Yay, it’s Hangover Friday, which nearly always follows Oirish Tirsday!

Obviously I’m not going to recount every minute of the several hours Socks and I spent on the phone. But, this is where I’m chronicling my view of Socks’ journey into motherhood, so off we go!

First off, just for you, Socks – ask him!

I’ve not laughed so much or so hard on the phone with my girl for a while, for obvious reasons. But this time I nearly peed myself, and I had to take notes. They don’t make much sense, now, but I’m not pregnant and so can drink all the rum n Pepsi I want. At least I can read my own handwriting for a change.

So! Socks hasn’t been to the obstetrician yet. They want her to wait until she’s a bit further along, and will listen for a heartbeat and do an ultrasound then. This is scheduled for next Thurs, so waiting for the next phone date will be stressful for me. Do I need to say that it is much more stressful for her? At this point, the positive pregnancy results are all from home based pregnancy tests.

A lot of them.

Because she’s been peeing on a stick every damn morning for a week, just for something to do! Just to see the line get darker every day. I find this hilarious. My mental-picture-generator is in overdrive with this one. I see the garbage can in her potty overflowing with empty boxes and used tests. I also wonder if she’s saving them? How tempting, for someone like me who saves sentimental stuff. How horrifying, for someone like her hubby, Bear, who had to ask her to move the DRY pee-test from the side of the bathroom sink as it was freaking him out.

Wow, is he in for a wake up call! What if it’s a boy, and has the skillz to pee straight up, into daddy’s eye, during a diaper change? Ok, don’t even tell Bear that this is quite possible.

My other good note is a direct quote, “I love my life, and I want to fuck up every aspect of it.” it would take too long to explain the context, but I love that sentiment so much.

She’s also got some loot from family and friends: a high chair and crib, both too old to be sold due to modern health and safety laws. Still okay to be gifted, though, and the numerous babies who survived these dangerous, well-loved and well-made, wooden items can attest that they aren’t bits of furniture that are actively out to murder babies. We also agree that anyone stupid enough to let a baby’s arm or leg get trapped in the bars of a fold-down crib railing probably shouldn’t be procreating in the first place. I think it’s great she’s got heirloom items that will suit her style, personality and height (sorry, had to!) so well.

We’re also trying not to worry about the fact she isn’t barfing yet. Apparently, you only start doing the morning technicolor yawn after so many weeks of being preggers. But, as she says, she’s a pukey person. Hey, I didn’t say that, she did! Anyhow, being prone to yarking in general, and not yarking yet, is slightly concerning. Not everyone barfs, but it seems her family all did. The female ones. When they were pregnant. I felt the need to clarify that because my mental picture factory is playing again: everyone gathered round the table for a holiday feast, each with a bucket-in festive colors!-by their side. Oops, grandad lost his dentures, better get the tongs!

Well, if Socks wasn’t puking before, she probably is now.

Sorry, grandad.