Thinking for Two

Just another incident in a long line that makes me wonder how the heck our species survives. (Please note: I am in love with my husband. Especially after he gave me sapphire and diamond earrings.)

Me: Are you hot?
Chris: Not particularly, but I have an icepack on my neck.
Me: I'm sweating
Chris: I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I don't know what to do for you.
Me: (Baffled stare of confusion, distaste and 'are you a moron?' all mixed together.)
Me: Really? You don't know what to do? Maybe turning down the thermostat would help. . .
Chris: Well, you could've just asked.
Me: (sigh. Decide giving myself a concussion beating my head against the wall just isn't worth it.)

The Verdict. . .

is that indeed, it was the cheese and not the baby trying to enter the world. I tell ya, it is hard to tell the difference.

Modesty Shredded

I'm on labor-watch. That means every twinge--every.one.--I wonder, "Is this it?"

So my husband convinced me tonight to have a glass o' wine, some fruit, chocolate and a bucket-load of cheese. Wise? Definitely not. Everyone knows what cheese does to a digestive tract. Turns out, the plugging properties of cheese are not an asset to a body who already has the body of another person sitting on her intestines. Now that over-full, maybe-I-need-to-poo feeling is making me question: contraction or intestinal distress? Time will tell, I suppose. And I will avoid making the comparison of pushing being universal for either phenomena. . .