I'm told the fetus is the size of a jicama, whatever that is.
Special ultrasound in a few hours hours with the smart lab-coat clad people. It's a "fetal heart echo," actually. That's where they rub KY Jelly on my tummy and zoom into fetus' little beating heart to make sure the beat is so loud and strong that it would echo off the Grand Canyon walls if given the opportunity. These are university bigwigs, not just ordinary doctors! I'm like this scientific experiment to them: Ooooh! Aaaaah! Can't you hear it? Potential for something freakily, weirdly, unprecedentedly awful to happen! A possible slide show presentation for the new medical students, something to study and ponder!
They will all be disappointed today, I'm sure: disappointed by my kicking little jicama's uncanny (and boring) good health. The horns will make that sound of a joke gone bad: wah-wahhhhhhh. I saw it in my oatmeal this morning: a happy face made of swirling ridges of hot oats, warm milk flowing in those rivulets and sending me cosmic messages of optimism.
However, in case their secret wish for something exciting comes true - that is, if today doesn't go 100% pristine awesome, I've brainstormed some possible ways to spend the rest of the afternoon:
-Shouting at that church marquis near our house, the one that always says something about "God's plan:" Hey God! Are you listening? Your plan sucks nuts. Please review, revise, and resend.
-Go on a frenetic baking spree, rolling out pie crusts with jerky hand motions. No responsibility accepted for any snot or tears that end up in my pie filling.
-Organizing a spontaneous KuKd goth dance party in the basement: black attire and heavy eyeliner required, nipple-piercing station in the corner, candles flickering.
-Paint the living room black.
-Take the rest of my sick leave, tell Kevin he's quitting, and buy round-trip tickets to the farthest, coolest European city - someplace with cobbled narrow roads and bustling squares, where we can sit on bench and eat Nutella-slathered baguette with reckless abandon.
-Throw pies at people's faces.
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I'm guzzling Seven-Up today for heartburn. It's amazing how good a bit of fizzy, sugar-infused, tooth-rotting, arm-fat-generating soda pop can make you feel.