I'm feelin' ya Jabba

Oh, what has become of me?

I'll tell you, I've turned into a fat ass! Damn it! The is the absolute opposite of the what I had envisioned for my pregnancy! (See previous rant for details.)

I went on a 6 mile hike with a friend yesterday, and it kicked my ass! Rowann and I were usually well matched in our walking stride and speed, but no longer. I was trailing, sweating, and half way through she suggested we stop and rest (so I must have looked like shit!) Damn it.

I will cut myself only the tiniest slice of slack in saying that I am in my 3rd trimester, so yes- I imagine that perhaps it should be a bit more difficult to go 6 miles. With that said.... if I'd been walking the way I should have been all this time, it would NOT have been that difficult. I am ashamed of myself! I know better. Instead of doing what I should be (and what I really hoped to do) I've used this condition as an excuse to sit on the sofa and stuff my face!

Early in this process my witty husband remarked, "Eating for 2? Well, neither of you is a sumo wrestler." Har, har, har. But if only I had taken his smart ass remarks to heart.....

Well, with only 1/3 of this journey left, I think it's finally time to choose the better path. Surely it's not too late. I can still reap the benefits of exercise (such as easier labor and quicker recovery). I just need to put the cookie down and lace up my sneakers. I CAN DO IT!

Note: Do NOT ask me what I did/ate today. I'm starting tomorrow.

Pregnant People Have Feelings Too!

NO! I'm NOT glad it's cold! (So stop asking and making corny jokes!)

And yes... I KNOW I'm lucky that I'm not going to be big during the summer. (Now leave me the hell alone!)

I'm super pissed. I normally love chilly weather, especially since I get so little of it here in the Sunshine State. But not this year.

Here's my problem: I have 3 pairs of pants and NO sweaters. I have 1 shirt with long sleeves. And I DON'T want to spend money on new clothes that I'll need on and off for maybe a month and a half. (I'm trying to save money here people!) All I've done is purchased a sherpa (not a Tibetan guide, but a hoodie). FYI: This is a men's sherpa in size 2x. (The XL just fit around me, so I figured I'd need some growing room.) THAT was a great feeling.

Alternate Reality

My dreams of Reality TV super stardom have been dashed! I love Reality TV, and while I'm too old for the Real World, not talented enough for American Idol or So You Think You Can Dance, and too picky to be a Top Chef, I was really hoping that I would win Survivor or The Amazing Race. (I think my brother Matthew would be the perfect partner. He's athletic, we're both smart and used to getting around places, and he's used to my crazy-bitchy-bossiness, so he wouldn't take it personally.)

But this week those dreams have come to an end. I had to get my gestational diabetes screening. I was told I'd have to drink some stuff and then get my finger pricked. LIES!

"Some stuff" turned out to be a soda can worth of orange gunk. I was told "You have 5 minutes to drink this." Ahhhhhh! The pressure! At first it was ok. It actually tasted like flat, orange soda. But about half way through, my sips got smaller and smaller. It was rough, but I made it. But WTF- if I can't drink flat, orange soda without choking it down, there is NO WAY I can even PRETEND like I'll be able to drink smashed up fish heads and milk. There is always an eating challenge on these shows- this year on the Amazing Race one team had to eat an entire goat's head (minus the skull) and there was a Chinese Food challenge that caused 2 people to hurl. Sigh. I'll have to get my 15 minutes of fame some other way.

PS) The "finger prick" was 2 vials of blood! Are they saving this stuff for me in case I need it later? Seriously, I don't know how much more I can bleed!

What's Up Doc?

Being pregnant involves many, many, MANY trips to the doctor. And they are such a PAIN IN THE ASS! Every four weeks I have to take time out of my schedule (mostly by leaving work early) to see my friendly, fab physician. Today I've been informed that I've been upgraded to visiting every TWO weeks. (Not because anything is wrong... just because that's how it goes.) YOU'RE KILLING ME HERE! I'm trying to save all my sick time for when I'm going to need it- for March & April so I can get paid for 2 months while I recover and learn how to mommy. I can't keep giving bits and pieces of it away before hand- especially for NOTHING!

Here is how a typical visit unfolds:

1) Wait in the waiting room watching Food Network for at least 15 minutes.

2) Get weighed. (Joy! I LOVE seeing THAT number go up! Grrrrrr.....)

3) Pee in a cup.

4) Get blood pressure taken. (At least that's always a good number.)

5) Listen to baby's heartbeat. (OK, that's pretty cool.)

6) Get asked if I have any questions.

7) Am given an order for blood work. (So I can waste even MORE time waiting around somewhere else! All the labs around here close at 3:30- so guess what, MORE time away from work! AND it means having to bail on my money-saving carpool!)

8) Leave.

HOW UNEVENTFUL! THIS IS WHAT I'M LEAVING WORK FOR?!?!?!?!

Needless to say, I'm pretty underwhelmed. I was expecting so much more from these visits. This can hardly be effective monitoring.

On the other hand, I'm VERY glad that I'm not getting something shoved up my hoo-ha every 5 minutes. I was quite concerned that pregnancy would mean I'd given the general public an all access pass to my vagina, but thankfully that hasn't happened yet. I must confess that I'm such a wimp when it comes to getting my girl parts checked. (I guess I better get over that, cause I hear delivery IS basically a public event.)

So, ruling out vaginal checks, I don't know what I'd add to the visit (perhaps regular ultrasounds). But I do know that this has gotten old....

Butterfly Kisses

So, as I near my 3rd Trimester, I'm very pleased to say that Jackson has been moving around quite a bit in utero. I find it comforting. Since I can't get an ultrasound every day (nor can I install a door in my belly that allows me to check on things), those kicks and flips let me know that at the very least he's still viable. When I'm up and about he's not doing much. He gets going when I've been sitting still for awhile. Someone told me that my walking rocks him to sleep. (I did NOT hear this from my Dr., so don't take this as a cold, hard fact.) I guess when I'm sitting down he's like Hey, get the hell up and do something! I wanna sleep!

I was told that when I first felt the baby move, it would be a "flutter." I guess I missed that stage, or it's been incorrectly described. The first movements I felt were either like someone poking me with their finger, (but from the inside) or an odd twisting of my innards that is reminiscent of the feeling you get after eating bad Mexican food and right before you realize you're about to spend some time on the potty. Though I suppose neither of those descriptions aren't what the cutesy Mommy-and-Me website are looking for.... so they can stick with "flutter."

These days he's really going at it. It's like a Tae Bo class in there sometimes. Now I would describe it as being what the earth must have felt like when those giant worms were rumbling around in "Tremors." Or what it's like right before the alien/infestation pops our of your body in those sci-fi films. And I hear it'll just get more intense as the weeks go on. I can't wait! Now and then I see my stomach pop or jerk. It's gonna rock when he's bigger and really moving around. It is so cool in a creepy kind of way.

Gestating Bruce Banner

Everyone from the in-laws to co-workers have been telling my husband to watch out. It seems that at any minute I'm going to turn into an emotional wreck, blubbering like my baby-to-be over nothing at all. Well, Art has nothing to fear there. He's been living with my one-step-from-crazy mood swings for years. For the record: I've always cried at the drop of a hat.

Now it seems that my hormonal tides are shifting. But woe to all who are around, because they are not pulling me into a fit of weeping. I suddenly find myself submerged by a wave of anger.

My poor, poor students. I feel so bad. I'm snapping at them and am being so harsh in unprecedented ways. I'm usually very kind and patient with my little lambs; but now one word or action, that I would have normally brushed under the rug, sends me over the edge. Today I literally lifted a student off his feet and dragged him out into the hall. (And this poor boy has NEVER been a problem for me in the past! I just snapped! Dear God, I actually understand that phrase now and can say with assurance that I've never snapped before. I'm losing control!)

Well, hopefully in March when I give birth my Incredible Hulk (whose crazy spliced DNA is obviously leaking into my system) I'll stop turning green and throwing cars through walls and just go back to being my usual, easy going self.

Wow.... I just hope he doesn't tear his way out like the vampire-baby in Twilight. Ouch.

Heliocentrism

I am sad to report that the center of the universe has NOT shifted.... to revolve around me that is. I am not surprised. I mean, whenever I saw a prego chic before this I just assumed that, (planned or unplanned), she got herself into this mess, so she better learn to deal. Now that the proverbial shoe is on the proverbial other foot, I feel more sympathy for those in a delicate condition.

Why do I still have to work? Why am I not being paid to stay home and simply be? Why do I still have to walk up stairs? Why do I have to pay for things? Why do I have to wait in line? Why have the seas not parted in front of me?!?!?! I am filled with righteous indignation about the lack of pampering I am receiving from the universe in general! I long for the days of yore when the genteel went to the country manor for their confinement period. Confined? If that's what being waited on hand and foot is considered, confine me away!

This is just the latest in a series of life events that does not live up to egocentric expectations. Everyone knows what I mean. Certain days are supposed to be all about ME, ME, ME. Yet each one turns out to be a disappointment. Birthdays are the first let down, they never go as planned. Graduation Day is also a disappointment, you're just one of hundreds doing something billions have done before. Girls know that this downward spiral quickly cycles through engagements, bridal showers, bachelorette parties, and finally to the Wedding Day. (Yeah, it's nice- but it's not the treated-like-a-princess.... No, treated-like-a-divine-Empress experience you're hoping for.)

Now that I've hit the last milestone, (save for death perhaps), I've come to realize that nothing will ever be all about ME, ME, ME. SIGH. No wait, I'm still in denial. There is still hope. I'm going to get bigger and bigger. Perhaps those last few weeks of misery will be brightened by a shift in the cosmos creating a me-centric universe. Finally.

Woe is me!

I take it back! I take it back! I take it all back!

For years I have sat on my proverbial high horse, looking down my nose at the "weak," "petulant" and "whiny ass bitches" who moan and groan through their pregnancies. Now karma has come to slap me in the face! All I can say is Have mercy on me, for I knew not of what I spoke!

Gentle reader, I will not burden you with an account of my many ailments, though they are numerous, for I would not wish to subject delicate souls to such gruesome musings. I shall only quote Mrs. Bennet and say "... that I am frightened out of my wits and have such tremblings, such flutterings, all over me, such spasms in my side and pains in my head, and such beatings at my heart, that I can get no rest by night nor by day."

Side note: there is NO WAY a character such as Mrs. Bennet could have carried and birthed 5 children! It would have been too much to bear. That, or it would have been too much for Mr. Bennet to bear!

How can women do this multiple times? Obviously, they do it the first time because they don't know any better. Right now I'd have to hypothesize that A) a toxin is released after labor that causes amnesia. B) Humans are incapable of learning from their mistakes. or C) Raising a child is such a wonderful experience that it makes it all worthwhile. Right now..... I'm guessing B.

What is all this crap?

I guess the point of this blog is to be honest. (And ammunition for my kid to use against me when he grows up......) If the latter is the case, here comes some serious time in therapy:

I've started baby shopping. I'm hitting the consignment and retail stores. Some friends have hooked me up with some awesome baby gear. Now I'm staring at the baby swing sitting in my living room and and thinking WTF was I thinking?!?!?! In about 5 months there is going to be an actual baby sitting in that swing. I think I've just now realized that this baby isn't just paying a visit; he's gonna be here to stay- FOREVER. Again: WTF was I thinking?!?!?!?!

The fear started creeping in last week when we had a baby shower for Stephanie. It was a post-natal event, so she brought little Emerson with her. Now it's been a hot minute since I've been around an infant; I'd been picturing a chubby Gerber Baby crawling around here. But I've since realized that babies are very breakable. My kid's head is going to fall off!

Then Allison sent me an email with "helpful" tips for getting ready for the birth. Now, if by helpful they meant "scare you shitless" then consider me helped. I've purposefully kept away from the What to Expect When You're Expecting type books.

Here is what I expect: 1) I will feel discomfort in varying degrees. 2) Weird things are happening in my body.

That's all I need to know. I don't want to read crazy could-bes. I left Abnormal Psych convinced I had several serious mental disorders. The last thing I need is to self-diagnose an inverted uterus or something. But this so-called "helpful" tip sheet brought up all sorts of horrors about pain, and sweating, and discomfort on the extreme side of the spectrum. I don't want to do any of that.

Do you know what I like to do? Sleep. Travel. Read. Shop. It is important to note that none of these activities involve pain, poo, or being tied to the house. You may have also noted that a baby will severely limit the time I can spend doing my favorite things. Again: WTF was I thinking?!?!?!

So, I'm in limbo. I'm almost in denial. I'm buying and collecting practical things. It's like I'm preparing for battle. Or for one of those end-of-civilization-as-we-know-it scenarios. All those cutesy baby clothes I couldn't wait to get my hands on don't seem cute enough anymore. Bedding is outrageously expensive. Setting up this room is going to be an expensive pain in the ass! I don't want to plan my shower. I want a pause button. Wasn't there some sci-fi show where the aliens could stay pregnant for as long as they wanted? How do I sign up for that?

It's a Boy! (or.... I'm a flake!)

I went for the ultrasound today- and there it was- a boy!

Let me begin by saying, this is what I wanted. I had younger brothers, girls get crazy (hell, look at me!), and I knew Art would bond and get on board with a boy more than a girl. During my trying to get pregnant days I went so far as to read about different ways to ensure a boy. If you ever want to know, I've got plenty of info on ovulation cycles and sperm mobility.

However, I'm a firm believer in getting screwed by the universe. I knew that since Art and I were both hoping for a boy, I'd get a girl. So from the time I scheduled the ultrasound I was doing my best to talk myself into a girl. I had tons of reasons that a girl would be awesome. I love pink. I like sparkly things. I love Disney. The girl clothes are super cute. We could get our nails done together. We could have similar hobbies and interests later in life (like when she's in her late 20's and done with those crap years). But the bottom line is: I had talked myself into a girl.

It turns out I'm quite persuasive. When the radiologist said "It's a boy!" I was divided. I thought "Hooray!" and at the same time "Oh no!" because now I wouldn't get all those good things I'd be telling myself about for weeks.

But I'm truly, 100% happy with my baby boy.... I guess we'll just have to try for a girl later!

It's All a Lie!

My blog that this. OF COURSE I'm going to spend 9 months bitching! I can't go 9 minutes without complaining about SOMETHING. That's just how I roll. But here's my secret. I'm laying low for now.

Whenever someone (at work, in-laws, etc.) asks me how I'm feeling I respond with, "I'm fine, just tired." That's pretty much the truth. Except when my back hurts. Or when I have gas. Or when I can actually feel my skin stretching across my stomach (ew). Or when I have a headache. Or when I feel so fuzzy in the noggin that I can't focus on what my students are reading. Or when I feel like I have to hurl. Or when I'm so dizzy I can barely sit up straight...... You get the point. But I am resisting complaining about all this like a champ!

Why? Here is my devious plan:
1) I know that no one REALLY wants to know how I'm actually feeling. I think it's a given that I feel like crap. Asking me how I feel is just a sneaky attempt to segue into a story about how bad THEY felt during their pregnancy. Usually I still get a snippet of a personal story, but I avoid the tit-for-tat you listened to my bitching, so now I am honor bound to hear your crappy story.

2) I'm saving it up. I know (thanks to all those awesome stories) that by the end I'm going to be MISERABLE. Well, if I've spent 9 months bitching, I won't get any sympathy when I really need it! I'll be the girl who whined wolf. I think restraining myself now will earn me extra sympathy later. Everyone will think Wow, she must be feeling worse than most people- because she hasn't complained about anything so far...... And then they'll do something nice for me- like take over some shitty project I don't want to finish. And it'll be smooth sailing from there.....

Fat Pants

If I had known how comfortable maternity pants were, I'd have gotten knocked up years ago! I bought my first pair very early on- week 10 or so, because my pants just didn't feel comfortable. It was a depressing experience though. All the prego websites said I shouldn't be into maternity clothes that soon, so I realized that the tightness in my pants was not due to baby, but due to my own fat ass. But I was NOT going to by bigger pants. That would be admitting to the world that I was throwing all hope of diets to the wind, and it would ruin the fantasy bubble I had (and still have, really) that pregnancy will magically make me eat healthier and I will come out of these 9 months skinnier and healthier than ever! (STOP LAUGHING!)

SO, when I bought the pants, it was with teary eyes (and not tears of joy, people!). But I soon came to realize that these pants were the best article of clothing I'd purchased in YEARS! They sit low and have a kinda thick, soft, elastic waistband. Wow! It's like wearing pajama pants! And they're pajama pants you can wear in public- and not get weird looks! Since then I've gotten 2 more pairs.

I suppose this shouldn't be a shock. I didn't wear jeans until high school. I HATED the feel of denim. The waistbands were uncomfortable. The zippers pissed me off. I guess high school was the time when designers started dropping waistbands to hips so that (and crazy peer pressure) finally made them tolerable.

Now that I have a legitimate baby bump, I've taken the next step. I saw a pair of Capri jeans on sale. This is a staple of a Florida wardrobe. These jeans however, do not have the low, gentle waistband. I'm talking full-on pregnancy panel. Life-changing...... seriously, life-changing. Once again I'm a bit premature in this purchase (but I've always been an over achiever). I can actually pull the panel up over my boobs, so wearing them might be overkill- but that sure as hell isn't going to stop me! I'm pretty sure I will never wear regular pants ever again.

So guys, if you want to have a baby and your wife isn't playing along.... by her a pair of maternity pants! It could be an "accident." Say "What? They're maternity pants? I had no idea, I thought they'd be good for yoga." Or buy them, and cut out the Pea in the Pod tag. The point is- get her IN them. They'll be no turning back. OK, I realize the above scenario is unreasonable. A GUY tricking a GIRL into having a baby?!?!? HA! So ladies, if you are DYING to be a grandmother and your daughter isn't on board, I have a plan.... (see above).

Pickles and Ice Cream? No thanks, I'm not that pregnant.

Once everyone is done asking me if I'm feeling pukey (and then telling me how lucky am I because when THEY were pregnant....), the next most popular question is about my cravings. Am I craving anything weird?

Sadly, the answer is no. I'm very disappointed about this. I was looking forward to sending Art out at 2 in the morning for licorice and individually wrapped cheese slices. If anything, I'm having anti-cravings. Things I used to love- like steak for God's sake- I don't want to get near! Sugary things don't agree with me now either. Halloween is coming and candy corn turns my stomach. October is ruined! I'm so glad I'm due early March. Hopefully I'll be back to normal by the time Easter Peeps come out. I didn't even want to finish my ice cream sundae the other day! The world has turned upside down! I don't even trust myself anymore.

What do I have to live for if not for food?

I can tell you what I have been living on- plain food. I'll admit I've never had much of an adventurous palate, but all I've been eating these days is cheerios and frozen pizza. The highlight of my week is school pizza. ("Friday was pizza day, the best day of the week....") Cardboard crust, and dab of flavorless sauce, and some cheese on top- yum! Add some overcooked green beans and I'm in heaven.

Art, on the other hand, thinks all this is great. He sees my new anti-steak and candy corn stance as proof that it is his child I'm carrying. I see it as a sign of things to come. All my picky eating habits are going to haunt me with a vengeance! I will have a four year old that's only going to eat the middle of chicken nuggets and plain cheerios without milk! But that's what I get for turning my nose up at my mom's cooking all my life. It's karma, baby!

It seems I look like crap

Where is my pregnancy glow? I've heard rumors about the beautiful skin, thick, shiny hair, and awesome nails pre-natal vitamins bestow on moms-to-be. Lies! How do I know I look horrible? Everyone keeps telling me!

Okay, the words "You look horrible" haven't come out of anyone's mouth... yet.

But every day people are telling me in so many little ways that pregnancy does NOT look good on me.

Here is what I hear all day. "Are you OK?" "Is everything all right?" "What's the matter?" "How are you feeling?" "You look tired." "You look really tired." "Are you feeling tired?" "You look peaked." AAAARRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!

Guess what, I AM TIRED! You telling me I look tired doesn't make me less tired, nor does it help me in ANY WAY! Now, you may be thinking..... Oh, you're being too sensitive. People are just concerned... Okay, if you're concerned about me in my delicate condition here are the ways I would like you to express your concern:

• Have a seat.
• Let me get that for you.
• Here's some money.

My boobs are HUGE!

Sorry if this is TMI, but this is a serious problem. I'm sure all those flat chics out there get psyched when they can move up and out of an A cup, but I was happy with what I had goin' on up top.

My boobs have swollen! My bras don't fit anymore. Some of my dresses don't fit up top either! (And I was planning on wearing those dresses for awhile; they are perfect pregnancy outfits.) I broke down and bought 2 new bras. That was a nightmare. When you're searching D's and above, the stores don't carry pretty, lacy things for you. Heck no. I guess I need a strong, supportive bra that looks like it was constructed in pre-WWII Germany! And they're only going to get bigger, right?

So here's what I've got- huge, jiggly, white boobs with blue veins. I've got Mom boobs! Plus 2 sturdy, plain bras that could double as a canopy if it starts raining during a picnic- Mom bras!

Sigh. Mom boobs and Mom bras..... and I'm not even really a mom yet!

Sleeping through the night

My very favorite thing to do- is sleep. I realize that this is going to be a problem, because after baby comes I'm going to have to wake up every few hours to nurse. So for now, I should savor these 9 months, because they are going to be my last chance to sleep through the night- right?

WRONG!

I am waking up every night (sometimes TWICE a night) to pee! UGH! I'm barely pregnant- there is NO WAY the little blueberry inside of me is pushing on my bladder yet. I'm soooooo pissed. I've talk to all of my post-natal friends, and they assure me this is normal. I've googled it and yup, because of increased hormone levels and blood volume or something, I may feel the need to use the bathroom more than I did in the past.

Again, I am soooooo pissed! Here is how it works. I wake up and think Crap. Maybe it's almost time for the alarm anyway. I could hold it for 20 minutes or something. So I check out the clock. 1:30. Damn! I get up and go. Then I snuggle back down. I don't even realize I've gone back to sleep, when I wake up again. What? Didn't I just do this? Check the clock. 4:15. @*#!#@^!!!!!!!

Sometimes I even DREAM about going to the bathroom, then I wake up confused that I have to go again.

Now body, you MAY think you are preparing me for baby and those nightly feeding I mentioned, but let me assure you that you are not. It takes maybe 2 minutes to use the bathroom at night. I barely have to wake up. It requires very little effort on my part, and then I'm back to dreamland. But when March rolls around, I'll actually have to WAKE UP, put my glasses on, walk across the house, and DO stuff- for a long time. I'll have to nurse (which I've been told takes FOREVER at the beginning) and most likely change a diaper. This is nothing like what I'm experiencing now. So, let's stop these midnight bathroom runs, OK? They aren't helping me, they aren't helping you. All they're doing is robbing me of what I love the most, and leaving me very, very grumpy every day.

Divine Signs

Today the clouds parted, the light of heaven poured over me, and I SWEAR I heard a choir of angels singing.

I'm in Durham, NC visiting the Holy Land (the Duke University Campus) with Gina & Ava. We just finished admiring the noble beauty of the Duke Chapel and were ready to spend some money on anything and everything in blue. I push open the Chapel doors and step out into the sunshine. Who do I see directly in front of me on the Chapel steps? Coach mother fucking Mike Kryzyewski!!!!!!!! My heart is racing, I might be hyperventilating (Gina asks if I got stung by a bee). This is the best moment of my life! The ONLY thing stopping me from running over to him, placing his hands on my womb, and asking him to bless this life growing inside of me is the fact that my brain has frozen and I am not able to move. (Minor detail) All I'm able to do is stare and take short, shallow breaths.

Now, I'm not one to believe in signs, but really- could a bolt of lightning be more obvious? I think not. What are the chances of my being on the Duke campus, visiting the Chapel, at the same time Coach K is on campus, during the summer, on his way to a family christening? Since I'm not smart enough to have actually attended Duke, I never took statistics. But I think the probability of this event occurring is like 7 billion:1.

So here is what I have divined from this event: 1) My child is boy. 2) He will be an awesome basketball player. 3) He will get a full basketball scholarship to Duke. 4) He will be a genius. 5) We will be rich.

What more could a mother ask for?

Peeing on a stick

My fingers are crossed. I KNOW I shouldn't be doing this yet. It's only day 28. My cycles run long. If I do this and it's negative, I'll be depressed but talk myself into testing every single day until.... but because I can never, ever, EVER wait for anything, I do it today.

For months I've been charting everything possible. My BBT, my periods, my ovulation, my fluids, my feelings, even my freakin' sex life- it's all there- charted and graphed. Very scientific. I have been peeing on some kind of stick everyday since November. I don't think I CAN even pee without a piece of plastic between my legs. But this stick, could be THE stick.

WTF? E.P.T has given me a plus sign! I feel a jolt of happiness and a surge of adreline and then.... disbelief. Really? For Real? For Sure? I'm so used to having the anti-result, I can't trust this result.

So, to tell Art right away- or do I wait a few days- just in case. I play it cool for about 5 minutes, and then he says something lame like "Who's your daddy?" and I say "Speaking of being a daddy...." He asks if I'm pregnant. I get him the pee stick. Then I poke him with it a few times because he thinks it's gross I'm holding something I peed on. I'm going to be an awesome mom!