The wonderful sent me a care package yesterday. In the box was a pair of the most comfortable overalls ever – I’m wearing and loving them right this minute in fact – and some lovely baby things for little Texas. There was also a sheet of stickers for Nicolaus which are now adorning everything in sight, including my new overalls and Mouse’s collar. Also in the box was a pair of size 2T hot pink girl’s shorts.

I’m fairly certain that the shorts were sent by mistake, and I had every intention of writing to draupadi and asking her if she needed me to send them back. But! I didn’t count on my son waking up this morning, spotting them, falling TOTALLY IN LOVE with the pink pants, and sneaking off at one point to put them on all by himself. So he spent a large part of the morning wearing a blue hawaiian shirt and tight hot pink shorts with a little striped bow. With both feet in one leg of the shorts.

I tried twice to gracefully change him into different clothes, but both times I was flatly rejected. Oh well, right? We’re here by ourselves where frankly it’s amazing that he’s wearing pants at all. But now my mom is coming over to take us to lunch. And Nicolaus is still running around saying “Oh! I look very CUTE in these PINK PANTS! And they have a very cute pocket!”

Sorry folks, every time I try to take pictures of anything interesting I start having contractions. I did take some self portraits, but um, you can’t see them. I’m a pretty open person but as long as my parents are alive I will probably always stop short of posting naked pictures of myself on the internet. Unless there’s like, a LOT of money involved which in this case there totally is not.

I do have a few cool pictures to share, just as soon as I have the energy to sort through them all. Just think! Coming soon! Horrifying numbers of baby pictures!

Because what the internet really needs is more baby pictures.

We’ve spent the last few days talking through some heavy stuff. All marriages have that, right? The heavy stuff that you maybe get a glimpse of once in awhile but then bury because it’s so unpleasant but then one day all comes flooding out? As you’re putting on makeup to go somewhere, so that after all the initial crying and talking and hugging and crying you thank your husband but really, could he not have brought this up before you put your mascara on somehow?

In a good way. A really amazing, profound, overwhelmingly good way. I always feel lucky to have ended up with Kevin – I want to make a line of romantic cards that say things like “When I think of all the stupid assholes I could have married… I’m really glad that you’re my babies’ daddy instead of one or more of those losers.” – but this week I feel so much more than lucky. I am overwhelmed and absolutely blown away by how lucky I am. There isn’t a word for this level of lucky. Blessed comes close. Really, really extremely OMFG blessed.

That’s all a little cryptic, but I wanted to mention it somewhere my journal because this week has been an important time for us. And our kids may someday want to know why we feel the need to annoy them by being so huggy all the time. This is why kids: we don’t have any more words to express how much we need and love each other, we used them all up one week in August, 2005. It’s corny, but if you haven’t noticed before now that your parents are dorks then you must have grown up to be even more hopelessly dorky than we ever imagined. Sorry about that.

On a more entertaining note, Nicolaus has been toying with changing his name lately. Last night he told me that his middle name is Kevin (a lie), because he is a boy and he has a daddy named Kevin. And usually he’s very insistant on the first name Nicolaus — you’d think he was protecting a trademark on it or something, and heaven help any unsuspecting bastard who tries to call him Nick — but tonight he told me that his name is not Nicolaus, it’s Southwest. Southwest Wayne Ard.

“South West,” he explained, “Bucus I live on the south and on my street it’s east and it’s just West and so, so my name is really just Southwest”

Okay, that makes no sense but I’ve learned not to argue. Then he explained that his middle name is Wayne “Bucus… bucus… It’s Wayne bucus that sounds like weiner.”

“Oh I see.”

“And I have a weiner.”

“You do?”

“And I’m just, I’m just not Nicolaus, I’m Southwest Wayne and I’m a boy and I do have a weiner.”

I love you Kevin. Your kid is weird.

My friend Nina – the one who is also pregnant and the one who was supposed to find out today whether she is having a boy or a girl but couldn’t find out because either way she is having a PUNK who refused to give it up at the sonogram this morning – is an awesome photographer. She usually takes pictures of babies that have already been born, but I think she did a beautiful job on my maternity portraits.

More pictures here!

There are lots more, including one awesome picture of Nicolaus by himself. I’ll have to post it when I get a chance… he walked onto the set while I was changing clothes and she started explaining the different lights to him. He looked up and Pop! she took an awesome picture of him. He was totally uncooperative after that.

Kevin hates my favorite pizza place. But yesterday, we found ourself strangely kidless for half an hour or so, and he very sweetly drove me to Carmine’s so I could stuff my pregnant belly with delicious crappy pizza. They only take cash, but that’s okay – I had $10, and my meal there usually costs $5.08. That’s two slices with beef. Um, actually double beef. I really like their ground beef. I decided to splurge and also buy a drink, since I was the only one eating it wouldn’t be an expensive meal by any means.

My total was almost nine dollars.

“Uh – wait, Is that right?” I asked nicely.

The woman shrugged and said well each slice with cheese only is $3.25.

Ahh! I said, “You raised your prices.”

“Yes.”

Damn them. But no matter, I decided. I’d pay the crazy amount of money and eat my delicious pizza and chalk it up to one of those things that sucks but hey, I’m pregnant, I need it and they’ve got it. Call it third-trimester price gouging, call it supply and demand, whatever, just give me my pizza.

But when my pizza came I realized, oh. Restaurants owners who decide to suddenly raise their prices are trying to make more profit. And another way to make more profit is to cut costs. One way to cut costs is to buy cheaper ground beef. Ugh, ick. It wasn’t yummy at all. I ate one piece and took the second piece to my brother who, while definitely not a stoner, was incredibly grateful for the sudden appearance of a large slice of nasty-ass pizza.

I may not be around much for the next day or too. I need time to grieve.