40 weeks pregnant: the waiting game

What better distraction than to get a new digital camera??

It has been the best/worst timing ever that my old digital camera died; I really don't have the "play" money for a non-necessity, but a camera becomes a necessity when there is a baby on the way! I purchased a Canon PowerShot SD1000 yesterday, and so far have been very pleased - it has far more bells and whistles than I probably need, but takes much better indoor shots than my previous camera ever could.

Zachary has laid claim to the baby's Moses basket, it is going to be very interesting to see his reaction when there is finally an infant sleeping in it! Although Suki-pup is younger than Zachary by several years, Zachary has always been my baby - he weighed less than a pound when he found me, and I got to bottle feed him for a few fantastic weeks before he was mature enough for kitten chow. I take it as a very good omen that he is so happy to spend time in the nursery; I like to think I did a good job caring for him as a infant. When he was a few months old and looking much studier, several friends of mine admitted to me that doubted that he would survive - it seemed that most of his weight was parasites. Even in his weak state, he earned nicknames like "Beam of Sunshine" and "PencilNeckMcPooperDoo" by oozing happiness, thankfulness, and stubbornness from every tiny ounce of himself.

I've been told that my baby is going to be on the small side, and rather than wonder if small = unhealthy, I'm feeling just fine about it, with many thanks to Zachary.

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Addendum: In response to Alie's comment
I had forgotton about Zachary's little "kiss kiss SMACK" incident! In his defense, he -was- provoked!! Alie loves the squeaky sounds that Zach makes when he's good and ticked off, so she had been taunting him for a while. She thought she'd try to make up with him by picking him up like an infant (which he generally likes) and offering up her face for some licking (yes, he likes to lick/groom faces, especially if you have facial hair). Zach gave her two feeble licks on the mouth then stopped - Alison raised her head to say "oh, is that all?" and Zach punched her face (claws not out, he's a gentleman) as hard as a 13-ish pound cat possibly could.

haiku and hostility

First, I must tip my hat to Chris of Rude Cactus who has graced the blogosphere with 191 Monday morning haiku. His was the first blog I read regularly, and I quickly became hooked on his wife's blog also. By providing examples of how well-written blogs can be, I was ultimately inspired to start my own blog. Blame them for this blasphemy!

So, on to blah blah greatest compliment is imitation, blah blah, I'm compelled to share:

Director Spielberg
creative genius my ass
my pregnant dreams trump

Shortest version possible: I was hired on by a crazy Mr. Burns-esque art collector for a high-pay job with super benefits and permission to bring my (yet unborn) baby to work. Fast forward to me realizing that the reason I was hired is that my crazy-boss-to-be is actually some sort of cult leader who is after my unborn baby, because he somehow knows that my baby will be the ideal combination of perfect flaws. (Made sense in dreamland anyway . . .) I could bore you for hours by describing the office/compound and the works of art it contained - weird shit, my friends . . .

When I woke up, I felt how Rambo looks. Lord help any prowler dumb enough to enter my home, there would be nothing left but a pile of hamburger-esque goo, and me calmly picking my fingernails clean - I've had my share of hissy fits, but nothing compares to the outraged/angry/focused/deadly mindset I was in.

I wandered around the house, cuddled the dog and all three cats, ate cereal, and talked with Mr.Hubby (who was thankfully awake at the same time) for nearly an hour before I could even attempt sleep. The dreams that followed were about overthrowing the evil art collector/cult leader while trying not to give away that I had figured him out.

SO, apparently my brain is effectively getting into "protect the baby" mode?

now we're getting somewhere . . . .

Guess who gained two pounds within 7 days - again! The victory dances I boogied over gaining 3 pounds in four weeks seem so silly now . . . and to all the schmucks who previously told me how *tiny* I seemed - BITE ME.

And for the discusto report: 75% effaced, but still at 0cm (shut tight).

As to the baby? Just like Mama, still partying like it's 1999: no shortage of hiccuping and squirming.

I'm thrilled to report that the head is . . . engaged.

Oh I crack me up . . .