We went to Philly this weekend, y'all! And I hung out with Diana and I ate cheesesteaks and have lots of stories about it. BUT FIRST, AN ENTRY I WROTE ON FRIDAY AND THEN NEGLECTED TO PUBLISH, FOR I AM THAT STUPID: I had my second prenatal appointment today, in all its boringness. Three highlights: The nurse called to me in the waiting area and told me I could go ahead and use the bathroom, which I thought was nice of her, as I ALWAYS have to use the bathroom. But it turns out that "go ahead and use the bathroom" is a secret OB code for "go pee in a specimen cup." I did not know this and did not pee in the specimen cup. The code was then explained to me and I was shown the self-serve specimen cup station that I am to familiarize myself with from now on. All of this goes to prove what infertile women everywhere already suspect: THE PREGNANT WOMEN HAVE A SECRET CLUB AND LANGUAGE AND SPECIMEN CUP HANDSHAKE AND THEY WILL NEVER TELL YOU ABOUT IT. BWA. HA. HA. After Specimencupgate, and my sincere promise that I would most certainly have... Read more →

(Thursday Edition, Again, Like You Are Surprised) Okay, before we begin, let me issue a word of caution regarding the state of your advice guru: 1. It is snowing outside, yet there was no delay at my office, mostly because I assumed there would be a delay and stayed in bed for an extra half hour. 2. I am wearing maternity pants to work for the first time today, and while they are deliciously comfortable around the belly, they are falling off my ass. Seriously, if I sit down wrong I will moon anyone behind me, or at least show off my new maternity underwear with the twee pink hearts. 3. I just realized I am wearing my new red shoes with a green sweater. Yick. 4. I wore my new red shoes in the snow? Have I gone mad? 5. I did not comb my hair today before mashing it into a hair clip. Basically, I've got a really great look going on today and feel super extra qualified to tell you how to look all beautiful and stuff. Let's begin! Dearest Amalah: Queen, Mother, Goddess - I have found your make-up advice to be so good in the... Read more →

Y'ALL Y'ALL Y'ALL Y'ALL Y'ALL So okay, I was totally planning on hosting an Advice Smackdown today. (Collective groans from the readers who know exactly where this is headed.) No, really! I was! I had questions lined up! Advice at the ready! I just needed to take care of this one tiny thing at work first. And it was tiny. I needed exactly three words added to a particular web site. Three words! And two of them were hypenated! But as it turns out, the Only Person who knew how to add these three words to this particular web site has left the company, leaving a Jurassic Park-like trail of secrets and mystery and missing web forms in his wake. After two hours (no really, TWO HOURS) of sitting at some IT guy's desk while he searched and DOS'd and SQL'd his way through our interwebnet infrastructure, trying to find a way to add my three stupid annoying words, he finally admitted that it would easier if we just REBUILT THE ENTIRE PAGE. Which is taking HOURS. All of which I have spent at his desk, staring at his wall calendar, counting the days until every major pregnancy milestone I... Read more →

SIGNS THAT YOU ARE A SLACKER: 1) People email and ask if your pregnancy has gone to your typing fingers. 2) People email with entry ideas, even offering to write the first draft for you. 3) People email and tell you that "Gee, I used to love your site, and I was all excited about the pregnancy entries, but then you vanish too much and honestly, I expect more from my free online entertainment, so I'm not gonna read you no more, you lazy bitch." 4) People stop emailing you altogether, leaving your inbox full of nothing but 400 personalized pregnancy newsletters and shipping confirmations from Old Navy Maternity. 5) TypePad no longer logs you in automatically, and you really have to stop and think about what your blog password is. So hi, I'm a slacking, awful person. Who really didn't mean to go this long without updating. Really! Am sorry. (Sort of. You know.) I haven't written anything because I am sick to death of the stuff I write about. And talk about. And think about. Because it's all the same! IF AMY IS TALKING, CHANCES ARE SHE IS TALKING ABOUT ONE OR MORE OF THE FOLLOWING: 1) Puking.... Read more →

Confidential to my coworkers who may be wondering what happened to that entire box of Girl Scout Thin Mint Cookies that disappeared from the kitchen about 30 seconds after it appeared: It wasn't me. I swear. By the time I got to the ultrasound appointment, I was only thinking about my bladder. My furtive prayers and soul-selling bargains with God had switched from "please don't let anything be wrong with my baby" to "please please please don't let me pee myself on the elevator." Making a woman show up for a medical appointment with a full bladder is mean. Our bladders are always full, and we always have to pee. Just ask anyone who has ever driven anywhere with us. Making a pregnant woman show up for a medical appointment with a full bladder is just fucking sadistic. Making her fill out insurance forms while she's visibly fighting back tears and hopping around on one foot is perhaps the most evil thing that can be done to a human being. I ended up bolting for the bathroom by the time I got to the line asking for my employer's information, because OH MY GOD, I DON'T REMEMBER WHERE I WORK,... Read more →

So apparently, I am totally pregnant. With a baby. And yes, I totally cried when the technician told us "Happy Valentine's Day!" right after turning up the volume on that that glorious, 160-beats-per-minute little heartbeat. Read more →

1) Colgate Total Fresh Stripe Toothpaste which makes me throw up. 2) My bangs. 3) Sewing buttons back onto pants, using the wrong color thread, because it's all I have, and irritatingly tiny needles. 4) Bras which suddenly, overnight, are two sizes too small, which THANKS, as I just bought new underwear this weekend and now have to make a separate trip. 5) My dog's incessant whining. 6) My cat's incessant shedding. 7) Wanting Frosted Flakes, not having Frosted Flakes. 8) Rain. 9) What rain does to my bangs. 10) That Range Rover who cut me off THREE TIMES, you GAS-GUZZLING ASSHOLE. 11) Having to call my bank about why my check card is getting declined, while my husband's card works just fine, even though it is currently in four separate pieces. 12) Dry heaving at work, mostly because of nerves, partly because someone burnt an English muffin in the general vicinity. 13) Having to wait until 4:20 for the ultrasound. 14) Four. Twenty. Which might as well be next week. 15) The huge pile of crap on my desk which REFUSES TO FILE ITSELF. 16) My office, which will not stop spinning, even when I lie on the floor.... Read more →

CONTENTS OF A GROCERY STORE BASKET BELONGING TO A PREGNANT WOMAN SUFFERING FROM MORNING/AFTERNOON/EVENING SICKNESS WHOSE HUSBAND IS AWAY ON A BUSINESS TRIP: 1 package baby carrots 3 boxes Kraft Macaroni & Cheese 2 cans Spaghettios w/ Meatballs and Added Calcium 1 half-gallon reduced-fat milk 1 six-pack ginger ale 1 bag Goldfish crackers So Jason is away in New York until some ungodly late hour tonight, which means I am wild and crazy and unsupervised. So what am I up to? Mischief? Mayhem? Well, I took the dog out to pee and now I'm watching episodes of A Baby Story while wearing pyjamas. And I'm such a rebel? The top and bottom DON'T EVEN MATCH. Rock the fuck on! But PJs and Goldfish crackers aren't the only fun on the agenda tonight. First: Presents! Lots and lots of presents! (I'm really digging this whole I'm-having-a-baby-now-give-me-things.) First up, a gift basket from my friend Penny from these fine people that includes Preggie Pops for morning sickness (dude, JUST IN TIME), snarky teabags and a wee book on "finding your inner mom," which I think I need, as you'll see in a bit. (SHUT THE HELL UP, Woman On A Baby Story... Read more →

What? No Wednesday Advice Smackdown? Well, yeah, no. First of all, it's clear that the vast majority of you have no interest in seeking advice from Amalah v.2.0, Babymaking Edition, as the question queue is quite sparse. Second of all, you are very, very wise. You should not be coming to me with your hair and makeup and fashion queries right now, because I no longer feel superiorly gorgeous and fashionable. In fact, I'm an absolute disaster. People, my underwear doesn't fit. I've lost buttons on about four pairs of work pants already, but dagnabbit, I'm still wearing them. That's what that little extra hook is for, right? And safety pins? Plus, it's one less thing to do in the bathroom when I'm dashingohmygodIhavetopeepeepeethisinstant. Mornings are no longer about me gazing at my many wardrobe options and putting together something fun -- they're about me justifying that no one at work will notice if I wear those stretchy black pants for the third time this week, and do I have any stretchy cotton underwear left that won't show panty lines too badly? No? Bah. Oh well. I'm sure as hell not going to attempt one of those delicate lacy thongs... Read more →

I can't eat anything. Except for whatever the one magic food item is that I can eat. This item changes hourly and gives me no clue to its identity. Jason: (on phone) What do you want for dinner? Amy: Oh, anything. Whatever you want. Jason: Chicken? Amy: (turns green) Oh God, no. Jason: Um, I think we have salmon? Amy: Why do you hate me? Jason: Okaaaay...how about I pick up a pizza? Amy: Okay. Wait, no. Definitely no. Jason: Pasta? Amy: Nothing with sauce. I cannot do sauce. Jason: (thumps phone against hard surface several times) Amy: Could you pick me up a jar of peanut butter? Jason arrives home with jar of peanut butter and a chicken salad. Amy: Oh. Now I want a burrito. And if you eat that chicken in front of me I will kill you. Please leave the room. Last night, as I was getting into bed and pulling up the covers, I managed to punch myself in the eye. The night before, I had a dream that I was miscarrying, and then went shopping with Dooce. We bought gummie bears. I'm getting my first ultrasound next Monday, and we should, presumably, hypothetically, possibly... Read more →