Yesterday's doctor appointment was short. She was weighed and measured (all in the "perfect" range, we're told). Roo's heartbeat was heard, and the doctor asked about any signs of premature delivery. That was all they wanted. I mentioned the ultrasound and our previous failure to get it done for My Mom. We hopped across the hall, cranked up the Babyscope, and there was Roo. We saw a nose (I think it's yours). We saw a hand. We saw the package. It's definitive: Roo's a he-boy-man-lad. That eliminates most of our cool names. We go back in three weeks.
While we were in the doctor's office, the satellite muzak played Shambala by Three Dog Night, a song used in one of the best Lost episodes (it's at the 55-second mark).
I reminded Your Sister, and it calmed her down a bit. The doctor asked what we were talking about, and I mentioned the song and Lost and he said "oh yeah, where they're driving around in the van." Yes. We couldn't have picked a better doctor.
I called Mom to break the boy news to her, and she's still floating on a cloud about throwing/starring in a baby shower. She wanted a name, and I couldn't oblige. We have our first shower Sunday. Your Sister was so pooped from being scanned that she went to bed very early. I went to work. I am now ahead of the date/page formula. After less than a week of inking, I'm on page ten and halfway through. That assuages my vacillating fear of not having a book ready in five weeks. I'd like to think I could do the second book in about two weeks, including a color cover.
I had to give Your Sister the boot to the guest bed. Her snoring was horrendous. I feel great shame for kicking out my baby mama.
Picture of the Day
Lady Gaga is a good trade-in for Miss Piggy.