Happy Memorial Day, y'all! Wish you were here, as I would totally put you to work. That's my bedroom, along with every single thing from our storage area crawlspace things, dragged out and strewn around the room. We pulled everything out so we'd be forced to ask the tough questions, like why are we saving empty wrapping paper tubes and the TiVo box, and what IS IT with me and the saving of shopping bags from upscale stores? FYI: Jason did all the actual dragging and strewing. I supervised. It's really easy to get out of doing things when you look this pregnant. In between pondering the mysteries of my selective packrattiness (box from Thomas Pink = save, extra wedding photo prints = trash) and 300 trips to The Container Store (which is like CRACK for nesting pregnant women), we also kind of bought a new car. (What? You were maybe expecting a station wagon or an SUV something? Ha. Like hell.) But oh, CALM DOWN, it has a backseat that is fully LATCH-compatible and freestyle rear doors. And we already have a sort-of-wagon for primary child transport purposes blah blah blah. It also has a 238-horsepower engine for which... Read more →

We're closing on a home equity loan this afternoon, which means our long national nightmare can now begin. We're redoing our kitchen. New cabinets, floors, countertops, sink, etc. I'm even getting a pantry, something I have always, always wanted. Possibly even more than offspring. But only recently did it occur to me that I have to completely empty out every cabinet and drawer before demolition begins. (Demolition! In my very own house!) Where am I supposed to put everything? (Our condo is tiny.) Soup and dry goods on the windowsills? Plates on the dining room table? Glasses stacked precariously on the TiVo? At the same time, we're replacing the carpet on the stairs and upstairs bedroom with hardwoods. (The "upstairs bedroom" is actually the "entire upstairs," as our condo is, again, tiny.) This is the same carpet, as some long-time readers may recall, that we've been talking about replacing after multiple puppy potty-training accidents and one bizarre week of feline temper tantrums after we switched kitty litter brands. And again, it only recently occurred to me that all our bedroom furniture will have to be moved downstairs, and that we (which includes me, the achy, whining, pregnant woman) will be... Read more →

But First, Necessary Life Updates, Because You Care: 22-week prenatal appointment this morning. Learned I now weigh 139 pounds. Sweet merciful crap. There may also have been some baby stuff discussed. Interview this evening. No, not a job interview. An interview of me by an Actual Media Professional. Who plans to write a story about me in an Actual Media Publication, provided I am not stupid and boring at the interview. Have been walking around making intelligent-sounding observations about blogging to myself all week in preparation. Regardless, am sure I will be a total idiot at interview, but at least it gave me an excuse to buy a new dress. And now, on to the always-thrilling Wednesday Advice Smackdown! Remember, questions for the Smackdown should be sent to [email protected], and feel free to ask me all about my new dress. Hello Amalah, I would really like your advice on a pair of shoes I recently bought from Zappos.com. I have received them but haven't worn them out of the house yet becuase my husband HATES them and I still have the option of returning them. Here they are. What do you think? Nadine They get a thumbs-up from me, because... Read more →

So I was having a conversation with Diana about those little moments when you were totally acting like a crazy pregnant lady, but you didn't know you were pregnant yet -- but, looking back, how fucking dense could you be? (Well, originally we were talking about how my TiVo cut off the last minute of last week's Gilmore Girls season finale and how I called her in an ABSOLUTE HYSTERICAL PANIC to find out what I missed, but obviously, this is the perfect segue into Other Crazy Things Crazy Pregnant Ladies Do.) Diana recalls sitting on the couch, eating Little Debbie Star Crunch Cosmic Snacks and "crying my eyes out reading The Green Mile." Before I knew I was pregnant, I rented 13 Going On 30 and watched it one night that Jason had to work late. He came home right as the movie ended to find me sobbing on the couch. And when I say "sobbing," I don't mean the usual sniffly-snuffly girl cries, like how I cry at the end of Steel Magnolias ("BUT MAH DAUGHTER CAAAAAAN'T!!"). I mean a full-on heaving cry, complete with audio, like how Ben Stiller cries at the end of Something About Mary.... Read more →

7:00 am: Alarm goes off across the room (where it was put to prevent mass snooze-button abuse). 7:02: Roll over, discover that left ear formed some sort of vacuum seal with pillow overnight which now HURTS LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER. 7:04: Get out of bed, stumble towards clock, turn alarm off, get back in bed. 7:05: Momentary stumbling has awoken the babalah/boybalah/squishy/whatever-I'm-calling-it-these-days, which awwww, but also STOP KICKING AND LET MAMA SLEEP. 7:10: Wide awake now, gripped by horrible reality that in four months, there will be another human being in my house who will most likely want to wake up at 5 a.m., and who cannot be ignored like the large, plaintive eyes of my dog. 7:20: Anxiety makes me tired. Back to sleep. 7:30: Secret backup alarm goes off. 7:32: Shuffle downstairs with one eye open to make sure I don't step in any Ceiba's overnight accidental shit piles. 7:35: Pee. Congratulate self on making it through the night without getting up to pee. Thank uterus for finally getting its punk-ass self out of my pelvic cavity and off of my damn bladder, like the pregnancy books promised would happen WEEKS AGO. 7:37: Feed pets. Max immediately begins slurping... Read more →

Lord, y'all, the question queue is HOPPING lately. So many good good questions. So much crappy crappy advice I have to give. Since today's column ran a bit (crazy insane ridiculous) long, I'm going to save a few questions for next week. If your question didn't get answered, I'm sorry, but I promise to answer it soon. If you need immediate assistance, please hit 0 on your keyboard and someone will be with you shortly. (Except for Amber, with the shoe question, because the shoes you were asking about are no longer linkable or on sale, and I'm so so sorry, because they were cute, and if you did buy them I'd say money well spent, unless you didn't, and then I'd say good because actually I didn't like the bell-bottom heel that much.) Got a question? Preferably one with a shelf life of a week or two? Send it to [email protected] and blah blah blah I'll answer it when I damn well feel like it. Amy, What is a kick-ass brand of lip-liner? (Bearing mind that I SOLEMNLY SWEAR TO NEVER MISMATCH MY LIPLINER WITH MY LIPSTICK, EVER. I've never done it and never will.) Can you advise me... Read more →

ATTENTION INTERNET, I HAVE NEWS. I'm very pleased to announce that this weekend, a very important decision was made. Perhaps the biggest decision I've made all year. Darling people of the Internet, the diaper bag. It has been purchased. After much thought and research and comparison shopping, I rejected Coach(!) as too summery and Kate Spade as too boring, and instead opted for a Petunia Pickle Bottom bag -- specifically, the Fortune Cookie boxy backpack. (Oprah Winfrey gave a similar bag to Julia Roberts, in case you were wondering, which you probably weren't. Likewise, you probably don't care that Julianne Moore and Reese Witherspoon also have them. Yeah, me neither.) (Liar. And also, snobby snob snob.) And so, I present a combination portrait of The Belly At 20 Weeks and The Prettiest Bag For Carrying Dirty Diapers Ever. P.S. Dear Mr. Creepy-McFetish-Man, please do not comment on this post or send me any more email. I don't care how beautiful you find pregnant women or that you want to date an actress who wears a prosthetic belly and I'm sorry that waitress from the strip club isn't returning your calls or whatever. Please take your freak self elsewhere. Read more →

(Blogging Lesson #429,873: It's really, really hard to think of a follow-up post to ultrasound photos that's not a complete letdown, especially since every time I look at my site for inspiration I'm hypnotized into staring at the photos for the billionth time.) We've been touring daycare centers this week. Would you like to know how it's going? Center #1: The Gulag According to the nice glossy brochure, this place had a fixation with trees, and all the heavy-handed metaphors that go along with that. Children: They need strong roots! Children: They grow strong and branch out! Children: You have to give them water occasionally! The cover of the nice glossy brochure, then, naturally featured a photo of a few adorable tykes holding watering cans and crouched around a small garden. Children: They make great migrant labor! This center was also one of the most expensive ones on our list. But they were promising to take my seedling and nurture him into a mighty redwood, and honestly, how many places can make concrete promises like that? Then we showed up for our tour. The center was one small wing off a neighborhood community center. Actually, the center was one hallway... Read more →

Pictures! Many, many pictures. All of which I am going to make you look at. I am sorry, but clearly, this is the cutest baby in the history of ever. The nose! The toes! The "Oy vey, all this poking is giving me a headache" pose! Click here for the annotated-what-in-sam-hill-am-I-looking-at version. I AM SKELETOR, FROM THE PLANET EYE SOCKET FURY OMICRON 8. ALL YOUR CHEERIOS ARE BELONG TO US. Click here for the annotated-what-in-sam-hill-am-I-looking-at version. Jason: You know, because it's a boy? Our chances of giving birth to the antichrist are bigger now. Amy: Did you just imply that our precious unborn son is going to be the antichrist? Jason: DAMIEN! IT'S ALL FOR YOU! Click here for the annotated-what-in-sam-hill-am-I-looking-at version. Our ultrasound technician was a highly nervous and excitable Indian man who at one point stopped the exam to order Jason back to his little chair after he'd gotten up to get a closer look at the television screen. Ultrasound Tech Man: I am sorry, sir, but I am afraid I will not be comfortable if you keep creeping up behind me like that, sir. Jason: Okay... (sits back down, looks at Amy like, what, did he think... Read more →

(Thunderous drumroll) It's... It's... GET ON WITH IT! It's a boy. And damn, he's so cute. And not modest at all. I love him. I shall call him Squishy. (Pictures coming tomorrowish.) Read more →