Don't want to jinx it, but...

I think my morning sickness may actually be done. I haven't had any gingerale in three days, and this morning I wanted coffee. (I put way too much sugar in because I am out of practice).

I'm already forgetting how uncomfortable it was! No wonder people do this more than once!

Snakes on a Plane...

...totally kicked ass! (If you're into that sort of thing).

It was gross and funny and made me scream and grab Dave's arm more than three times. Samuel L. Jackson is the coolest guy in the universe (after Dave).

Also, we had lunch with Ray and Tim today. They are great.

And guitar. What a day!

We made it!

I'm 12 weeks pregnant today.

If you're keeping score, you know that the chance of miscarriage has officially dropped sharply. All the baby's body parts are formed. Now they just have to grow, grow, grow!

Pardon me while I yak to celebrate.

Oh, by the way, if you like Christopher Titus (who doesn't) and politically incorrect humor, visit Mike's blog to watch the entire pilot of his new comedy central show, Special Unit. If you can hang through the first section, it gets very funny.

J.O.B.

So, I found this job posting online.

I've been thinking about a change of pace. I've kind of lost steam on my business. I'm really just not enjoying it anymore. I wish I had a job where I could just leave it at the end of the day and go home. Like, you know, Dave.

Oh, and an employer that would pay for some graduate school...that would be good too.

So I checked out Uncle Sam. I thought, hey, there are perks. Work near Dave, have a normal schedule, get federal holidays plus 13 days vacay per year to start, a good salary, childcare in the building. But it had to be the right agency - something cultural or academic. Something challenging.

Like, I don't know, NASA?

The job showed up today. I'm going to go for it. Who knows what will happen, but hell...this could be fun.

In other news, I lost a refrigerator today. God dammit.

A helpful email to my fetus

Dear Squishy,

Please stop making your mommy sick. She is doing the best she can to provide O2 and peanut m&m’s. She is also carrying your poopy away. What more do you want?

Love,

Auntie Kath

I filed.

I know. I really must be feeling better.

My office at the j.o.b. was a disaster area. I couldn't find anything. And since Jen had not yet shown up to do it, I filed.

Anyway, all is well at camp preggers. I'm addicted to grilled cheese sandwiches and peanut M&Ms. I'm getting work done. Life is good.

Thursday - movie night
Saturday - lunch with Ray

Life is brightening again.

Ann's triumphant return to the blogosphere

Okay, life is nuts.

I finally reached critical mass with a few of my bigger projects and realized that if I didn't do something about it, I might as well a) find a good bankruptcy lawyer or b) follow through on my plans to wait tables at a diner in Idaho. I'm not out of the woods yet, but some things are getting reasonably close to finished, and after working about 18 hours a day for three days straight, I do finally feel like I can take a little rest to blog and practice guitar.

So what's the skinny?

Well, for one, I had an ultrasound a couple of weeks ago. I should really post it, but the print out is downstairs on my desk, and it's not scanned, and I'm tired and a little nauseated. So I will describe it to you.

Squishy has one head, two arms and two legs. Also, something that looks like it might turn into a nose. A good start, but any standard. Heartbeat looks awesome.

And get this - we saw the baby move. Woah.

Here's how it went down. I was splayed out on the exam table with my feet in the stirrups, having endured a pap smear, a clumsy breast exam, and extensive prodding of my belly. As usual, the nurse was systematically jabbing each of my vital organs with the ultrasound wand. On that particular visit, she was more interested in hubby's cancer story than in where she was putting that thing.

Granted, Dave's cancer story is fascinating, but my god, can we talk about me for a second?

Anyway, I'm watching my beautiful baby on the monitor - there's the umbilical cord! Hearbeat! Appendages! Dave and the NP continue blathering on. Next thing you know, little kicks. I think, "did I really see that?" I say, "Guys, I think the baby's moving!" Dave puts it on pause and we check out the baby kicking.

It was pretty cool.

Next ultrasound is at 20 weeks. Hopefully by then we'll be able to tell the sex.

Okay moms - reality check... I'm 11 weeks pregnant and my jeans don't fit. Is that normal?

I'm kind of paranoid about this. I'm not really worried about gaining weight - I'm fine with that as long as the baby's healthy. I'm just worred that I might be in the maternity jeans because of the grilled cheese sandwiches, not because of the baby.

Please mollify me.

What else? Danny's going back to school next Friday. Or, I should say, "to school" since he's not going back to the same school as last year. This year he'll be at Franklin & Marshall in Lancaster, which is much more his speed and a lot closer to home (yea!).

Max is done with driving school except for the "in the car" lessons. Dave says he's now good enough for Squish and me to ride along. I remain skeptical.

Andrew has fallen off the face of the earth. Andrew? Andrew!

Got an email on MySpace from Ray, my friend from college. He's a doll. Looking forward to catching up with him.

Still no word on Randy McGill.

And that about sums it up!

How are you?

Sigh

I've been discovered by the spammers. On goes the word verification.

Poopy.

This site is fun

http://stitchymcyarnpants.com

Ah, all those unforgettable items from my childhood.

Too much carbon dioxide

Don't you love that song? Cake. It's totally stuck in my head.

First of all, we have a heat index of 115 today. That's NUTS. I am reminded of how fragile we human beings are, and how whacked out the earth is. I want to move to Idaho and farm potatoes in the hopes that this will somehow make it all better.

On a related note, today is a code red air quality day in Maryland. Luckily, this is only the second code red day we've had in two years, which is remarkable, because some summers it seems like we have them all the time. Basically, that means that you shouldn't go outside without your respirator. Since I don't have a respirator, I guess I'll just have to risk it.

Like all soon-to-be-mommies before me, I have become highly sensitive to war and the state of the environment. The increased sensitivity to war reinforces my desire to get as far away from Washington DC as possible, preferably to a potato farm in Idaho. Living in the shadow of the so-called capital of the free world is not so comforting when you're knocked up. Because, you gotta figure, who's going to be the first to bite it when World War III breaks out? It isn't going to be the potato farmers.

The original subject line for this post was going to be "Too much TV," because that's really what I wanted to write about. I have gone and gotten myself addicted again. Now I'm addicted to fashion and home makeover shows. That is strange, because I've never really been all that into fashion and home makeover shows. Okay, Clean Sweep is totally the bomb, but Curb Appeal? And How Do I Look? And Extreme Makeover? My brain is litterally turning to mush right in front of me.

I think I'm going to have to call a TV-free week to see if I can break away. Life is too short for this shit.

Here's hoping the weather breaks so I can take a walk sometime soon...without my respirator.

I AM NOT YOUR BABE!!!!!

Why is it that some of my male clients feel it's appropriate to call me "babe"?

Don't get me wrong. I have a great, casual relationship with several of my male clients, and frankly I wouldn't mind if those people called me "babe." But the thing is, those people aren't the ones who do it. And maybe that's why I have a great, casual relationship with them.

I come from Baltimore, and in Baltimore everybody calls everybody else "hon." So I find that acceptable, but only if you have a Baltimore accent. Otherwise, let's stick to the name my parents gave me.

I am thinking about outlawing the use of the word "babe" in my business. Maybe I'll set up a three strikes policy. If I already had that established, I would have been able to fire the guy I just got off the phone with, because he called me babe six times in that one call alone.

Short list of men who can call me "babe:"

My husband (the current one only)
My father
Michael
Andrew
Dan
Fred
Dave Matthews

That's it. If you're a man, and you aren't on that list, "babe" me at your own risk. You have been warned!!