Stream of consciousness, mis-malignment, and uterus dance party 2009

Ohh, you people are so lovely and supportive. I want to hug you all.

Things are better with my dad, with Nick, and with my potential arsenic poisoning. Housing still in the air, but we are getting more Zen.

I mean, in the scheme. You know I suffer from a paucity of Zen.

But seriously. People have babies in war zones. If we lived in my parents' basement for a while after the kid is born, it would be fine. With me, anyway. Not sure about them.

Hi, mom and dad! Mind if we move into your basement this summer?

And I am stuck on wondering, if forced to pick between Nick and me, who a jury would choose as innocent and who they'd see as guilty. I'm not sure what the circumstances would be leading up to this.

But who would be more likely to get away with a crime?

I think I probably have a more innocent face (no?). But there are things on my blog that one could use to call my character into question.

Anyway.

My dad came home last night and Nick and I picked up kabobs at this place that he and my dad both love, and brought them to my parents' house for dinner.

They both seemed to be dong well, which made us feel better. We were worrying about them both, you know. We had a nice time, the four of us.

(Also, if you say "both" aloud too many times, it's a weird word.)

Towards the end of dinner Nick and my dad were talking about I don't know what all - boat mechanics and foreign policy or some such - while Betty and I were scooted together, hands on my belly, trying to feel the boy move.

He'd thump, but Betty would miss it. So I'd suck in my tummy, hoping to constrain his space. Or push on one side.

No luck. No thumping for gramma.

And then we got in the car and he went crazy. Seriously, he was all "Whee! Uterus dance party 2009!"

And I was thinking, "You butt! Would it have been so hard to poke one little leg out for your grandmother? One little head bump? I think not."

And he was all: "Hahahahaha! Dancey dancey! Poke poke thump thump! Whee!"

And so I said out loud, "That asshole! I can't believe how uncooperative he was."

"What?"

"I mean, how hard would it have been? It's not like we ask a lot of him."

"Lis. Don't be so hard on him. We had a nice time. He was totally charming."

"What? Who?"

"Your dad."

"My dad? My dad was great. I'm talking about the boy!"

And on reflection I think that in fictional random situation that ultimately necessitated jail time, Nick would get off for clean-scrubbed looks and good behavior whereas my sailor mouth, malignment of progeny, and I would be marched off to the slammer.

So whatever it is, I should do it up big.