The best indicator of the extreme suck of this work week is that yesterday Damon called me at lunchtime to tell me that he'd booked me in for monthly pre- and post- natal massages. Normally he is pretty impervious to my grumbling, so I must have been quite a sight. I do know I'd started to get hoarse from the constant tension in my throat. I won't bore you with all the details (as if this isn't boring already). This work week needs to end.

I got some instant perspective this morning, though. My friend Karen's house was hit by lightning last night and caught fire. Everyone got out safely and the fire department was quick and thorough. But they'll still be in temporary housing for a few months.

Alden went to bed tonight in girlie pajamas. I ordered them online from LittleMissMatched.com while in a research meeting. Having one eye on the Power Point and one eye on my laptop led me to mistake flowers for dots. But by god I bought them and now he's going to wear them. He looks pretty cute.

I've been a spendy spender lately. Last night we went to Target to get a baby pool float and walked out $200 lighter. I can't stop buying baby stuff. I think, if I may analyze myself for a moment, that I'm doubling up on the experience I wanted to have when Alden was born. Buying wee onesies; folding and arranging; finding and hanging precious prints and mobiles. That all slipped out of my grasp when our apartment flooded and we wound up living out of suitcases through the end of my pregnancy and Alden's first few months. Now we live in house that is one picket fence shy of being a cliche and I'm going to make the most of it.

Still, I need to get a grip. My self indulgence budget is not unlimited.

I can't say I will never. I can only say I will try. I will try not to make fun of diseases that sound either hilarious or lame to me. This pregnancy has brought me more of the same from Alden's -- what I can only line up as restless leg syndrome. Lame! I know! Lame! It sounds so fake. And yet I feel a constant current running through my legs that starts around after dinner and lasts until I finally fall asleep. There are moments when I would saw them clean off to stop the constant irritation. Gah!

I'm 23 weeks pregnant -- the time when the web sites start laying odds on baby survival should he be born now. That's a weird line to cross for me. If I had the baby today the doctors would try to save him (or would at least consult with us on that effort). That, to me, brings this whole 'second kid' thing into greater relief. Obviously, I don't want to see this little guy for 17 more weeks. But that really isn't that far away.

I think there is no real recovering from how long I've been gone. I've been experiencing the perfect storm of a high-intensity work situation, major medical malaise (welcome back severe seasonal allergies!), pregnancy, and a toddler in the house has meant that I work, parent or grow kids, and sleep. But. I got a lot done at work over the past month. A kindly allergist has helped make life pleasant again. Pregnancy is cooking along (22 weeks tomorrow). And Alden is a charming little dancing machine. I hope to get back to a more regular posting schedule and to also start clearing off the Tivo. Right now when I turn the Tivo on I get the "You know I'm not going to record anything else for you, right?" message.

That's all boring, though. What's not is that my best friend got married this weekend. Lovely lovely lovely. She was radiant. Her new husband wept at the sight of her. Friends and family joined together to celebrate joyfully and eschew drama and bad behavior. The DJ practically burned the dance floor down. It was AWESOME. Have I ever mentioned that my husband can dance better than just about any man you know? Alden is following his dad. We were just about out the door at about 10:30 when we heard "Put a Ring On It" (At our house it goes: "All the single babies! All the single babies!") start up and Alden needed to go back and get a little more groove on. He spent the next half hour doing the hot dog, the twirl and the lunge -- his three signature moves. He passed out in the car and we poured him into bed with nary a peep. Soon I will have photos and you can see it all for yourself, if you can ever get past the photo of the most gorgeous wedding dress. Maybe I'll put that one last.

I couldn't have had more fun on our long wedding weekend. Now I couldn't be happier to be on my own couch.

Here are a few things I've missed telling you about:


Warmer weather means Alden gets to spend more time in the yard.


Sometimes he plays so hard he can't make it to lunch.


Super-good buddies Riley and Henry came for a visit.


Alden tries on his surfer persona.


Vanessa gave us a fantastic first salon haircut.


Zoe learns to love toddler kisses.


Alden exploits a security flaw at the children's museum pajama party and manages to break into a caged-off electronics/tools area. It's not safe, but of course we all flail for our cameras before we look for staff to bust him out.


We spent quality time with pal Harper.


Alden likes to spend time each day in his reading chair.

My subject line sounds like a chapter title in an old-fashioned YA novel.

Pregnancy continues apace with no deviations from the text book, which is exactly how we like it. I was wary, but am starting to feel pretty good about my OB. She's straightforward and has been willing to treat me as a person (who knows what she's talking about) rather than a patient. I saw her on Friday and she said, "Hey, your uterus has popped up and out." True dat. She fired up the sonogram machine and she asked me if I wanted to know the sex. I said that we do, but that Dr. Hennessey (the genetic specialist) had already given us a 90% girl prediction. She said, "Well... this little penis might beg to differ with him." And sure enough, it looks an awful lot like there's a boy growing in there. We decided we'd take another look in May for a tie breaker. I laughed all the way back to the office. I honestly don't care which way it comes out, but if it is a boy I will miss the chance to buy dresses and tights. Overall, that's a pretty minor regret. I have the best of both worlds now anyway. When Damon picked Alden up yesterday at the gym nursery a six-year-old girl there kept insisting, "That baby looks like a girl!" It's less true than it used to be, but it's still kind of true.

Last night Alden lost some shredded cheese over the side of his high chair. When I put him on the floor after we finished, he marched over to the pantry and pulled out a little broom and went along trying to sweep up after himself. When Damon tried to put the broom back Alden cried "Mine! Mine! Mine!" until we gave up and let him keep cleaning. This reminded Damon to tell me that the other day Alden spilled a cup of water in the hallway bathroom. (Why we let Alden walk around with an open plastic cup of water is a whole other story.) Damon shooed him out into the hallway so he could mop it up. A few seconds later Alden popped back through the bathroom door with a dishrag in his hand saying, "Mess? Mess?" and got right to business soaking up the stray drops. I'm almost afraid to jinx it, but I've got to say it: My kid likes to clean.

Here's my little Mrs. Doubtfire loving life at a Pigeon Forge kiddie park:

I am a fan of generic items in general and am almost always happy to try whatever brand looks good/costs less. But tonight a conversation about pickles got me thinking about my exceptions.
Claussens is the only pickle brand I buy (with the exception of a random big deli pickle.)
I only like Silk brand chocolate soy milk.
Most of my other brands are related to Alden. We buy California Baby, 7th Generation and gDiapers.
There may be a few others, but I can't think of them. I'm curious to know what brands inspire loyalty in others.

And an unrelated question: What's a good entry point to the Neil Gaiman cannon? I'm not a deeply experienced fantasy/sci fi reader. But I am curious.

I'm listening to the garage door open as I type, which means Damon is back from Kentucky. He spent the weekend there celebrating his mom's 60th birthday. When he told me about it, he said in the same breath, "I already told them you and Alden weren't coming." Good man. I don't have any opposition to seeing his family, but I'm on a full-on stubborn pregnant lady travel strike. Recently we took three trips in three weeks and, while they were all good, a switch flipped in my head and I cannot bear the thought of packing another suitcase. I'm sure that much of it comes from the fact that I was just getting into my early pregnancy wooziness, which left me with some unpleasant physical memories. I'm sure it will all pass. It has to pass by May, since I have two weddings to celebrate in other cities.

Alden and I had a fun, if uneventful weekend for two. I'm glad I got to spend that concentrated time with him. Everything feels more pointed since I know our time alone with him is coming to a close. It has been blustery, rainy and cold the whole time so my hope to run around with him was dashed. But we spent a long long time splashing in the bathtub together. I chased him around the house with my cooking tongs. We built a slide out of Damon's beanbag. We ate some of our favorite foods. I think Alden had fun, and I know I did.

Last night I made a dinner inspired by travellight and it was so delicious that I want to share:
-- saute chopped garlic and diced onion in olive oil
-- one they're fragrant and the onion is translucent, pour in a generous helping of balsamic vinegar
-- let the vinegar reduce and thicken
-- add a can of diced tomatoes and chopped up artichoke bottoms (a nice alternative to the traditional artichoke hearts), capers, basil, sugar, salt, pepper and oregano
-- once that's had a chance to stew up a bit, add a huge handful of fresh spinach
-- when the spinach is wilted, you're done
-- serve over pasta and toss in a sprinkling of a deli mix of parmesan, asiago and romano cheese (or, you know, whatever cheese you want -- goat cheese would be great)

I've made a close version of this before, but without the vinegar. Oh my gosh, the vinegar is an excellent addition. But don't cut out the sugar, because between the vinegar and the tomato there is a lot of acid and it needs to be cut a bit.

The construction of an actual dinner means that, at least on some days, the nausea is giving me a break. But it's not as much improved as I would hope, or had expected. I'll be 14 weeks on Tuesday. As recently as Friday I was miserable and laid out. I'm so frustrated. I have no time for this and last time I felt invincible by now. Maybe it starts tomorrow.

The range of my fantasies has telescoped down into daydreaming about spending an entire day on the couches with Damon and burning through our Tivo list. I honestly can't think of anything that sounds better. This, I believe, is a demonstration of fatigue. I'm not exactly a thrill seeker, but generally I am at least interested in putting on some lip gloss. But after many days of house guests, this is what I have left.

I did manage to get it together to make a lovely pot of tomato rice soup tonight. It came out even better than I hoped and will feed us a few more meals or snacks. Carrots. Carrots are critical. Carrots and tomatoes absolutely belong together. It's the sweet/acid combination.

Yesterday morning Damon got up and pulled Alden out of his crib. Alden asked for the pacifier he'd tossed on the floor, and Damon groaned as he leaned down to pick it up. Now whenever Alden bends down he says, "Uuuunghghghghg." I'm laughing even as I type this.

Do you want to hear something embarrassing? I finally broke down and paid cash money to download some music. I have, until now, cheaped out by picking up cds at the library and loading them on to my iPod. Anyway -- Beyonce and Jason Mraz. I can't help it.

Speaking of cheaping out, I'm going to be taking it to a new level in the next few months. We're actually fortunate enough to have some savings. So I called on my family's financial planner and she is helping us set up a 529 college account for Alden and the new baby. She's also got a few other places better for our money than a 1%-earning savings account. But that means I had to write some big checks and now I can't see the cash sitting in our account anymore. And that makes me very, very uncomfortable. I told her, "You have to realize that I'd keep my money in my mattress if I weren't so afraid of house fires."

And! Has anyone done the math on how much money one is supposed to have put aside to put a now-toddler through college in 17 years?! I can't bear it. Good grief, I hope at least one of mine is good at sports or interested in vocational school. Who am I kidding? I don't care if my kid is a mechanic, but I still want him to go to college.

Finally on money: I checked in with an accountant about doing our taxes. He wanted $600. Is that normal? That sounds crazy to me. Turbo Tax and I have a date this weekend.

Alden went back to crying, and after we were convinced he meant it Damon went down to see what he could do. Our discussion about whether we should go get him went like this:

Jillian: We are past the point where we can hope for a positive outcome.
Damon: This must be what it felt like at the Alamo.

Now I can hear Damon down there with him again. The discussion is going like this:

Alden: Skirl! Skirl!
Damon: Yes, that's a squirrel in the yard.
Alden: Bye bye skirl.
Damon: Yes, the squirrel went away.
Alden: crycrycrycry "Cake?"

I think we can surrender the nap plan and just muscle our way through to the dinner portion of our evening. Won't our friends be delighted to be joined by an un-napped toddler? Don't you wish you were joining us?

I'm sitting upstairs listening to Damon trying to get Alden down for a nap. For an hour now. After I spent at least as long doing the same a little bit earlier. I am guessing that he will finally conk out in the car on the way to meet our friends for dinner.

I believe the pregnancy news has now reached the far corners of our friends and family. It's a huge relief. I hate pretending not to be pregnant. Our biggest barrier to telling was getting through our first genetic screening. I'm 38. Not ancient. No big deal, I know. But my odds of a genetic disorder are much higher than they were even two years ago. We made an appointment to have a CVS at the University of Tennessee and went on Thursday. We're fortunate that they have a maternal/fetal specialist on staff who does nothing but genetic screens. First we talked to the genetic counselor. Then we met the sonographer, who took a detailed look. She said everything looked great to her, and went to get the doctor. The doctor then came in and asked if we minded if he re-did the sonogram. He did, and then was a refreshing change in that he was full of opinions. My experience with genetic testing/counseling is that everyone is so studiously neutral that it's uncomfortable. I want to say, "I'm not so prone to bend to your will that you risk overpowering me by having thoughts of your own." It's something I absolutely loved about my OB in New York. She was always willing to tell me her opinion and what she would do. This guy was the same way. So what he told us was that the sonogram results were as encouraging as it's possible for them to be. Nasal bone present. Nuchal fold teeny tiny. Ductal blood flow all in order. Pairing that good news with the bad news that my placenta was in a difficult place for the test, he told us that he'd be willing to do it if we wanted him to but that he thought we should take a pass. So we did. We agreed that if my blood results come back scary next week he'll hustle me back in that day for the test. But no one is expecting that to happen.

Oof. Now Alden is wailing.

The best part of the test, though, was when he said, "If I can tell the sex, do you want to know?" (Sarah keeps reminding me that you can't tell gender until much later in life.) I said, "How on earth could you tell this early?" He explained that every fetus at this stage has a phallus and if you can see it, the angle from the body is an excellent indicator. Most doctors, he said, won't tell you because it's only 90% accurate and parents don't tend to listen to that warning. So, as we agreed not to paint the bedroom yet, he told us that he could very clearly see the phallus and that we should expect to get a girl this September. I didn't really care one way or the other, but then I got really excited. I admit, I'd love to buy some tights and hair bows.

Want to see?


Damon's back upstairs now, but we can hear Alden stirring. I give it 50/50 odds he'll stay down.

I will never grocery shop unless I'm starving. If I force myself to go, I'll wander the aisles and then leave empty handed. If I'm not hungry, I can't believe that I will ever be hungry again. So no point in buying food. How many times have I stood, frustrated and ravenous, in front of an empty refrigerator? Hundreds of times? The past is the best indicator of the future, right? I really believe that. I have been hungry lots of times. It will probably happen again. And yet, I still can't display any foresight when it comes to Kroger.

Along the same short-circuiting path in my brain lies the conflict between what I want to be true because it is convenient for me, and what is actually true. Not for big things. I understand that I have to get up and go to work. I understand that beds need to be made again and again. But, for example, if I accidentally park too close to our other car in the garage I will perform all kinds of contortions in my attempts to get out. Just because I don't want to have to re-park. Which would be much quicker. But I just can't accept that I need to move the car. I will fight the very laws of physics. Tonight we went out to dinner at one of our favorite Italian restaurants. A combination of impatient toddler and eyes bigger than stomaches meant that we left with overflowing go boxes. By the time we got home I was cold and tired and I just did not want to walk around to the driver side of the backseat to grab those boxes off the floor. I wanted them in my hand when I opened my door so that I could just dash into the house. So I just reached back behind me, grabbed the top box, and then flipped it sideways so I could maneuver it between the two front seats. Anyone with a basic grasp of... anything could predict that would mean linguine with clams all over the console (and me). But for some reason I was surprised. And really, y'all, there was a lot of clam sauce happening. Like enough that I was able to flick my arm in Damon's direction and splatter his face and shirt. (He was laughing at me.)

What is my problem? I think of myself as fairly bright, but sometimes my behavior indicates an IQ just south of room temperature.