Me Make Baby Oof Oof

My first reaction was not unlike George Costanza's: "My boys can swim!" Then I grunted and flexed my nonexistent biceps.

Now I'm just trying to keep the woman fed. In the morning it's egg sandwiches, yogurt and granola, or most recently, bagels and honey nut cream cheese. I wake up before she does, so I become like a quarterback (a grunting, manly quarterback), handing off breakfast to her as she plods from the bed to the living room couch.

It's an extraordinary feat of timing, really. I can see why botched hand-offs usually result in fumbles.

One thing I've figured out, though, is that if I match her bite for bite, I will end up looking pregnant, too.

The little dude (or dudette) is only an inch or two long, but it has a beating heart, which we saw last Wednesday. Kind of doubting whether that little translucent jelly bean will morph into a person, but the doctors claim this has happened once or twice before.

Last night I bought the Juno DVD...