News flash:

The "friend/co-worker" I mentioned in my early January post has a name. His name is "Le Petite Prince," or just PRINCE for short. You can also call him THE QUAKER. His wife goes by GRANDMA DEATH or ROBERTA SPARROW.

Oh, and I didn't "throw up in my mouth." I just gagged and ran out of the room, screaming like a six-year-old. I'll be a good labor coach.

Well it turns out I should have been using all these months of pre-third trimester life to plan the third trimester. The childbirth class I want to take lasts 12 weeks, which puts my graduation date at around the time I hope to be handing the three week old to Millie and heading down to Cozumel for Spring Break '05. I can't even get into a class because I was supposed to register way back in the first trimester (which is actually more of a quatro-mester, so there's really no excuse) Back then I had nothing but free time... and vomit of course, I also had a lot of vomit.

This brings a whole new reality to the concept of husband-coached childbirth. I hope Lazlo is ready. For those of you who might be inclined to think a life in the steam tunnels of Caltech hardens a man, Lazlo almost passed out when I got a heplock in my arm a few months ago. I showed him a picture of an umbilical stump in a baby magazine, and he threw up in his mouth. The word -placenta- makes him uncomfortable, and I'm afraid colustrum might be the whole "baby" deal-breaker.

We'll have to see if there's some kind of labor/delivery crash course available. 1-2-3-squat. Maybe I'll ask the doctor the next time I see him...

That's a joke, folks. I may or may not ever see him again, depending on who's on call when we go to the hospital. I did get to meet him, after waiting for two hours and being hassled about the damn TB test again. He seems nice and practical and for some reason he gave us an ultrasound picture of the baby's femur. umm...thanks. He made a run for the door, but Lazlo held him down while I asked all the questions I had written down on the back of an envelope.

The guy on the computer next to me keeps making "I'm so astonished" noises, presumably so I'll ask him what he's looking at. I'm trying to ignore him but it's growing more impossible by the second. This, added to the annoyingness of his whole deamenor, is going to necessitate an abrupt ending to my post. Someone buy me an iBook and broadband at my house. Thank you in advance.

Tomorrow Lazlo and I supposedly get to meet the doctor. Woo-hoo! The mysterious doctor I've heard so much about but never actually seen. I have a long list of things to ask him about, and he's going to do an ultrasound to see if Wren's head is too big to be born in the usual way. Here's hoping Wren has a nice tiny-tiny head. I'm not totally convinced I'll see the Doctor. I hope the nurses at the clinic aren't just building me up to tear me down. They seem to enjoy that kind of thing a little bit.

Don't get me wrong- I love the nurses! The nurses are great... with their constant urine sample solicitations, and repeated requests that i RETAKE the tuberculosis test because they lost the form with my negative results on it...

Also, over Christmas I gained 6 pounds, instead of the recommended 2, so no more 2% milk for me. Or juice. I'm not supposed to "drink my calories." I feel like, at the clinic, I should get a medal for wearing -actual- maternity clothes, rather than the more popular torn A-shirt, unbuttoned cut-offs approach to pre-natal style. Not to mention the fact that I'm not on crack. Maybe they should let the nutritionist concentrate on some of the more extreme cases. It feels like getting a parking ticket when there's aggravated assault going on across the street.

I guess I'm just bitter because I already feel a little bit like a tug-boat when I walk around. I kind of sway side-to-side, and although I don't say "toot-toot," I do sort of grunt when I try to stand up. I was hoping the nurses would just be nice and tell me how svelte and trim I've been looking.

Too bad about the creepy-ass prenatal yoga video I got from my mom for Christamas. It was supposed to get me in shape, but instead it just creeps me out. This woman in a turban talks about how my left leg might be harder to bend because it's ruled by the moon, and tells me to visualize squatting to give birth in the forest, surrounded by tree-spirits, woodland creatures, and midwives. Please, if you see my mom, don't tell her I don't like it. It was really sweet of her.

I got some fun news this Christmas vacation. At dinnertime, CST, I got a call from a friend/co-worker who informed me that the computer lab I worked in was being "taken over" by another group on campus. Shortly afterward, my boss called me and confirmed that the library provost had declared the computer lab his territory, effective the next day. Long story short, I still have a job, but it's not in the computer lab. I'm now an audio duplication monkey, burning CDs for The Man. But I've got an application in for another sweet computer job on campus, and this one is full-time. If I get it, I'm buying steaks for everybody. Well, everybody in my immediate family.

Baby and I drove to Texas in a caravan with Colonel Rhombus. It was a beautiful drive. We stayed in El Paso, which is one of the ugliest cities I've ever seen. El Paso did treat us well, though, as our hotel was next door to a Taco Cabaña. I had my old college favorite, the chicken fajitas with queso. It was sublime. Although I prefer flying to spending about 24 hours in a car, coming in through Fredricksburg and Johnson City was very charming. The cowboy towns had all their Christmas decorations out. It was a pleasant end to a monotonous haul.

Baby and I spent half of the holidays in Austin with my family, and half in Beaumont with her family and friends. It snowed in Beaumont, for about three hours, but none of the snow really stuck to the ground. Baby's best friend's brother and sister did manage to make a 6" tall snowman, but I'll let her write about that if she wants to.

The drive back was more fun and eventful -- Rhombus and I drove back with Baby, Chet, Melio, and Mosesface, along with a ton of baby equipment (including a double-action breast pump) and my dog RAMONA. We stayed in El Paso again, but this time it was at a LA QUINTA. Baby freaked out, of course, being an LQ junkie. We ate at a unique Mexican restaurant. Chet had the filet mignon. I ate a chile relleno. There were wicker chairs and our party was seated in a separate room.

On the drive, we all watched The Office, Napoleon Dynamite, and Star Trek: Voyager. Mosesface was sad that we didn't get to see the windmills since we came in at night. I think the windmills are even creepier at night.

It was raining when we came in, and it's been raining continuously since, with one exception: fortunately, it stopped raining long enough for the Rose Parade and the Tournament of Roses. Anybody who cares about the game already knows about it and what a great game it was, but what they may not know is that the STEALTH FREAKING BOMBER was there. That's right, the B-2. That thing is HOTT. Just before the game, it did a flyover right above the stadium. It was beautiful and transcendant. Rhombus cried, and I immediately enlisted in the Air Force. There were high-fives all around.