit me again. Feeling a wave of nausea, I hurriedly pulled out the stroller.

And then I spotted the wet diapers from the evening prior.

Yep, lacking the convenience of an outdoor garbage receptacle, M2K2's husband was left with no choice but to stash the soiled diapers in the trunk of their rental car. It turns out that after several hours festering in the Texas heat, dirty diapers smell surprisingly similar to dead rats. I pulled the diapers out and threw them in our garage garbage cans.

Poor Husband has no idea what "that awful smell" is.

More Proof That It's a Boy

Husband and I went to see my baby doctor today and the nurse told us that the Little Husband's heart is beating at 153 beats per minute. "What do you think you're having", she asked me.

"A boy." I responded without any hesitation.

"Yeah...me too." She said. "Don't tell the doctor I told you this, but girl babies' hearts usually beat in the 160 range. I think you're having a boy."

And there you have it.

Speaking of having things, I have an ultrasound scheduled for Wednesday morning. I'll post the pic when I get it.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention the most compelling piece of evidence that I am having a boy: the Bug Guy. He came last Friday to check the rat traps (more on that later) so I hung out at the bottom of the attic stairs, chatting him up while he worked. When I told him I am pregnant he told me that he is 100% accurate in predicting the sex of babies. He came down the stairs, took one look at me and declared, "Yep. You're having a boy."

No further proof needed. In fact, I probably don't even need that 20 week ultrasound. I'm going to go paint the nursery blue now.

Another Friday, Another Gala, Another Opportunity to Make a Fool out of Myself

So...we're at another gala on Friday night. This time the invitation listed the attire as "Garden Party", whatever that means. Not being a fan of floral prints, I pretty much was stumped on what I should wear. "Why, you should wear that cute sundress Husband bought for you last Spring!" MIL declared. Seeing where my failure to heed her advice got me last time, I decide to comply.

I could *swear* that the dress fit when I put it on, but more on that later.

Anyway, the gala was held in a beautiful botanical garden with beautiful people and beautiful art work up for auction. Husband and I strolled around and admired the scenery, then made our way to our table under the tent. I located my place at the table and found that I was seated next to a distinguished gentleman who heads a world-renowned charity. I've met him in the past and was happy to be seated next to him as we always have a good time conversing. He may be important, but he sure is fun and unpretentious!


Dinner was catered by The Four Seasons and included filet mignon with creamy mushroom risotto and a seared bay scallop. It was wonderful. Unfortunately, as we tucked into our entrees the event planners sensed a captive audience and seized the microphone.

"Excuse me! EXCUUUUUSE MEEEEEE! EXCUSE ME!" she barked into the microphone. Her voice is so grating that people visibly jumped in their seats. Some turned her way, irritation written all over their faces. Others ignored her.

"I just wanted to remind you that we have a lot of wonderful art up for auction and to encourage you to go place your bids. This is a charity event, after all."

Let me just stop right here. Sure, we were guests of my Husband's parents and paid not one red cent to be there, however, it cost *them* quite a bit of money to host a table of ten people. Therefore, my irritation at this woman's fundraising tactics was on the behalf of my in-laws. And my hearing (she seriously has a very obnoxious voice). She drives home the point that money cannot buy class as she is one of the richest women in Austin.

She continued to browbeat us for contributions but most everyone tuned her out and resumed their respective conversations. She continued to browbeat us sporadically throughout the evening, but we all became very skilled at ignoring her.

Fast-forward to dessert. By now it is apparent to me (and some others, as I found out later) that my sundress very decidedly did not fit, at least not in the chest. Either the pregnancy hormones struck my chest that night, or my judgement is terrible. Either way, by the time our ganache glazed chocolate mousse mini-cakes were served, I couldn't breath.

Of course, no one needs oxygen in order to eat dessert, so I ignored my discomfort and dug in with relish! I was about halfway through the cake when my fork, topped with a big bite of cake, flipped into the air. On any other occasion I probably would have been too uncoordinated to catch that fork, but these were extenuating circumstances. Chocolate-mousse-ganache-covered cake cannot be wasted! I caught the fork midair and resumed eating my dessert. While munching, I mentally did the math. Let's see...gooey chocolate mousse cake on a fork, fork flies through the air, I stop the motion mid flight by catching the fork, cake appears to stay on the fork...

I snap my head around and start looking for traces of wayward chocolate mousse. Almost immediately, I spot some on the suit coat of the distinguished gentleman next to me.

Oh crap. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap!

"Er, I don't know how to tell you this, John..." I begin. He turns my way.

"Yes?" he asks, smiling.

"Um, well, I believe you have cake all over your suit coat. I have no idea how it got there."

Okay, I didn't really say that last part. I may be gutless, but I'm not *that* gutless. What I really did was tell him in great detail the story of how my fork flipped up in the air and I caught it mid flight and blah, blah, blah.

"Oh really!" he exclaimed. (Seriously, this guy is awesome. Who else of his magnitude would act like my cake-fork-flying-through-the-air story was the least bit captivating?) "I'm amazed that cake didn't fly everywhere. You are very talented!" he said graciously.

"Well, see, that's the thing," I mumbled as I gestured down at his coat. His eyes followed my gaze and...

He laughed. Heartily. "Well, at least you're honest," he exclaimed. "You could have just kept quiet about it an later on, if I even noticed it, I would have thought that *I* did it."

Like I said, you can't buy that kind of class.

I Smell Dead People

Much like the kid in The Sixth Sense, I seem to have developed an uncanny ability to smell things, all things, even things that aren't visible to the naked eye. Take, for instance, yesterday...

Husband and I were walking the dogs. Suddenly I was engulfed by the heady scent of something or someone rotting to the core. There were no dumpsters (or dead bodies) nearby. Husband couldn't smell it. Only me. Lucky, lucky me.

Earlier I was sitting on the bed studying. I smelled something rank and looked across the room to see Le Pooch Grande tongue-washing her anal glands. She must have been 15 feet away!

One of my friends gave husband this book that is supposed to prepare him for pregnancy. In this book it advises the husband that his pregnant wife will develop a super-human sense of smell. The book suggested that the husband always keep his teeth brushed and that he should make sure everyone else on the block has brushed their teeth as well. This made me laugh because it is so, so true.

Watch out, my friends, because I have a bionic nose. In fact, I might volunteer my services to the local police department. You know, go out with them on DUI patrol or something. Even if someone has just a sip of alcohol, I can smell it on their breath. It's awesome. Really, really awesome (no, it isn't).

Don't worry, Melek, I don't smell you during our workouts.