Questions about little bean

Teenagers, in their utter wisdom, have some ridiculously funny questions to ask me now. Alas, I see through their squirrely plans to distract me from the task at hand. But they still slip in a few once in a while, when passing out papers for example. Here's a sampling of some recent ones:

How is she feeling doing today? (Um, I don't know as she understands how to communicate with me yet.)

Does she like Mexican? (why not)

Can you still see your toes? (sure, they're right here (as I lift my leg into the air and pointedly look at my pointed appendages))

Do you just want to eat a lot? My mom told me that you don't when you're pregnant. (that one's a little more complicated...)

Can you make her kick? (can I make you do your homework? equally futile)

Talking with other women can be scary anymore. But I want to learn about other peoples' experiences, cause seriously, I'm going to have to go through it, so why pretend that nothing like that could happen to me? Scary may not even be the right word...it's oh-wow-I-never-thought-of-that moments when I hear other labor stories. Ultimately, I do want to know, but still, it just gives me conflicting feelings. I'm excited, but also not at all. It's exciting to pick out cute little outfits and put duckies on the walls. It's realistic to get tips from trustworthy sources about feeding and labor. It's fun to get some attention. It's completely annoying to have other women treat you like you're incapable of anything as simple as holding a door just because you're pregnant. It's great and truly awe-some to sit here and feel little kicks. It's dreadful to think of being so intensely uncomfortable. And really, I'm not so sure that it's my whole personal space issues that makes more more uncomfortable than the impending pain. You can always take an epidural to ease the physical discomfort, but there's no shot to allay the physical discomfort of being poked, prodded and tugged on.

My shining pregnancy moment came a few weeks ago when Ben & I were talking about something having to do with the upcoming labor, probably the cost of a hospital stay and what insurance will (and will not) cover. In my utter genius, I suddenly realize that I'm going to miss at least 2, maybe 4 baseball games while stuck in a hospital. The hospital surely won't accomodate me and get a subscription to the special all-Braves-all-the-time tv package. I'm going to miss nearly a week of priceless, important Braves games! Assuming she's on time (big assumption, I know), that means that I could miss the entire Braves v. Cubs series. I'm so abnormal; I'm not worried about losing sleep at night, but I am concerned that I'm going to miss a few baseball games. Really, who decided that I was ready to nurture this little parasite?

I'm really dreading diapers, too. Oh, and vomit.