On my way in this morning, I had a long bus ride. A bus broke down in the bus lane (which is one lane into the Lincoln Tunnel just for buses during rush hour) and then a car broke down in the tunnel as well. It was, to put it mildly, a right mess.

And I STILL am not offered a seat on the subway. I don’t get it. I’m as big as a barn, and yet people just look at my belly, look at me, and continue sitting. I’m starting to take it personally and wonder if I can rely on hormones as a defense if I start whacking people with my handbag (in a bop-on-the-head sense, not a Tony Soprano sense). I’ll be honest- it’s getting difficult to control my rage at these oblivious shitheels. If you hear of a pregnant lady going bananas, yanking the handrail off the ceiling of the car and beating people senseless with it, you have a 90% chance of guessing who it was.

I feel like I’ve already had a full day of activity and it’s not even 930. I need to go back to bed for a do-over. And put angry Morag back to bed. She’s scary. 

Yo! Anyone out there reading this site who knows about Dallas, Texas? Drop me an . I got some easy type questions that the internet is giving me FAR too many answers on - so please, share the love.

For the record, my news fast doesn’t include sports, though it doesn’t do me much good because my team is in the damn toilet, and nothing of interest is happening with the Pirates.

But I have to ask - how do Yankee fans survive the hyperventilating coverage of EVERY SINGLE SERIES against EVERY SINGLE TEAM every week!? It’s like schizophrenic sports! Last week: They’re so great! They’re back in form! They’re gonna win the pennant and the World Series and run for President and become chairmen of the IOC!

This week: Oh my GOD let us tear our garments into ribbons! They lost to Colorado? Oh, the shame, the shame! Fire everyone in sight! It’s awful! They’re terrible!

It’s like sportscasting by Statler & Waldorf.

According to my parents, my grandfather had a stroke when he was aging - well, to be honest he had a series of strokes. Each one had a name because of the phrase he’d repeat. One stroke was the Pete Rose stroke: “That Pete Rose. I hate his guts. He makes the Galbreaths crawl on their stomachs.” Over and over.

After listening to the mood-swinging hysteria of Yankees coverage in a season where they are uneven at best and STILL better than the Pirates, I’d say my late grandfather in the throes of the Pete Rose stroke still made more sense than current Yankees sportscasters.

I am officially into trimester 3 territory, and I’m still big and round and all around. The kicking has switched mostly to rolling around instead of a sharp pummeling of my insides, and if I lie on my back my stomach moves around a LOT. It’s very cool in a sci-fi kind of way. But mostly I’m just slow. And big and round.

This time we find ourselves in a weird position, in that we’re about to knock the back wall of our house out (because we are insane) to expand the kitchen and the 3rd bedroom on the 2nd floor. So while we do need to clean that room out, we don’t necessarily need to paint it or anything because it’s going to be gutted anyway. So we’re not really going bananas “getting ready.” For the most part, “getting ready” has been making sure I eat, drink, and sleep enough and stay healthy. Which is plenty!

It’s so funny, the difference between a 1st pregnancy and a pregnancy when you already have a child. With Freebird’s pregnancy, all I did was sit around and think about being pregnant, read about being pregnant, and generally bask in the state of gestation. This time? I am busy! Freebird is busy! We got stuff to do, so I keep on going and going and basking? There’s not so much with the basking. I’m happy to be pregnant and I enjoy the rolling and the bumping and the happy Baba O’Riley when Baba gets a donut, but this pregnancy is not something I fixate on all the time like I did before, and that I shouldn’t feel bad about that.

Is anyone still transfixed by the opening sequence of The Jetsons where George drops his kids off by sending them off in their own pods? I totally want one of those pods. And no traffic, too. 

So I have passed The Glucose Challenge! I drank 5 oz of the nastiest crap on earth (tastes like flat concentrated Sprite syrup) and had my blood drawn an hour later, and Taa Daa! I have passed The Glucose Challenge!

Really, a blood test by that name needs an echo pedal sound effect. Too bad there’s no non-annoying way to replicate that in text.

I am a slight tiny very exceptionally small bit anemic, but I’m told if I eat leafy greens and red meat, I’ll be alright. Too bad all I want to eat is donuts. Someone needs to invent a high-iron donut. Can DD get on that, please?

1. Thanks for all the info on dinners. Lately I find myself in a rotation of foods for Freebird that can be prepared in 15 minutes or less, because I don’t have that much time to make dinner. I get home at 5pm, feed the zoo, head out to get him, and I’m back by 5.45 or 550. He goes to bed at 7 so I have an hour or so to feed him and depending on what day it is, give him a bath. Our rotation is pb&j, chicken nuggets (which he loves omg), hot dogs, carrots, peas & carrots, corn, yogurt, mac & cheese, and gold fish crackers, chocolate bunny crackers, and similar snack foods. I also have to find out what new options I can come up with for lunches to pack. I suppose I need to stop worry about it; as long as he eats he’s fine.

2. Tonight I go to the midwife for my checkup; after this one I start going every 2 weeks as I’ve entered (dun dun dunnnnn) my third trimester. I found pictures of myself from my pregnancy with Freebird and I was nowhere NEAR as big as I am now, at about the same number of weeks. I look no-doubt pregnant. This does not help at all when it comes to getting a seat on a crowded subway car. Or with sleeping - it’s very difficult to get comfortable at times, as I prefer to sleep on my stomach.

3. Yesterday I went for my waxing appointment, and while I was there, the heat and the up and down the stairs and the subway smells combined to make me very light headed. I told Angela, and said that if I passed out on the table, she should keep going with the waxing because it would hurt a lot less if I was unconscious. She didn’t think that was as funny as I did. And I didn’t pass out.

4. I’m debating about whether to go get a pedicure today with a manicure, or if I ought to go tomorrow. Probably tomorrow. It’ll last until Sunday, and then I’ll have at least 2 days of looking somewhat put together. Heh.