Martinis, Fetal Dopplers, and potty talk

If you find yourself in a bar in the near future that offers a "Sunset" martini, by all means get one. I believe it's just Absolute citron, a splash of grenadine, and a lemoned rim. Have it ice-cold.

A friend of ours sang in a professional musical a couple of weeks ago, and Marci and I went up to see the performance, stay in a good hotel, and meet other friends who were coming to the show. After "Sam" got out of his makeup, we all went to our hotel's lounge, which had a modernist, glow-y and low table-y ambience. The three couples broke down this way: one with new baby, one pregnant (us), and one yet-to-be pregnant (and perhaps not even interested, I don't know). What everyone had in common, though, was home ownership. The martinis (for most of us) arrive, and what does the conversation turn to? Now, bear in mind the low light, the swank music, the post-theatre buzz.
All the ingredients to talk about, what? Our toilets!

It seemed most of us, for a variety of reasons, were doing battle with our commodes. Our friends in a rehabbed condo were having a non-flushing issue due to incompatibility between the new wasteline and the city's old one. We, thankfully, had solved our hundred-year-old house lame-flush issue by installing two of these, which I can't recommend enough (yes, it looks standard, but don't let that fool you. It's a "Class Five," baby, so there's a lot of power under the hood). You might imagine the remaining couple who were both sans kid and sans toilet issue might have been bored out of their minds. Not so! They had their own new condo doors-not-closing issues to contribute!

Soon after, some of us crashed the cast party (which happened to be in a ballroom in the same hotel) and scored beef brisket, more drinks, and little foo froo desserts. The night was a blast, though I still can't help thinking that the evening's earlier conversation marked some rite of passage I'd like to repress . . .

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It looks like my last kid-less Father's Day just passed!

Marci and I had gotten used to frequent ultrasounds, and since 20 weeks is a bit early to feel The Peanut moving constantly, we were missing little progress updates.

So, a couple days ago I received my new BellyBeats fetal doppler as part of Marci's birthday present, so we've been having fun with that. The gizmo came with a CD (to help you discern what you're listening for--though it's easy enough to distinguish), ultrasound gel, and some free "Preggie Pops" for morning sickness (which Marci's been lucky never to have). Dr. W. uses essentially this same device for our appointments with him, so it's been incredible to hear the "live" heartbeat whenever we like. The doppler makes The Peanut's heart sound like a cross between a washing machine and a spaceship, but, there it is, chugging away.