Love that Y chromosome!

Oh, man. Things are happening around here, and I’m just hanging on, trying to keep the Tums coming.

Last week, a friend of mine (who is expecting her second in May) was complaining about the severe heartburn that was keeping her up at night. I was like, ‘Dude, that sucks.’ And mentally ticked through a list of heartburn prevention techniques that she probably had already utilized, so I didn’t say anything. It’s not that I wasn’t sympathetic, I just thought that heartburn sure beats the constant nausea I was dealing with that day. Tonight, after our oh-so nutritious meal of McDonald’s, I’m dying over here.

Of course, I’m still getting over the wonderful stomach flu (hence the said constant nausea) that Auggie passed along to me last week, so that isn’t helping.

I haven’t really gotten a chance to mention my reaction to the revelation that this troublemaker inside me is male. Before the ultrasound, I was convinced, I mean convinced, that this baby was a girl. I mean, that would be the ultimate kick in the pants from the universe, right?

Maybe I should explain: I don’t think anything frightens Tim and I more than the prospect of raising a young lady in this Britney/Christina world. Walking through the mall makes me feel positively ancient as I gasp at the teeny little shirts and hip-hugger jeans — oh! and now the mini skirt is back! Even better! Is anyone else completely disgusted at how girls today have to wear all these impractical body-revealing clothes, when the boys are considered hot in their ill-fitting jeans, Mr. Happy Crack T-shirts and unkempt hair?

I apologize to those of you who have (or are expecting) baby girls of your own. I’m sure that flannel shirts and baggy jeans will be all the rage once again when she hits puberty…

So now we get to have another boy. Another choo-choo addict. I couldn’t be happier.