38 week update: If you give a pregnant woman a headache...

Have you all seen this book? If not, run out to a book store and read through it. It's very cute, but now, every time I think of cause and effect predictions, I say to myself unconsciously: "If you give a pig a pancake..."

So, for the last 2-3 days, I've had a headache on and off. (In addition to the continuous, unrelenting heartburn.)

Never mind that:
It was 90 degrees yesterday, or that
Work has been a little stressful, or that
I used to have daily headaches r/t to work before this pregnancy made me feel so healthy, or that
I made the unfortunate choice to eat a big mac meal when coming home late from work on Monday (after I spent 90 minutes painstakingly cross-referencing 3 schedule spreadsheets to create an updated "clean" version, and then SAVED the old, crappy spreadsheet ONTO the clean one...) or that,
I've been thinking of katy's boss who just had his first birthday without his dead family and 2 days later he just lived through his wife's first birthday since she's been dead... or that,
I'm mad at the neighbor for setting her sprinkler so that it was spraying at our open windows into our living room AND the upstairs bedroom b/c

1. I guess their grass isn't green enough,
   
2. When setting a sprinkler, you water the neighbor's property automatically, assuming that everyone wants free irrigation,
3. Apparently our lack of a lush, green lawn doesn't demonstrate that we don't prioritize water usage in this way,
   
4. If you put a sprinkler directly in between two houses, and the water is blasting against your own house it doesn't matter to you that it probably shouldn't also be blasting against the house you DON'T own, and
   
5. I guess, if you think it is not traspassing or rude to set a sprinkler on another person's property, it is too much to ask to look and see if windows might be open...

Truth be told, the reason that I am mad is not that she was irrigating our new furniture. I was home and there was no damage, because I went over to tell her that the water was coming into my house, and she apologized and changed the sprinkler set up. But then a few hours later she came back for the purpose of telling me that, "You really shouldn't leave our windows open during the day or at night," because there have been "some break-ins"... REALLY?!? HAVE THERE BEEN?!? BREAK-INS??? OF THE TORTUROUS AND MURDEROUS VARIETY??? HUH... Thanks for the information, that wasn't on our minds at ALL!!!!! Maybe that was neighborly, but frankly, it seemed bitchy.

Also, never mind that I'm 38 weeks pregnant... and that can lead to some discomforts...

In western medicine, if a pregnant woman has a headache, it means she is or is about to be pre-eclamptic and the baby is in jeopardy and in the words of my slightly panicked wife, "It's all fun and games until you slip into a coma." (Quotes added to my paraphrasing- because I can.)

Truth is the chain reaction is in me... Now I'm all worried that a headache means more than a headache and that I'm hypertensive and spilling protein and gonna be put on bedrest and I'm nowhere near ready to not be at work, and that makes me more stressed which probably increases my blood pressure and/or tendancy to have a headache and I know I'm supposed to be more worried about the baby now and not give a flying hoot about work, but that is asinine since I take a lot of pride in my work and finishing what I said I would finish before I leave for 4 months is very important to me... (HOW'S THAT FOR A RUN ON.)

Now I'm off to my prenatal appointment. Wish me luck!

Changing Course

This story has been brewing most of the week.

San Diego Republican Mayor, Jerry Sanders had publicly planned to veto a city counsel resolution supporting same sex marriage. Two years ago, he campaigned that he supported civil unions and domestic partnerships but not gay marriage. When the resolution came to his desk, though, he could not veto it. It seems his 21 year old daughter and many friends and "members of his personal staff" are gay and he could not bring himself to literally or symbolically say to any of them that "their relationships -- their very lives -- were any less meaningful than the marriage that I share with my wife Rana."

When I read most of his words on Wednesday, I thought, "Good for him!" But today, I saw a video clip of his press conference for the first time and I thought, "Holy shit!!!" Oops. I mean... "Wow."

It is powerful to watch a man "lead with his heart." It feels rare to see a father-politician who feels a responsibility to his constituents, his conscience, and his family. It is rarer still to see an elected official publicly address this dichotomy.



Having a strong opinion on matters like gay marriage is natural. Also natural, is the tendency of most of us to post a sign at the threshold of that mental alcove that says, "You either agree with me or you are wrong!"

Empathy for the "enemies" of your social justice (or your religious) movement is controversial and scarce. I know for me and for many who are "with me" (and for many who are adamant in their absolute opposition of gay marriage) the personal cost of expressing understanding for divergent opinions is often simply too high and too detrimental to the normal functioning of the digestive system.

This Jerry Sanders clip made me weep. It was an intense reminder that soul searching and personal change are complicated and emotional processes. Having an opinion or agreeing with one opinion and then "flip-flopping" (as some might pithily categorize) is less like jumping over a piece of masking tape dividing the room and more like taking a long, lonely walk over a high, rickety bridge. At many points during the march you want to turn back to the safety of what you've always known and those you've always believed. At some point, you look forward with trepidation knowing you do not really trust or completely agree the people with whom you are about to align yourself. In many cases, you can already hear your former allies whispering ugly things about you. Some on the bank you are heading toward are unwelcoming: disgusted it took you this long to make the journey.

But you keep walking because it is not about them, it is about you. You can't change others, you can only be honest about what you have learned about yourself. You realize that standing for what you were taught, or what previously made sense, or what you thought you knew before doesn't fit anymore. You realize that changing your mind (whether you admit "I was wrong" or not) will cause some to view you as weak and unreliable; and some will watch your back as you walk away and believe you are betraying them with the admonition: "YOU ARE WRONG."

They can't see, you are not putting blame or judgement on the place you are leaving. You do not want this to force the severing of ties, but you have accepted that this might change some of your relationships forever. You mentally stepped out on this bridge a long time ago and the closer you get to the middle, the only thing you are sure of is the instability of the bridge itself- you can't stand on this thing forever! Maybe you can get to the other side and help design a sturdier bridge where willing participants will be safe to meet in the middle. But maybe just getting to the other side and figuring out where you fit in there and what it all means will consume you for a while...

Okay, okay, enough with the Mother-loving "bridge metaphor"!

But a big hug to the mayor of San Diego. And to all the moms and dads out there that stretch their hearts and everything- time, humor, money, corporate/political currency, food, shelter, expectations, hopes, dreams, identity, privacy, sanity- every resource they can scrap together to raise you and put you out safely into the world... The parents that give with all their heart the things you never knew to ask for... and then at some point you turn and require more of them.

Either directly or implicitly, you ask them for little, tiny extras like, "Celebrate my 'space' and independence" or "Embrace my diversity," or "Question your Mores," or "Condemn your religion" or "Change your world view." And they work with you, still. They consider making the lonely trek across the rickety bridges, or they look into hang glider rentals, or price having a zip-line installed... Some take the opportunity to hold a career-altering press conference.

Others quietly smile at the notion of their future grandchildren who will (hopefully) also have impossibly idealistic expectations of you, and will hold your tender, swollen hearts as high over the ruinous rocks as you have casually held your parents'.

What our lives have become...

Yesterday was our 3rd wedding anniversary. We spent the day getting ready for the years to come: OB appointment, and meet the pediatrician.

On our doorstep in the afternoon was a beautiful bouquet of flowers from my mom and Anna, much like the ones in our wedding (THANKS MOM!):



On our doorstep when we got home from dinner at Bricco: a box o' diapers (THANKS DR. BROKEBACK!).

The breakneck pace of waiting

So, here we are... it's getting real...
I'm all pregnant and shit...
My ribs are spread wide, air capacity impeded, elimination patterns interrupted, breasts occasionally leaking, heartburn continues...
I'm tired and gaining more weight literally every day.

I'm excited and nervous. Not exactly ready for this pregnancy to be over- not dying to evict this kid. Even though I can't wait to actually meet him, I'm not uncomfortable enough to want to get him out of me and not sure enough of my parenting abilities to be quite ready. 3 weeks doesn't seem long enough for that mental transition. Moms are way more organized than I am. Moms can get things done on their "to do" lists without sitting on the couch and getting distracted by exploring their own toe jam with Deal or No Deal playing in the background.

Lately, I've finally started to feel comforted by all the pounding and bouncing around the Bean does inside of me. I wouldn't say the fetal movements "freaked me out" (though the hiccups sometimes do) but more they made me feel a little "invaded". Now I get kind of relaxed- feel a little proud- when he puts his left foot in, takes his left foot out, and especially when he shakes it all about...

These last few weeks are quickly flying by and I find myself trying to make them linger. I'm excited and eager for what comes next- it's what we've been waiting and planning for; and yet, I'm not quite ready to go there. I'm not sure I'll ever be prepared. I'm not sure I've paid enough attention or appropriately savored the times and experiences that are about to be over.

How many times will I experience this conundrum in the next 20-40 years of parenting?

36 Week Prenatal Appointment

Holy CRAP... Look over at the pregnancy ticker- I'm nine months pregnant!!!

So, I had an OB visit yesterday with New Doctor On the BLOCK (NewDOB)- who wanted me to know that she wasn't NEW to either the practice or to practicing... This is a trick I have used before- it doesn't work. If you are younger than me, and you are an OB/GYN, you are "new" at least relatively speaking. Apparently NewDOB did her residency "here" (meaning at this practice or in New England- I am not clear.) And then "practiced" in New Jersey, which I would bet about 50 bucks was her fellowship or something. She missed the point that I don't give a flying duck if she is new, I was just making small talk. Also, the only "New" providers that make me nervous are the ones that try to pretend they have TONS of experience... Knowing what you don't know is important in health care.

Anyway, as described in some other posts, I'm starting to feel large and uncomfortable. I'm up 4 lbs in 2 weeks- which NewDOB attributed to "some swelling". She said, most people tend to gain a little wt at this point b/c they are not feeling that well, and eating more, and moving less... (which is true on all accounts for me) then she said, "But clearly you have been watching what you have been eating this whole pregnancy, so this is probably swelling."

Hmm. Interesting assessment and intellectual leap, having known me all of 190 seconds and not having consulted my chart prior to the visit to note my baby's gender or my due date... THOUGH... you are correct... I did actually watch every bite of that pork fried rice that went into my mouth yesterday after I was finished digesting that large chocolate milkshake (Thank you very much for noticing!)

Seriously though, she's the first of the providers in the practice to mention my total wt gain at all and her remark made me realize that no matter what people say about your wt, it's bound to piss most patients off unless you just say, "GREAT JOB!!!" I've been a little confused as to why no one has mentioned my wt, my over-wt starting point, and/or lack of considerable wt gain, etc. But now I realize- after a while in private practice, this must just be a lose-lose, yellow-caution-tape, danger area of patient interaction; where you are more likely to alienate pts than encourage or educate them... What business person medical professional in an environment of competitive fee for bundled maternity services wants to do that?!?

Anyway, after reviewing my vitals:
HR 99, BP 126/78, wt: previously mentioned

She measured my uterus.
NewDOB: okay
t: what was it?
NewDOB: it measured normal
t: 36cm then?
NewDOB: (seemingly annoyed) yes

I guess she doesn't know I have a blog to report this info on.

And then checked the baby's HR. Everyone in the last 2 months has felt that the baby's back is on my body's right side and therefore started searching for the HR on that side. NewDOB started on the left and got my aortic pulse 3 times before she muttered, "I hate this Doppler" and made her way west across my abdomen. I rolled my eyes in pity for her unimaginative, lame excuse.

Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh-whoosh...
NewDOB: (taking Doppler off after about 10 sec.) Okay.
t: What is it?
NewDOB: Huh?
t: The rate is good?
NewDOB: Yes.

I guess next time I'm going to have to explain I have a blog to report these vital stats on...
It sounded to be about 140's to me.

Things got a little better in the Q and A session...
I have been doing a lot of reading, and suddenly, I'm wanting someone to tell me exactly how this is gonna go down- even though I KNOW that no one knows EXACTLY how this is gonna go down. At the end of the visit NewDOB smiled, held the chart to her chest and said to me pleasantly, the baby is still high and "floating" but really, it could be any time now. I smiled politely as if to say, "Perfect. I'm totally comfortable with that pronouncement," and nodded slowly as not to tip her off to all the panicked screaming that had started inside my head.

Petraeus, Petraeus, Petraeus

I just can't handle this guy's name in the news anymore...
I know it has something to do with where I get my news (mostly talk radio, News networks, NPR, and less often right now- Jon Stewart) but it is never-ending.

I've realized in the last 24 hours that when I hear the word, Patraeus, I either tune the rest of the sentence out (Think "Wah-wha-wah-wah-wah" from how the Peanuts Gang used to hear adults who spoke to them) or I reach out and change the radio/TV.

This debate over this war seems to be an exercise in futility where you can't believe the "experts" on either side. Where it's not really about "stopping terrorists" or "repairing Iraqi infastructure" or "spreading peace" as much as it is about being "right" and having your side's political agenda advanced... What exactly is the mission to accomplish?

It tastes Like Burning

The heartburn has reached a barely tolerable level... I'm taking a Rx strength dose of an over the counter H2 blocker every 8-12 hours and I'm taking tums every 3-6 hours. No matter what I put in my mouth... it doesn't matter- a little water, a little milk, a banana, a few pieces of honeydew melon, 3 edamame peas, a taco- it really doesn't matter, it may as well be turpentine.

I woke up every 3 hours last night with an exceedingly full bladder. On my way to work I calculated that particular sleep schedule meant that I had really gotten more than 9 hours of shut-eye, which ought to have been sufficient.

So now, the nasal congestion becomes a concern and I think I'm coming down with some kind of cold.

I'm just exhausted and overwhelmed and I want to be "nesting," but I'm too tired and too unproductive.

Work is overwhelming also. It took me until about noon to feel like I had woken up, and I really needed to put in a full 8-10 hour day. It did not happen. Instead, I put in a 1/2 assed 7.5 hour day.

The stuff gifts from the shower is are still everywhere, even though we tried to make some sense of the piles all day yesterday. Now there are TONS of tiny clothes to be washed. Plus our regular clothes. Every room of the house has full or empty boxes in it; wrapping and packing refuse; and/or things to be "organized" or cleaned. I don't know how people do this alone. I don't know how people do this without wives!!! I guess I should use "I" statements:

I cannot imagine doing this without Katy. She's the one... she's the thing... despite her insane work responsibilities and her nervousness/excitement/anxieties about what the next few weeks will be, she is right there telling me to put my feet up and ready to take care of everything.

(Deep breath.)
(Heart burn induced burp.)
(Loving sigh.)

Shower Mania

This weekend was our baby shower weekend.

The parties- that's right, I said it- partiES were amazing!
The day started with a few hours of beautification/quality time with my mom and sister. Mom treated to hair and make-up designs. Well, I did my own hair, but got the thumbs up from Hottie McFantasy (my mom's sexy, hip-hop, female stylist) We looked fantastic when it was over.

When my sister suggested to me several weeks ago that she "wanted to pay for me to get my make up done the day of my shower." I have to admit, I didn't know if she was trying to give me some kind of hint. Like that time I got a facial and the woman asked several times during the treatment if i ever washed my face. Then at the end she held nothing back: "Normally at this time, I give a recommendation for products that a client might buy and use. But PLEASE, I IMPLORE you, just wash your face... TWO times a DAY." I still can't believe I endured that lady's final eye roll and left a tip for her when I paid. I HAVE LARGE PORES AND MY FATHER'S FAMILY'S SKIN! THAT'S WHY YOU GET PAID THE BIG BUCKS... TO DEAL WITH IT ALL A FEW TIMES A YEAR, LADY!!!

Anyway... I'm a simple girl, I do lipstick and gloss and sometimes, on big occassions, mascara and foundation; but it always seems like a bad idea on a hot, humid day.

I realized on Saturday that my sister just knew that after her haircut and make up job she would be totally adorable and didn't want me to look pale or less stunning in the photos we took together. (It's good to have a sis that knows about these things!)

From there we met Katy at the restaurant for formal yummies at the "family shower." Katy brought Kate and Marnie who came in from out of town and spent the rest of the day undertaking various Sherpa duties. Food was enjoyed, presents were unwrapped and then loaded up into cars. Katy made me cry with a sweet presentation that started with heartfelt flattery of how gracefully I've been handling this pregnancy and ended with a diper-bag stuffed with a portable DVD player and 3 seasons of The Office as well as funny lady, Kathy Griffin DVDs. I've been asking for some stand up comedy to distract me during labor. (Let's hope it works.)

Then we moved to my mom's house for a costume change and last minute preparations for the evening, less-formal, "friends" shower. Try to remember- though I have not mentioned it nearly often enough- that my sister is enjoying the exact same gestational period as I am. Also, during the fetus forming exercises, she has a job that takes her out of town on business 1 to 3 days a week, and she raises an 18 month old with her capable and loving husband. Many people that know me, know I am an adept party thrower and in general an effective, productive member of society. But truth is, my sister and my mother both make me look like a stumbling drunk in the kitchen. The food was fantastic. It looked even better than it tasted and it tasted great. There was shrimp and kielbasi and meatballs. There was sesame noodles on endive. There were southwest egg rolls stuffed, wrapped, and fried by hand. There were topieries. (Some people just put the fruit and the antipasto on a platter... my sister creates antipasto and fruit topieries.) It was pretty effing awesome. But mostly, there was laughter and love and good, good friends.

At the end of the night, some nurses closed down the party. And as frequently happens, I left feeling literally wounded and exhausted from laughter. I hope the boy inside of me appreciated that this is what his life will be like, all that shaking and jostling was the insanity of a full, busy day of celebration. I know he can't possibly know that this is what he is about to be born into, but this is it... An over-booked, busy life full of friends and family that will fill his house with things we need (and with crap we might not even need) to symbolically say, "We are here to give you these things but also everything else intangible that you seek in terms of well wishes, support, love, and our presence." He has moms that really love each other and are committed to supporting and growing with and near each other. Extended family that rejoice in our happiness and keeping our family in their thoughts and prayers. An aunt who will work all day, put her kid to bed, pat her very pregnant belly, and stay up until insane hours 4 nights in a row to get the food for the party is just right.

And peeps that really care- from north, south, east, west- despite differences of style, composition, upbringing, and opinion. Protective family and friends that are eager and excited to watch and make this journey with him.

Worst Hospital Tour Ever

Last night we had our long awaited hospital tour...
I wanted to go back in june or july, but the people at Catholic Urban Hospital claimed that "all the tours were full until Sept 5th..."

Fine. Whatever. I'll wait my turn if I have to...

Fast forward to the who-can-effing-believe-we-had-to-wait-this-long date and we arrive at the hospital having already visited the L&D unit one slightly panicky evening...

"The group waits over there until the tour starts," the plain and uninterested hospital info desk lady informed us. We stepped around the corner to take our place among a lot of people (I repeat, A LOT OF PEOPLE!) Roughly half of the crowd was pregnant. Then we waited until 20 minutes past the tour start time and when we finally ventured out, I started counting. How many g-d people were on this tour and for heaven's sake, when do they "close out" the tour??? At 30, I stopped counting. Everyone was moving, it was crowded and I think all the hormones were having a cumulative effect on me. I was cranky.

Disclaimer: I had been up and out of the house since 7:30 in the morning. I went home for 30 seconds, picked up katy (well, she drove) arrived at the hospital 2 minutes before 7pm and the tour started around 7:20. It took 5 elevator trips to get us all up to the maternity floor (and these are the large, stretcher-accommodating elevators.) It was TOO many people traipsing around a few hospital units and it took TOO long! Also, some of these people weren't even that pregnant!!! At one point, i resisted the urge to sit down for a few minutes while the guide rambled on and on about being able to borrow a breast pump b/c i thought, "I'm not going to be the only pregnant chick who breaks down and takes a seat." But I was looking for a breast pump to throw across the room when nearly an hour later I realized that i was one of the most pregnant chicks in the room... some of these people weren't even due until December or January!!! HOW DID THEY GET INTO THE "ALL OUR TOURS ARE FULL" TOUR WITH US?!?

Anyway, back to the story... All along the corridors of the unit were the "we believe..." posters. These were not religious at all but instead professed the hospital unit's strongly held tenets about birth and spirituality and family and the importance of all those elements being encouraged and present during labor and delivery. Examples: "We believe that family is the center of the birthing process... and therefore encourage family to be present..." "We believe that birth is a natural process and every woman contains the knowledge and power to direct her own labor..." After i read that one, I walked into a room where I was told that once you are admitted to the unit in labor, you cannot eat or drink- a rule set by "Anesthesia."

I tried in vain for the rest of the tour to find the floral-patterned, pink-backgrounded poster that started with, "We believe that the almighty power of the department of anesthesia knows more than the laboring, birthing woman."

The tour was guided by a squeaky voiced nurse/lactation consultant who liked to say things like, "None of you will need a c-section... All of you will have a normal, natural vaginal delivery... but I'll show you the place where you go in to get a c-section, so that way if you see the recovery room, none of you will need it."

I'll admit it, I was grumpy. My legs were tired. My back was killing me. My bra had been on too long already that day. I wanted to grab this lady by the cheeks and shout, "THERE ARE ABOUT40 PREGNANT WOMEN HERE... ONE OF US IS GOING TO HAVE A C-SECTION!!! YOU CAN'T WISH AWAY WESTERN MEDICINE!!!" I wanted to c-section my way right out of this tour, but instead i leaned exhaustedly against the wall and inadvertently knocked down the unit's fire extinguisher. Luckily it didn't explode, but I thought my brain was going to.

We stayed nearly until the end- 1 hour and 30 minutes- and then I couldn't take anymore. I saw the newly renovated postpartum rooms. The flat screen LCD and Pergo floors were truly magnificent- I'm so glad we didn't miss them.

At a certain point, I looked over at Katy and whispered, "uncle." She grabbed my hand and said, "Come on, let's go." She got me out of there like a real American hero... "I believe that the lesbians in the group know and care more about what pregnant women need than Catholic Urban Hospital, the tour scheduling staff, and squeaky-voiced lactation consultants..."

Thank god I went home with one of them!

Tune in for guest blogging

In case you couldn't figure it out... we had our first Guest-blogging post.
The very funny Dr. Brokeback has left some thoughts and observations here.

She is an erratic, tease of a blogger, but you should still check out her witty ways and Second Opinions. Thanks for the shout out, sister... Talk to you soon.

Breaking news! Dr. Brokeback finally shows up.

Yes, this post was a long time coming. I’ve been on vacation for weeks, and I’m finally Broke(back).

Let me first start by saying that if you have never seen an ice luge, you have never lived.

And then let me dedicate this post to my dear friends Katy and Tracy and also to all of the anonymous readers who are so closely following this pregnancy. (I swear that they exist. I hung out with at least one devoted but anonymous fan last week. She confided that although she has never met the amazing women who write this blog, she is very emotionally invested in the future of their family. In think there’s a chance she’ll make a contribution to the boy’s college fund. I’d send a shout out, just in case. I do know that she wants to send a shower present despite the fact that she’s worried that it might be weird. I assured her that no one says no to a hipster onesie.) And now I will move on to my reflections on Kate-a-Palooza.

Katy and Tracy and I started our week of vacation at Katy’s thirtieth birthday party. I viewed the party as a chance to get in some well-wishes and I hoped to see some old friends. I got both of these things, but I also experienced something that I had totally forgotten.

I actually should have remembered “the Weber-Tierney phenomenon” because I still tell everyone I know (or, at least, anyone who will listen) the story of their wedding: I was expecting it to be a giant lesbian party, with hundreds of attractive women throwing themselves at me. Instead, I found myself sitting at the reception with the only other two lesbians in the place. There were no half-naked women looking for solace (well, at least none within 20 years of my age or sharing my sexual orientation); instead, the party was mainly populated by the incredibly supportive extended families of the Weber-Tierneys. Aunts, uncles, and third cousins twice removed all showed up to celebrate Katy and Tracy’s relationship. Their upcoming status as the first civil union in Connecticut (and the resultant Washington Post front page picture) paled in comparison (And I love fame and/or publicity.). As I shook my booty to the Chicken Dance next to a drunk red-headed relative, I had a moment where I nearly forgot my cynicism. Well, not quite. But it felt good for a moment.

I arrived to Katy’s thirtieth birthday party again expecting hoards of single, interested lesbians with nearby hotel rooms, but once again my dream was dashed. Although there was one incredibly hot but taken straightish friend (sigh), the party was again mostly supportive family. It was also amazing homemade and catered delicious grilled and Italian-themed food. And there were tents and kegs and a pile of cakes, brownies, seven layer bars and something I refer to as “peanut butter chocolate bliss,” and then there was the ice luge (I’ll get to that). As I stood by the dessert table, my mouth so stuffed with high sugar, high fat sweets that they spilled onto my lips, I felt a wave of something I don’t feel all that often. It wasn't hyperglycemic-induced nausea, either. The love and support in the house was palpable.

As the party wound down (I had to drive to Provincetown that night, after all), the crowd gathered in front of something called an “ice luge.” It was a three foot tall ice sculpture sitting on a table with grooves running down the slanted front. The basic idea is that if a person was to stand at the bottom of the slant, a drink could be poured from the top right into that person’s waiting mouth. My flashbacks of spring break, Ft. Meyers, 1989 went away after my third shot of cranberry and soda (I couldn’t drive drunk, after all). And as I watched my friend’s three year old daughter shoot apple juice (teach them young, I say), I smiled and hoped that one day I would have a party just like this one.

I hauled ass to Provincetown as the night wound down. Katy and Tracy would arrive the next night after a long day of party clean-up. We had a great time during our vacation week despite chilly weather. I’ve never seen a pregnant woman like Tracy, I don't think. Her level of trooper-dom sets an amazingly high standard for potential pregnant women everywhere. I knew she came from hearty stock, but as I stood, hands empty, watching her 33 week pregnant body lug thirty pound kegs and giant coolers full of gourmet food, I was even more impressed. Yo, Dog, you’re amazing. Rock on.

The 2-wedding weekend

We spent both Saturday and Sunday at friends' weddings. A good time was had by all, as evidenced by the photos...

Bud light commercials rule

This is hilarious:



Will the owner of a white station wagon...
That
is
just
classic!