Thunder Down Under

Please pardon the recent hiatus in bloggering. The truth is, I got disheartened because I tried to upload a video of the baby moving around under my skin...but the video somehow cannot be uploaded. The "somehow" has to do with my failure to learn tecnhology/embrace magic in the 21st century. I knew this blogging was going to beat me at my own game eventually.

But I will press on, because there is a paper I should be writing and no technical setback is going to prevent me from procrastinating. Plus, there is other marginally entertaining material I could be sharing. For example:

As a result of the recent economic downturn, Willie and I and the Bun decided to join a gang of banditos. We have been spending a lot of time drinking tequila, polishing ammunition and robbing rural banks in preparation for the arrival of Baby Bandito. Willie was a little reticent about the whole "life of crime in funny outfits" thing before, but let me tell you something--nothing is cuter or more practical than a teeny poncho. One look at the little getup I have been...weaving...on my poncho loom...and he was sold. Just look at that face and tell me that he hasn't found his calling. Only one downside so far: After a pow-wow with Jose Cuervo, Willie invented the baby name Lucindarita and is insisting that we use it on our baby. I am having a hard time convincing him that squishing two appealing names together does not merely create a longer, more appealing name. I could use a little backup on this.

In other baby-related news:

My ankles recently swelled up to mammoth proportions. I mean, the leg flowed into the foot with no tapering whatsoever. And I didn't have really dainty ankles to start with. You guys know the legs on the cartoon mom from the beginning scene of Who Framed Rodger Rabbit? That's what I couldn't stop thinking about. Her and the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. I relate to him a lot these days.

Bonafide Kankles.

Also, I am 32 weeks pregnant, which sounds like 8 months, right? Well, it turns out that there is a bermuda triangle month in gestation that they don't tell you about. Pregnancy is 40 weeks long, which as I recently discovered, is 10 months. Not nine. I recently discovered it by performing simple division. Why do culture and the media insist on offering us false hope/why has the public education system failed me so badly? This baby has a while yet to cook.

I have been to the Del Mar Fair twice since it opened. That means that on two separate occasions I have visited the Mini Donut concession in O'Brien Hall. Never had a mini donut? Allow me to entice you: First, you get to watch dough balls fall into a vat of oil, then watch them travel through the bubbly oil river, browning as they go, later to be launched out of the oil and into a tray of cinnamon and sugar, out of which the expert donut tossers count you a dozen perfect donuts. All this for the bargain price of $4.50. The joy-to-dollar ratio is heavily skewed toward joy. And you don't have to be pregnant to line up for these little beauties. What you eat at the fair stays at the fair. Except for the KrispyKreme donut-sandwiched chicken breast that Willie ordered. That came home with us in a mean way.