Not such a stellar start...

First task in motherhood: Birth Child.

I'm oh-for-one.

Oh-for-two if you count the pre-season game, which is Go Into Labor.

That's it, Cervix. You win round one in a shutout.

Dearest baby-

Hello, babychild. First of all, thank you so much for easing up on the whole vomitting business. Things are certainly more fun this way. Also, I appreciate that you appreciate Cactus Cooler as much as I do. What fun we have together after a tasty sip on ice! It's like Whack-A-Mole, only I wouldn't ever whack you, and I bet (hope) you're cuter than a mole. So, basically, bad analogy all around. It's just that you get so excited and bounce all around in your own private little inflatable playhouse, and I love it.

Had your 40 week appointment yesterday. You may remember that 40 weeks is theoretically the total length of your gestation, and not just a fun little rest stop on the way to becoming the first fetus to graduate from preschool in utero. Turns out I am a champ at providing perfectly comfortable living quarters for you complete with plenty of fluid and a nice, healthy, designer-grade placenta. You're welcome, Floyd.

The appointment involved several helpings of that cold, slimy gel slathered all over my tummy so we could hear and see you flopping around in there. It was worth it, though. You're cute, and we like your heartbeat.

We got to spend some time hooked up to a non-stress test monitor, which was actually pretty interesting. The paper rolls out of an ancient looking box with little jaggety lines all over it, and it's like you are a tiny earthquake or something! You got tasered, Floyd! (And let that be the last time.) The nurse brought in a gadget that sounded exactly like that buzzer in the game Taboo (just to keep things interesting, I guess, since your little heart rate was just too steady and rhythmical) and freaked you right the heck out. Daddy laughed for like 2 whole minutes and says he wants one for home.

Speaking of Daddy, your father said a swear word yesterday. Don’t worry; it wasn't your fault. It's just that after the ultrasound to make sure your swimming pool was adequately filled (check!) we headed to Su Casa for some spicy food because we really want you to come out. Daddy picked a fight with some melted cheese, and ended up with red enchilada sauce splashed all over his favorite white dress shirt. So he swore, which I felt was justified, really, because it is a nice shirt and enchilada sauce is hard to coax out.

I know you can't see much outside of your watery little pouch, but you should probably know that Daddy and I created perfectly adorable living quarters for you outside of my tummy, too. Daddy painted stripes, and I (gulp) put up butterfly decals on the wall. (Decals, sweet child! Decals in my house! It's like I'm finally a real Mormon!) Plus, I made you a quilt. There's even a little mobile over your portable crib in our room with small stuffed creatures that are either bears or dogs (can't decide) ready to dance you to sleep. BearDogs, Floyd! Quick, come see!

Anyway, little lovey, the point is that I understand that you are comfortable in there, and I suppose I can be patient. Please come see us and snuggle us and love us soon. Not to give you a deadline or anything, but the doctor said she's going to break your door down Sunday night and make you come out on Monday if you don't come out on your own. Maybe we could do it together before then, instead. Just a thought. I love you either way.

Love always,
Your Mama

P.S. BearDogs, Floyd!

Fashionably late. Just like her mother.

I betcha she's looking everywhere for her car keys.

Or cell phone.

Or purse.

Must be especially difficult without voluntary control of her limbs. Plus, dark in there.

To readers with love

Nothing exciting in this part of the woods [stop]
Am still pregnant [stop]
All is well [stop]
Am told pregnancy usually ends sometime [stop]

Will update when child emerges [stop]

(Please bless before Thanksgiving)

[stop]

Want to know the status of my cervix?

Don't worry, Floyd is still safely floating in my uterus. She seems pretty content there, actually. I'm just running low on blog inspiration for some reason.

Since Floyd doesn't seem interested in spicing up the blog with her debut just yet, we're going to play a game! Hooray! Quick, count yourselves off into 3 groups.

Just kidding.

To guess the date and time of Floyd's arrival and her all important stats, go here. (I'll have a better looking gadget on the side bar later when I'm on a computer that will let me do that.)

Winner gets... I don't know. Something cool. Perhaps visitation to see Floyd at the hospital, which is a pretty big deal since the new H1N1 precautions at the hospital are pretty strict. No coughing on my brand new child.

Smarty Pants

What seems like many moons ago, my Schmoopsie nervously headed to one of those terrible testing centers to sit for his Life, Health, and Disability Insurance License exam for the state of Utah.

"No one ever passes these things on the first try," said his almost coworkers.
"Please hand over your cell phone, watch, jacket, underwear, and first born child," said the testing center proctor lady.

And guess what? He passed. First try! Hooray!

A couple of weeks ago, he went to a different horrible testing center to sit for his Series 6 securities license exam.

"At least you'll know what to study for when you have to re-take it," said his now-official coworkers.
"Excuse me, have you been strip searched yet, sir? It's mandatory," said the testing center proctor lady.

And guess what? He passed. First try! Hip hip hooray!

Last week, he went back to that second horrible testing center to sit for his Series 63 securities license exam.

"Already?" asked his coworkers.
"Good luck," said the testing center proctor lady.

And guess what?

I'm married to such a smarty pants.

First try!