Save yourself -- avoid me.

If it's dangerous to be nicknamed Calamity, it's equally dangerous to be in close proximity to someone who is nicknamed Calamity. My poor little fetus became a real "bouncing" baby boy last week when I took a tumble and landed flat on my stomach. (Is it possible to land flat on something round?) I had been strolling down the street when my foot slipped off the curb and I couldn't catch myself. The sidewalk caught me instead. Here, have a look at my knee one week later:

Pay no mind to my Happy Bunny pajamas.

Normally I'm inclined to blame my accidents on my own clumsiness, but I think I'll blame this one on
a) my new haircut,
b) my new centre of gravity,
c) the sidewalk being narrower than I remembered.

The last two are self-explanatory, but you might be curious about the first one. See, I had a foot chopped off again, which means that my normally long, flat, heavy hair now has some body to it and is so short that it often flops in my face and impairs my peripheral vision. You know, the vision that would have warned me that I was too close to the curb. Evidently I would make a lousy sheepdog.

Thankfully, a few days ago I felt the baby move for the first time, so he must be okay. Scott figures that the little guy is kicking me because he's mad at me for falling. If the kid has a temper like that already, we're in big trouble. At any rate, it feels more like rolling than kicking. I think we've got a couple more months before we see the outline of feet sticking out of my belly or I feel toes jammed up into my ribcage.

So, the baby is fine, but not everyone is. I've got yet another infection lodged firmly in my tonsils, Scott is recovering from surgery and both dogs have been suffering from skin issues over the past few weeks. Here's Montana after gnawing at what was either a hot spot or a dog bite:

And here we have Ferris, who was busy developing hot spots while I was preoccupied looking after Scott post-surgery:

What's that? You hadn't known about Scott's surgery? He had his stones removed. His pair of kidney stones, that is. I'd go into detail, but it was pretty much the same experience as last time, except that on this occasion I didn't feed Scott hot water, nor did I rip off quite as much of his skin. Interestingly, both his current and past surgeries took place at about the same time as we were paying over $600 for Ferris' health issues. At least Scott's medical treatment is fully covered by universal health care.

My son. My son. My son.

It sounds so strange to say it.

According to the latest ultrasound, Scott and I are going to have a baby boy. That's what the vast majority of people had been predicting. After we received the results, Scott said he had figured that the baby was male because "he looks like a boy." That's better than when he thought the baby resembled a duck.

It's exciting to see the little guy moving about, yawning and stretching on the screen when I have an ultrasound. At halfway through the pregnancy I still don't feel any movement, but I'm poking at my belly daily just in case. With the nausea behind me and nothing but an expanding tummy to remind me that I'm expecting, I've been eager for something to make this seem more "real." Somehow the piles of second-hand maternity clothing and baby items in my house haven't convinced me that there truly is a baby on the way. You'd think that the occasional emotional outburst or near anxiety attack would be clues. Apparently I'll have to find myself at home, alone, with a wailing infant in my arms before I get the full sense of forever (also known as What in tarnation have I got myself into?!).