Yep.  Sprog is the size of a kumquat these days.  And since ‘kumquat’ is the funniest word that the English language has ever appropriated, I feel like I now have license to say it over and over again.

Kumquatkumquatkumquatkumquat.

Still suffering with this headache from hell, still feeling blechy from about noon, on.  Still spotting occasionally, though it does seem less extreme than it has been.  Still cringing away from any contact with the Boobs that took over Brooklyn.  Still achoo-choo-ing.  Still pregnant, in other words.  Though this does not mean that I’m not looking forward to Tuesday’s appointment.  Because I am.  Rather a lot.

In other news, I have a long day of writing laid out ahead of me.  I dreamt that I was going through my desk drawer and kept happening upon manuscripts.  ”Oh yeah, I forgot about that one!”  For some reason, in my dream, finding all these orphaned books was cause for celebration, not depression.  Not quite sure why, but I figure I should at least do my best to accumulate a stack of manuscripts in my desk drawers.  It’s what writers do, after all.  And since the boy made Roast-Beef-for-20 even though there were only 8 of us, we have a few leftovers, so no cooking for me tonight.  And the house is still pretty spotless.  And the dog’s had all the exercise she wants.  Yes, it’s shaping up into a nicely lazy writing day.  Hot chocolate at my elbow, and a dog at my warm feet.  Life’s pretty ok today.