You know it's bad when you're more emotional than the pregnant chick

Kat's lil bro is a big dude who wears steel-toed boots and sometimes makes crude jokes (he's a firefighter, so I think that comes with the territory). And, despite being raised with (or, by) two older sisters, he's one of the least emotional guys you'd ever want to meet. Looking for a tear in his eye the first time he meets his nephew? Not going to happen. Want some sympathy when you break a bone/ get fired/ lose money in a Nigerian Internet scheme? He's more likely to call you an idiot.

Don't get me wrong, lil bro is a good guy. But he's a guy nonetheless. Which is what makes this next story so ironic.

Lil bro bought a house that year that has an in-ground pool. It was late in the season when he moved in and it didn't get a lot of use. Well, this year, the whole family can't wait for him to get it opened and running because a.) he-- and the pool-- are within a short drive for us and b.) he doesn't care if we use it as long as we leave any extra beer we brought in his fridge (he's easy-going like that).

But the family is waiting for the pool to be opened because... some frogs laid eggs in the water on the pool cover and lil bro is insisting we wait until the tadpoles mature before evicting them and taking off the pool cover.

I was speaking to lil bro yesterday trying to figure out how long it would be before I can haul my pregnant body over to his house and dunk it in the pool for sweet, sweet relief from the summer heat. He started talking about the growth period for tadpoles and other such facts.

"Wait, did you research this?" I asked.

"Yes, I need to know how long before they're big enough to get out of the water," he said.

"Do you think their growth is more important than your comfort?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Well," I replied. "It's not more important than mine. The pregnant lady needs the pool!"

(I offered to let lil bro collect all the tadpoles and let them loose in our pond, but it led to a discussion about their predators and other facts I had no interest in learning. Somehow, I think the frogs are going to win this one while I make do with a squirt bottle and a fan.)

La la la. If I can't see them, they must not exist. La la la.

Sorry for the silence lately. Work has been a bee-yotch, blah, blah, blah. And working too many hours has left less than the amount of time needed for my life to be funny.

Last night, while I was laying in bed reading, the Funny Kid in my belly decided to put on a circus act. I'm not sure what was going on in there, but there was all sorts of jabbing. Thinking the kicking, rolling and whatever else was pretty intense, I glanced at my stomach in time to see part of it pop out. So weird!

I immediately yelled for the Pretend Husband to come up and he was able to catch the tail-end of the act and thought it was neat. Then, in passing, he said something about stretch marks on my belly and I freaked out. I am proud to have avoided stretch marks this entire time, but apparently I was only avoiding them on the parts of my body I can actually see. The underside of my belly has a couple of good ones. I was able to contort myself enough to get a peek at them, but will be glad if I never have to see them again.

Needless to say, the PH and I now have a deal that he doesn't comment about any part of my body I can't see. It allows me to continue to go through this pregnancy blissfully unaware of my shortcomings. (Come to think of it, I need to figure out how to implement this policy in the rest of my life. I can't wait to tell my boss I'll no longer be accepting criticism of my work performance and that I prefer to remain blissfully unaware of my shortcomings!)

Looking at the bright side of pregnancy...

As we all know, I'm a bit of a klutzy person. So I drop things. A lot. Including food. But I've discovered one of the advantages of being pregnant.

This morning, I was eating peanuts when one slipped out of my hand. I waited to hear it hit the floor, but it never did. Turns out this rack I've been carrying around not only increases the looks from men, but is great as a food-catcher.

Now if I can just get my belly big enough to balance my drink on, I should be all set (and as classy as ever...)

No, I will not pay $4 for your slightly-used roll of paper towels

SJ and I hit up a bajillion consignment sales, tag sales and consignment shops this weekend in our quest to outfit both our pregnant selves and our future offspring in awesome clothes for cheap. I won't bore you with details, but it involved me finding the bouncy seat I registered for at half the price at a consignment shop and SJ hoping she really is having a girl because she bought some flowery GAP sweaters that were too cute to resist.

Going to so many places allowed us to kind of compare how people run their tag sales-- and just how much they value their possessions. For example, one tag sale had a Baby Bjorn infant carrier priced at $30 (they retail for $80). Another tag sale had the same one priced at $8. I found some really cute prints of frogs that would have gone well in our nursery-- until I noticed the woman wanted $50 for them. I'm not sure I spent $50 in the entire day, let alone on a single set of items.

On the flip side, we found a tag sale that wanted $1 apiece for maternity tops and 50 cents or a dollar per baby outfit. We like tag sales like that and left with huge piles of clothes.

Here's how I see it. Yes, you paid a lot for your stuff (especially baby stuff, which is not cheap!) Yes, it's in good shape. No, you're not going to get your money back. And let's be honest-- you were probably planning on giving it away anyway. Here's your chance to see it go to a good home and make a couple of bucks in the process. But don't expect to be able to re-do your kitchen on your tag sale proceeds. Because, being the seasoned tag sale veterans we are (OK, SJ more than me, but she's teaching me), we are going to sniff out whatever deals you have (hello, brand new Bundle Me for $10) and leave the expensive stuff for the suckers. Either that, or we will return at the end of the day and bargain with you until SJ pays $20 and walks off with more brand name baby outfits than she can carry.

I was just... cleaning the bathroom? (Think he'd buy it?)

I don't mind the klutziness that has accompanied my pregnancy (in truth, I'm probably no klutzier than I was before I got knocked up so it's not like I've had to adapt to that...) But I can do without the pregnancy brain.

Never heard of it? It's the only explanation for why, after I finished brushing my teeth the other night, I picked up my glass of water, gave my hand an order to dump the water in it into the sink and place the glass on the counter next to it... then proceeded to pour the entire glass of water on the counter about six inches to the right of the sink.

I still haven't told the Pretend Husband about that stunt because I'm not sure I can stand to (again) see the look of incredulity on his face when I do things like this.

The dream in which the Funny Gals predict their babies' sex

So, though I've been pregnant for about 15 weeks, I haven't really dreamed about being pregnant, or about the baby.

At all.

That is, until last night. I'm not sure if it was the unhealthy nacho dinner, the gigantic side of carrots that constituted my lunch or something else entirely, but I did dream - not only about my baby, but about KAT's as well.

I dreamt that KAT and I were at the doctor's office. That doesn't seem odd, although, we don't actually have the same doctor or even the same practice. But we were both there, and there was an ultrasound in the room. So naturally, when the doctor stepped out, KAT asked me to do an ultrasound on her baby. Um. So I did. She wanted me to find out what she was having - but she didn't want me to tell her.

Right. So I did that. And then, just to be sure I was right about the sex, I opened up the pouch where she keeps the baby, and checked it out. Yep! It's a girl! We had an odd pact though, that we wouldn't let each other actually see the babies, because then we wouldn't want to put them back in their pouches so they could continue growing.

Then, KAT checked my baby out from my pouch. First she said "It's a Boy!" And I was in such shock that I didn't believe her. I had been so certain I was having a girl... and that SHE was having a boy. Then she followed it up with, "Oh, I'm just kidding! It's a girl!"

And so it came to be that KAT and I are having girls.

But we're also kangaroos, so.... you know. Grain of salt and everything.

What? Some families have quiet meals together that were planned in advance? That's so weird.

I thought I was headed home yesterday to hang out with the dogs, make dinner for the Pretend Husband and hang out until we went to bed. That was, until I got a phone call from my dad while on my commute home. One thing led to another, which led to another, which led to me picking up the dogs and deciding to go visit my brother and his house, neither of whom I've seen in awhile.

My brother was a bit weirded out when I called to say I was on my way over and was convinced I was going over to break some bad news to him in person or something. But really, I wanted to see his house before his kitchen gets remodeled today and I thought it would be nice to drop by on him, like he sometimes does to us. And so, lil bro said I could come, but added, "Bring food." (I wasn't offended because I know where his priorities lie. I also wasn't going to bring him anything because I was already on my way and there are no stores between our houses).

Then my dad got involved again and offered to bring over a pizza and wings to lil bro's house if the PH agreed to meet us there. I would get to see lil bro's house, the dogs could all play together, my brother would get his food and we could catch up. It sounded like a good idea-- until lil bro pointed out the fact that his kitchen is undergoing a renovation so he had no table, no way of washing plates after we used them and nothing for anyone to drink.

After a flurry of phone calls, we got the PH rerouted to my dad's house, had my brother agree to pick up the food my dad had ordered and we all made our way to my dad's house since it was the closest place with both chairs to sit on and plates that could be washed after we used them.

A few minutes after the PH and I arrived at my dad's house, my brother came strolling in-- with three pizzas and two containers of buffalo wings. We all looked at my dad like he was crazy as lil bro said, "Why'd you order so much food?"

We're still not completely sure what happened, but we pieced together that my dad had a few drinks in him when he called the restaurant, the man taking the order didn't understand English well and my dad had started the conversation off with "I need three items" (which may have gotten translated to "three pizzas"). The four of us did our best to eat two large pizzas, one medium and 24 buffalo wings while mocking my dad mercilessly about how he managed to order $66 worth of food for four people.

Not quite the quiet night I imagined but, then again, whenever my family gets involved, it's rarely the experience I think it's going to be anyway. I'm just glad I wasn't the one who agreed to pick up the pizzas and got stuck with the big bill.

Scenes from Mother's Day

* I had a bet with a coworker that the Pretend Husband would not mark Mother's Day in any way, thinking I'm not yet a mother (and I kind of agree with that thinking). But a bunch of people told the PH to wish me a happy Mother's Day and he got nervous. He came home and said, "I don't have to do anything for Mother's Day, do I?" I replied, "You use your best judgment." He knows the code, so of course he had to do something to mark the day.

* I had breakfast in bed delivered to me. And by "breakfast," I am referring to a day-old doughnut and a bottle of water because the PH couldn't find the decaf coffee. But I'm not complaining-- it was very "him."

* The PH was soooo proud of the card he picked out for me, which wished the mother-to-be a happy Mother's Day. He was even more proud that, standing in a group of 30 guys facing a rack of only 20 cards left, he found the perfect one and grabbed it before anyone else (ah, that competitive spirit). He was so proud of it, he even read it out loud to me after I had read it to myself. It was sweet to see. Then I opened the mail from the day before and discovered kat's lil sis had sent the same card. The PH called her up and gave her all kinds of grief about how, of all the cards in the store, she had to choose the same one he did.

* I decided I really wanted Mexican food yesterday and only a certain chain restaurant would do. As we set off for the only one in the state, the PH and I discussed how crowded we thought the restaurant would be-- he was sure there would be a wait and I thought most people were going to take Mom out to somewhere nicer. So we bet on it, wagering-- uh-- something married couples sometimes wager. I won and quickly sent off a text message to kat's lil sis announcing my victory: "We got right in and had our choice of tables. Don't call us around 3-- I'll be collecting my prize!"

* We decided to finish up the day by preparing for the Funny Kid. We touched up the paint in the nursery and then made plans to go out and pick up the crib we chose. After running through the store-- the PH told me he was proud of me for keeping the trip short-- we decided we would go home, have dinner together and assemble the crib before going to bed. That was before we found out the crib wasn't in stock. Because of a complicated thing involving a discount only if we bought a bunch of stuff in the same day, our night instead included us driving 40 minutes to another store-- grabbing fast food on the way-- and rushing home to feed our very hungry dogs before trying to get some work done and falling into bed at midnight. Ah well, if that doesn't prepare me for the kiddo, I'm not sure what will.

(Feel free to debate whether I deserved to celebrate Mother's Day. I'm kind of on the fence because I haven't even done the hard work yet. But still, I'm not complaining about a day of taking it easy and getting pampered by the PH!)

Well, I hope they're very happy together...

I have mentioned before how-- despite my best intentions-- being married to the Pretend Husband is like being married to my father. And it seems that the more the two begin to resemble one another (in character rather than appearance), the more they prefer to spend time with their pal.

My dad mentioned he just bought a bunch of meat on sale and wanted to know when he should come over for a barbecue on our deck. I mentioned the PH is working late tonight, but said my dad could still come over and have dinner with me.

"No," Dad said. "It's more fun when the PH is there." (he actually used the PH's name this time, but sometimes does call him "The PH")

Uh, thanks, Dad. Finding out your father prefers your husband's company to yours is kind of like discovering you're not actually the favorite kid (not that I ever had that experience, but I'm sure my brother and sister felt this way when it happened to them...)

I'm really in trouble if I find out the PH feels the same way, preferring to spend time with my dad rather than me.

Is it possible I'm not as awesome as I think I am?

I don't think I'm giving too much away to say SJ had it confirmed that she is definitely not carrying twin girls (as predicted by my recent dream). I'm not quite ready to give up my claim to have psychic abilities though (even if I have to convince the PH to name our kid "iPod" in order to preserve my credibility).

While it may be a relief to SJ to find out there's a single kiddo kicking around in her belly, I think it just means the rest of my friends should be very, very scared. I'm predicting twin girls for one of you and I'm still convinced my dreams are never wrong.

Mocking the mocktails

If there's one thing SJ and I are both big fans of, it's alcohol (OK, fine, we're fans of a lot of things, but if you've read this blog for longer than-- say-- since we got pregnant, you know we are fans of booze). And, because we are future mothers who don't want our kids to have more than one head each, we are abstaining from the nectar of the gods for the duration of our pregnancies.

And it's hard. So we've taken to drinking "mocktails" when we get together. We've tried the pineapple, orange, ginger ale, grenadine combo I concocted and I drink most beverages out of a martini glass or champagne flute these days to make myself feel like I'm partying like a rock star.

The other night, SJ came over with the ingredients for virgin pina coladas and proceeded to throw bananas, coconut extract, milk and pineapple into a blender with ice. We tried the concoction, threw a little more coconut extract into it and blended it again. Then we added some real coconut and blended it again. When we tried it, we knew something was missing and began to debate over what should be added. More milk? No. And definitely no more banana. It could use more pineapple, but we're out. What's not quite right? What's missing?

And then it hit us. It needed rum.

(Perhaps I should add a disclaimer that of course we didn't add rum to our drinks. We just sat sipping what was essentially a banana smoothie and tried to remember what rum tastes like. And we may have made a pact that each of us would bring the other a fancy drink in the hospital after we each give birth, but I'm not confirming anything.)