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Language Log

Sunday, Jan. 04, 2009 - 6:36 a.m.

So the almost-nausea is continuing, in the afternoons. On a scale from 1 to 10, where 1 is nothing at all and 10 is puking your guts out constantly, I'm at 2. I'm vaguely intellectually aware that my stomach feels different, but it's nothing to put me off my food. I have an appointment this week; I wonder what they will tell me about this.

Random thoughts:
I have never said, and frankly still can't say, "I want to have a baby." I never did, and still don't, not per se. I don't like babies, except for little girls between the ages of 16-20 months or so. Those ones are cute. What I do want is to make a new person who we can share this good life with, making a lot of people (who do happen to like babies) happy in the process. But babies, blech. I'm told I'll feel differently later, at least about my own-- we'll see. I'll keep you posted.

Again in the How Lucky Am I Department, the visit with my friend in FL revealed that several people of our age she knows are having the worst time conceiving. So here I am, misanthrope and baby-hater, and I effortlessly manage it with the first available egg. Life is so unfair. Once again, luckier than I deserve. Now who knows, it may all turn out badly and I'll wish it hadn't happened so easily(kid grows up to be an alcoholic like my brother; I end up with an unemployed 50 year old living in my basement), but so far, so good.

I've learned that I'm not supposed to eat gorgonzola or feta. "Kicking and screaming", and also "tooth and nail" describe pretty well how gracefully I'm acceding to this restriction. Fortunately (again with the luck!) J is not a panicker with respect to these sorts of things, and suggests that an occasional serving of well-processed feta/gorgonzola is probably worth the risk. Just knowing that I CAN have it if I really want it will make it much easier to resist.

In other news, the Stomachion magnet set is almost ready.

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