what else is there to talk about?

Waiting for a baby, being past my due date, has taken away my will to blog. There's just nothing else to say. There are only two things left to restore my own personal mojo. A baby Mojo and a chocolate cream pie. The Rosauer's pie section and I may become intimately acquainted today if Mojo lets me down.

What's the point?

Really, why bother having OB appointments every week so that they can tell you that nothing has changed? I mean, expect that you're bigger. Hmmm, better double check your chart, do you always measure this big? Okay.... (imagine doubtful expression.) Whatever, it just gives me an excuse to eat more comfort food. Mom, you got any extra Cadbury mini eggs in that freezer of yours??

Tread lightly

These are quotes, all from the last week:

"Whoa, you have really popped out there!"

"Is it going to be a huge baby?"

"I have a co-worker in your exact same position, three months to go and already really big."

"You must be getting close to the end, huh?"

"It is your fourth, that's probably why you're already so big."

Dear friends, watch out. Hell hath no fury like a PREGNANT woman scorned.

Mojo has a sparkling personality

Wouldn't you agree? Mojo is also healthy, happy, measuring the right age, has all the right parts in the right quantities, and enjoys an aged wine with meaty undertones and citrus top notes (or is that perfume?).

The baby's feet also look straight and narrow. Or is that the road less traveled? That was good news, although our Danish with the not quite straight feet is about as perfect as they come.

Greg and I giggled like middle schoolers through both the ultrasound and appointment. I said he was acting punchy. Is that as dated as "the bees' knees?" We think it's because it was like a date. You know, a date. Where you spend one on one time with your significant other. I know, we had forgotten too. Greg said he was twitterpated. AAAAHHHHHH....

As the icing on the cake my lovely baby-sitter Shone, who watched all three kids while Greg and I were wild and irresponsible at the OB's office, presented me with two Papa Murphy's pizzas when I picked up the kids. Shone, there aren't words enough to describe to you how nice that was. I'll go with thank you for now.

BED TIME.

Oh, and in case you thought I had taken leave of my senses, we didn't find out the baby's gender. We never do. I'm 100% sure it's a boy or a girl though.

A uterine name for a uterine Jones

As many of you may know, us crazy Joneses don't find out the gender of our babies until they are born. To get around calling the baby "It" for nine months, we always give our unborn babies a nick name. Thus far we have had Indie, Deuce, and Trey. The nick name for this baby has been a topic of debate UNTIL I received this email from my dad:


Sara and Greg,
Though it doesn't mean I haven't thought it, I've not yet said how happy I am for you and your baby number 4, and selfishly, our grand-baby number 5.
Now, this important info: if it's a boy and he's not named Ralph, I'll be hugely disappointed. If it's a girl and she's not named Cleopatra, I'll be devastated. But, it's not all about me (although it really is).
One thought for a temporary in-uterine name as this baby hangs out pool side is..........wait for it............wait for it.............MoJo.......you know, More Jones or MoJo Jones. I think there's a confident foresight to this nothing-but-net, slam-dunk of a name selection without copycat boredom or aristocratic snobbish pretense.
Mucho love,
DadWayne

Thanks Dad, it's a done deal. Welcome baby MoJo!


(p.s. While MoJo is great, Cleopatra and Ralph are not. Sorry Dad.)