Graham Crackers and Milk.... I WOULD KILL FOR MILK.

I've had a few food aversions.

There are some foods that I used to love, that right now, oddly bother me. One of those things is good old fashioned homemade macaroni and cheese (though the boxed kind does not bother me). I also can't eat most pasta meals and maybe only one slice of pizza when I LOVE pizza.

I do, however, crave veggies and fruit. I eat a salad nearly every day and crave Granny Smith Apples like I love red wine. WHAT KIND OF STRANGE PREGNANT LADY AM I??

Of course, sometimes the mere thought of eating anything makes me quite queasy still (this is going away any time now, right?), but for the most part, I take all of that advice to eat small meals throughout the day. It hasn't really seem to make much of a difference, but it does keep the heartburn down. And because of this little meal heavy diet, I have an entire pantry stocked with organic animal crackers, dried fruit (but suddenly don't like raisins), granola, fig newtons and all kinds of nuts (that, incidentally, I no longer like).

Which is why, for my 3:30 meal, I had graham crackers and Nutella. But all I wanted was a glass of cold milk to go with my crackers -- not, as it happens, my 700 ml bottle of Poland Spring. I really, really wanted milk. But, I could not bring myself to pour a cup of milk from the office "coffee supply" milk jug. I felt that was cheating.

So instead, I made myself a hot chocolate with about a quarter of the packet, about a teaspoon of water.. and then topped it off with lovely, wonderful, cold milk.

I feel it's a good compromise. But just in case, I'm going to be bringing in my own milk for the office fridge.

Doesn't it suck when people post about their dreams?

It does suck when people post about their dreams, so I'll make this short. And I'm only doing it because it was funny (and in case parts of it come true). I dreamt I gave birth to a boy in a very quick and painless delivery. And the Pretend Husband and I were then trying to decide between two names: "iPod" and "The Pretenders." I never found out what we chose because, two days after I gave birth, and because the delivery was so easy, I volunteered to give birth to someone else's twin girls (not carry them, mind you, just give birth to them). And I kept talking about how unusual it was to give birth twice in two days. My sister was there, but I don't think the twins were hers; I think she was just there to visit little iPod (or little The Pretenders).

So guess all you want about what this means, but I'm warning you that one of us-- the one who didn't just have her 20-week ultrasound that confirmed only one baby-- will definitely not appreciate any insinuations that my dream is a prediction. I'm just sayin'.

She's either pregnant or trying to shoplift a soccer ball under her shirt

Another milestone in pregnancy-ville: last week, for the first time, a stranger noticed I'm pregnant. I was helping a woman who had come into my office when she suddenly asked, "When are you due?" My first thought was: "September." And my second thought was: "Boy, are you brave!"

Because, I don't know about you, but I pretty much won't ask a woman I don't know about her pregnancy unless a) she's wearing a T-shirt proclaiming her current state or b) the baby is crowning while she breathes through the labor pains. Anything else is just risky.

I've heard a bunch of stories lately from people who asked others about their pregnancy, including a guy who was attending a wedding with his wife. Trying to make conversation with a couple at their table, he asked the woman, "When are you due?" and was mortified when she answered in a frosty tone, "I'm not pregnant." There is just no recovering from that, and the poor guy spent the rest of the reception not speaking to the people at his table.

And Kat's lil sis is still miffed at the fast food worker who, six weeks after she gave birth, looked her stomach and inquired about her due date.

Although I was surprised someone had the guts to ask about my pregnancy, I wasn't offended. It means I no longer look like I'm just packing on the pounds, but the weight gain actually looks like a pregnancy. Now, strangers coming up and touching my belly? That's a different story.

Please keep your salmon salad 5 miles away at all times.

So far, my favorite pregnancy-related symptom hasn't been the nausea. Nor the four times in one night up to pee. Nor has it been the bloat that comes before the belly. Or the break-outs that bring me back to high school.

No, no.

My all time favorite thing so far is my ability to sniff out every single scent, odor, fragrance, etc within a two mile radius.

It's kind of crazy. And generally, it's helpful. I can recognize ingredients before looking at a dish. I can tell when it's time to do the laundry well before my hamper is overflowing. And I know when my husband has eaten the last Oreo before I even come downstairs.

Unfortunately, I can no longer stand the smell of my own house. The combination of the leather couch, new carpet and J's abundant use of "Fantastik" has overwhelmed my senses. I'm fine with the upstairs. But the downstairs - where I spend all of my time - has got to go. I'm not sure if scented candles are the answer, or if I just need to spend the entire weekend with the windows open.

But something has got to give. Either I need to have an army of Keebler elves start baking away, or I need an unscented febreeze kind of fix.

So I beg you, Internet. Please help.

Don't let SJ fool you. She didn't get pregnant for the blog-- she did it for me.

So, exciting times around here, huh? Although that's about all the excitement I can take until the funny kids arrive in the fall. So don't expect any more big announcements from us, unless SJ finds out she's having twins (ha! I love the look on her face when I say that!)

If you've come to know me at all through this blog, you know that I am not capable of-- say-- calling kat's lil sis and simply announcing, "SJ is pregnant too!" Nope. Instead, I called lil sis and said, "So I take it you're not going to be pregnant with me."

And she FREAKED OUT. "KAT, are you kidding? I had a baby three months ago!"

I replied, "I just thought it would be nice to be pregnant with someone."

She continued yelling, "Did you really think I was going to get pregnant so soon. Are you crazy?"

I think she would have kept going, but I interrupted and said, "I wanted someone to be pregnant with. Lucky for you, I convinced SJ to do it instead."

Silence. Then, "SJ is pregnant?" and all sorts of celebration on the other end of the phone (I'm guessing it was part excitement for SJ and part relief that I didn't seriously expect her to be pregnant again).

As I said in the comments (and have said to SJ in person a bunch of times), Congratulations! I'm excited to have someone to go through all of this pregnancy craziness with, I think it will be cool to have our kids so close in age (we joke that they are destined to be best friends or future spouses) and, on behalf of little sis, thanks for getting pregnant so she didn't have to.

The things I'm willing to do for blog material...

I had wanted to wait a few more weeks to write this post, but frankly, there's not a lot funny going on in my relatively boring life that aren't directly related to this one main thing.

And besides, KAT's little sis specially requested that I post. (Oh, you LOVE me! You really do!!!!)

So you know how KAT and I are pretty obnoxiously close, right? No?

OK, I'll review.

We met back in 2002 when we were both reporters at a newspaper together. It was about that time I was dating J. Months followed, J and I got engaged and KAT and I grew ever closer, bonding over things like pen fights, whiskey mixed with antihistamines and long story short, I woke up with no pants on in her bed.

Obviously, things like this make you bond.

So KAT stood up at my wedding (as in, she was a bridesmaid. I didn't just make her stand there in the middle of the church the entire ceremony. She had a matching dress and everything). Then J and I got a dog. And then KAT and PH started dating and then they got a dog. And as the years followed, KAT ended up married to my husband's best friend.

And then they moved. And then we moved too. To the same town.

My point, folks, is that we believe in doing things together.... which is why it probably doesn't come as a shock to you that almost exactly two months after KAT and the PH will have their little bundle of joy in diapers, J and I will get another dog.

HA! I got you, didn't I?

Okay, no not really.

We are, in fact, also having a baby. And by "we" I mean, you know, mostly me. But J obviously had a huge part in this whole thing.

So as I wrap up the first trimester, which for me has meant a moderate amount of puking, aversions to some of my favorite foods yet odd cravings for salad (My child's name may end up Romaine), "OH MY GOD I HAVE TO GIVE UP COFFEE," getting up four times a night to pee and seriously looking (or feeling so bloated that I must look) pregnant for at least a month now, I'm looking forward to sharing all of the kind of horrendous details that one should only share with her best friend, or publicly on a blog when it would make others laugh at my expense.

But you know. Whatever it takes. FOR THE BLOG.

Note: I've written this post and scheduled for advanced posting.  Which means I will likely forget that I posted it and someone will say something to me at some point and I will be offended and cry because I must look hugely pregnant. Please don't be offended if you're the person I cry to.

Where the wild things are...

The Pretend Husband grew up in a town that is a lot more developed than the boondocks we currently live in. So he really thinks this is country living and, because of his lack of experience in the country, sometimes isn't prepared for what goes on around here.

The other night, he spent the evening on the deck that overlooks the pond, grilling a steak, smoking a cigar and drinking a beer (I was working late and he turns into a swinging bachelor when that happens...) He had been staring out at the pond watching the bubbles as the fish popped up to the surface to eat bugs.

As he turned away to check the grill, the PH heard two huge splashes from the pond. Knowing they were too big to have been made by a fish, his first thought was, "There's an alligator in the pond!"

It turns out it was two ducks landing in the water, but I'm still teasing him about those New England freshwater alligators we have living in our pond.

Yes, you got it down. No, you did not do it intelligently.

One of the caveats that came with the house and property we bought from my dad is the large number of trees that my dad planted more than 30 years ago that have since taken over the yard. They are mostly huge, huge, huge evergreen trees (you know the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center each year? these are too big to qualify...)

While we're not huge fans of the trees that ring the property, there are two in particular that have been the bain of our existence because one is planted in the center of the front yard (blocking the house) and the other is planted in the center of the backyard (blocking the yard from the house). The Pretend Husband and I have always talked about getting them taken down in both a "wouldn't it be nice if we had some extra money and could hire a tree service?" kind of way (me) and a "I bet I could get a couple of buddies over here and take them down" kind of way (him).

While I tend to plot and plan, the PH can be a mite more impulsive, as evidenced by the phone call I got on a Friday afternoon announcing that he and kat's lil bro had been text messaging and decided they were going to take down the tree in the front yard. When I couldn't convince the PH it might not be a good idea to undertake such a big project without any idea how to even begin, I pulled lil bro aside and said, "I expect you to be the voice of reason. If you guys don't know how to do this without sending the tree into the house, don't go through with it." His response was, "How hard can it be?"

Which is how, within minutes, my brother was cutting a notch on one side of the tree while the PH stayed out of the way (I think he figured, if he didn't physically handle the chainsaw, he wouldn't be responsible for the tree crashing into the second floor of our house). So, the tree was notched on the side the guys wanted it to fall on, the wood was cleared out of the notch and... nothing happened. The tree didn't move.

My brother continued cutting until the chainsaw got stuck and turned off, which is when... we heard a crack... and the tree started moving... toward me, who was standing in front of our garage (so, it didn't fall directly toward the house at least, but still not in the direction it was supposed to go).

I ran, kat's lil bro ran from where he was at the base of the tree and the PH stood out of range staring in a horrified manner as the tree fell-- in the exact opposite direction from where the guys had planned for it to fall.

Luckily, it missed everything (our house, the garage, my dad's cannons, cars passing by the road, Molly and Casey) except two branches of another nearby tree. I spent the rest of the night saying to the PH, "You guys are soooo lucky. So lucky." And he responded, "It wasn't luck." To which I would reply, "It wasn't luck? Then what was it? Because it sure wasn't skill!"

Yes, I'm grateful for the new and improved view from our front door. No, I will not be letting the PH, kat's lil bro and their mighty chainsaw near the tree in the backyard. Some things-- like someone who knows how to send a tree in the direction it's intended-- are worth paying for.

Something I will never do again

Number one on the list of things I will never do again is go to Wal-Mart on a Friday night. Perhaps where you live, Wal-Mart is the heart of the community and everyone dresses appropriately, speaks clearly and has all their teeth. At the one closest to where we live? Not so much.

I actually had never been there... and now I know why. Wal-Mart on a Friday night is insane. Let's see, we were treated to half-dressed people, little kids screaming their heads off (perhaps because it was 9:30 p.m. and they were still awake?) and some of the rudest, least helpful employees I've ever met.

We had to go to the automotive section of the store for the battery the PH needed for the new love of his life, his riding lawn mower. As we stood there, two teenage boys who had been checking out the stereo systems cranked a bunch of them up then ran off laughing. While a nearby employee didn't seem to mind having to scream over the noise, I did, so I went over and turned all the stereos back down (and yes, I realize how old that statement makes me sound).

Then, while looking for a certain product to cover all the gray hair that has been invading my head, I spotted an employee stocking shelves and politely said, "Excuse me." That's when she grunted at me-- grunted! When I asked her where the magic potion was that will make my head go from looking like it's 50 to looking my age was, she muttered, "last aisle, on the wall" without looking up. Ok, then.

The last straw was as the PH and I were each lugging a heavy lawn mower battery through the store and we started hearing what the PH thought was an injured bird loudly crying out in pain. It turns out it was some type of toy that some kids in the toy aisle kept making squeal over and over and over again. We hustled to the cash register, having to scoot around a trio of 20-year-olds dressed all in camouflage with the girl trying to make out with her big, steel toe-booted, NASCAR hat-wearing boyfriend while his identically-dressed friend looked on.

And that is why I shop at Target.

Boys and their toys...

On Friday, my dad and brother dropped off a riding lawn mower the Pretend Husband bought. The Pretend Husband then rushed home from work to admire it and dream about riding it around the yard (it needed a new battery so the dream couldn't become a reality just yet). I can't be certain, but I wouldn't be surprised if he sat on the tractor and made engine noises.

That night, we hit up Wal-Mart to buy a new battery and got home after 9:30 p.m. The PH immediately went to the garage to install the battery. Suddenly, he walked into the house, grabbed a can of beer out of the fridge and went back outside.

Which is how I came to have a strange man with a beer in one hand joy-riding around our yard on his tractor at 10 o'clock at night. I would be embarrassed, but I'm pretty sure the neighbors are used to that kind of thing from when my dad lived in the house (which just proves I did indeed marry my father).

How I know it's Monday

Remember the episode of "Seinfeld" where George steps on a pigeon and gets angry, saying humans have a contract with birds that the birds fly away so they don't get stepped on? I had always assumed that contract included birds flying away so they didn't get driven over.

Driving to work this morning, I was on a shady back road when I suddenly spotted a bird right in front of my car. When it didn't immediately fly off, I tried to put it between my tires. I'm not certain I hit it, but the muffled bump and the feathers swirling around the road when I looked in my rear view mirror lead me to believe I did.

The worst part is, I kept hearing a cheeping noise as I drove to work and was convinced the (slow-moving, suicidal) bird was stuck in my grill. It turns out it wasn't but I'm still angry with that bird for not holding up its end of the contract and ruining my Monday morning.

Sure, and maybe we can get my high school English teacher in there to hold my other leg...

Yesterday, the Pretend Husband came home and told me his mother is insistent that she be in the delivery room when the baby is born. I think I stopped breathing until he explained that, after the Pretend Mother-in-Law kept talking about it, he questioned her until she clarified that by "delivery room," she actually meant "hospital waiting room." I mean, I can't guarantee that she won't be sitting in there for a good 10 or 12 hours if she insists on going to the hospital when we do, but I will take that option over having extra people in the actual delivery room staring at my hoo-hah anyday.

For some reason, the PH brings home a comedy every single time he rents a movie these days...

Remember when our family dog (well, she was until kat's lil sis stole her), Callie died? And I said I couldn't stop crying after lil sis called me at work to tell me? I wasn't kidding. I could not stop crying.

I cried for at least 30 minutes, including everything from quiet tears dripping onto my shirt to huge sobs. I went through the rest of the box of tissues on my desk and had to resort to using paper towels to soak up the tears (and I don't even want to admit to how many paper towels I used). I cried until I was dehydrated. I thought I was done crying and started doing some work, but had to stop because I couldn't see the computer screen through my tears.

I cried until I finally started laughing because I honestly didn't know how to stop crying. I thought I might not be able to stop until the baby was born. So, yeah, those hormones are nothing to be messed with if I, who rarely shows emotion, can't stop weeping. I think the Pretend Husband is a little scared by them. I have a feeling if the car died, our house went into foreclosure and he lost his job, he still wouldn't tell me out of fear of starting the waterworks no one knows how to turn off.

We'll add this to the list of things NOT to say to a pregnant woman

From a coworker this morning:

"How far along are you? 18 weeks? You look at least six months pregnant! Your belly definitely grew over the weekend!"

Oh my God, it's twins!

At least I have an explanation for my huge appearance in that last photo, but I'm still kind of freaking out about how we're going to handle this one.

We went to the doctor this morning and she found a second heartbeat. There was some explanation about how they could have missed it the first two times we heard the heartbeat, but I'm kind of in shock and can't remember what it is.

We have an ultrasound scheduled next week to confirm it, but the doctor is 99 percent certain there are two big-headed kids in there. The Pretend Husband keeps talking about how much more expensive it's going to be to get double the baby stuff, double the clothing as they grow and double the college tuition, but all I can think about it when I'm ever going to sleep again with two babies needing to eat, be changed, etc.

Oh, and one more thing.....

(scroll down)

April Fools. (Apparently, I am just that huge with only one kid in there)