Foot

There are times when you can push on Julie's stomach and feel a foot. The baby must be thinking, "Hey, stop poking my...nubbed appendage thingie." She doesn't know the word "foot" yet, but we've taught her circumlocution.

I never knew that pregnant women got lumpy, but it makes sense with how much babies grow in the final weeks. I picture Julie's increasing lumpiness like a step in a recipe: "When she becomes lumpy, let her simmer for about 7 weeks before taking the bun out of the oven."

I just ate a massive burrito at Cheesecake Factory, so I'm feeling lumpy too. We got the cheesecake to go, and Julie is eating it now and watching Made of Honor, a movie whose title I will shelter our daughter from, lest she grow up a punster.

I'm tiptoeing around the real topic today, which is that the crib isn't yet built. Perhaps later I'll tell the infuriating story of the construction delay. For now, I don't want to talk about it, but everything will be fine because the baby is not due tomorrow.

Let's close with an unrelated but inspired line of poetry uttered by my lumpy, pregnant wife after some mild post-dinner affection: "I don't want your burrito kisses on my clean face." Lovely girl.

I can see peripherally that I have about four minutes until the cheesecake is gone, so I better get over there while the getting's good.