The ultrasound showed the Zoot-bryo is still alive and kickin’ and possibly watching the latest episode of Ghost Whisperer on TiVo. It’s hard to tell.

Since this was a “normal” visit, the one where they treat me like I’m just your standard pregnant woman, I got asked the typical series of questions regarding my genetic history and my current drug use. The little sheet that I call the RED FLAG SHEET asks about all sorts of genetic cues, and then has the one question that is the only one I ever select “Yes” on: “History of pregnancy loss?” Yes. Thanks for asking.

They also asked me if I had any thoughts about whether I’ll go c-section or try a vaginal birth this time. The trendy term is VBAC meaning: Vaginal Birth after Cesarean. It’s all the rage, now, you know. Everyone is quite proud that the trends have proven that a woman can deliver vaginally successfully even after a cesarean. But you know what? No thank you.

For those of you who were here for NikkiZ’s birth, you’ll remember we were being induced when the sudden onset of fetal stress prompted a rushed/emergency c-section that had us delivering our miracle baby while shedding tears of fear in an operating room. We have no pictures or video of her birth because we had no time to grab the equipment.

We would rather avoid all of that, thank you. And just schedule the damn thing. I did the vaginal birth with LilZ, and it wasn’t that great. Not anything I feel incredibly desperate to revisit. And MrZ doesn’t feel like he’s at loss at all for possibly missing out on such an experience. The emergency c-section traumatized him as well. So if you ask us now? We’re totally c-section all the way. We may change our mind, but I doubt it. (Obligatory sidenote: Please do not tell me what I should choose or send me links to literature one way or another. I’m a wee emotional and will probably find it offensive. Thanks.)

And the fact that I can even discuss this in regards to a current pregnancy makes me smile with the light of a thousand suns.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, we declined the bag and politely requested that they keep it. We’re feeling optimistic, but not naive.

Once again - another weekend passed with no updates from me! What is this world coming to? Actually - I find myself getting ideas for blog material and deciding to hold off and save it for November - when it counts. I’ve seen several other bloggers mention the same thing on their sites. Nablopomo: Making blogs suck in October since 2006.

This weekends was pretty busy, as I spent most of it trying to get caught up on housework I’ve been neglecting the last month. I did a pretty good job too, as evidenced by the fact that I had to empty the vacuum’s dirt compartment three times before I was done vacuuming my house. THREE TIMES. That’s a lot of filth, my friends. Anyone wanna come spend the night? You might actually be able to breathe now.

We have a doctor’s appointment today at 10am CST. I’m fairly nervous about this one, but I don’t think any more so than usual. I’m always somewhat nervous about doctor’s appointments. This is my “New OB” appointment which means they’ll treat me like a “normal” pregnant woman and give me bags of “So You’re Pregnant!” goodies consisting of formula coupons and magazines about car seats. I got the same bag with my last pregnancy back in May, so I’m really wanting to decline the one today. It just seems silly. Has that much changed since May? It’s just one more thing to throw away should the pregnancy head south too early. I hate those bags. Throwing away the bag from the last pregnancy just pissed me off, because I didn’t even want that one either. I know I’m probably putting way more emotional meaning to these bags than needs to be given, but I can’t help it. I hate those bags with the fire of a thousand flames. HATE.

But, I’m also non-confrontational so I’m sure to take the bag, smile and grumble about it to MrZ all the way home.

• Zach Gilford - Friday Night Lights - Variety
  My former love for FNL’s Matt Saracen has now grown into a love for the real-life-boy: Zach Gilford.

Last night I was yelling/getting onto/nagging/bitching to LilZ about how much time he spends on the phone. I was doing the typical boring rant about, “I’ve trusted you to make good decisions yourself but you’re forcing me to have to step in.” I possibly also threw in the very uncreative, “Why don’t you do something that doesn’t rot your brain?” and even the world famous, “Do you remember reading? You used to do that you know.” Yes, I know. I need to work on my material.

Anyway - I’m sure it was excruciatingly annoying for LilZ as I finger-wagged and huffed for 15 minutes. He does a good job of tolerating these rants and trying to find the main point in there somewhere. All the while, NikkiZ was standing there waiting for the storm to die down so she could get some attention. As soon as I was “done” (are we really ever done?) she smiled, turned to LilZ as he walked back to his room (presumably to cuss me out), pointed her finger at him and started saying, “Wah blah nomokiu woiuiefl,” all with a very faux-angry and stern tone. But with the evil grin on her face.

My daughter was mocking me. She might not have understood the words, and she definitely couldn’t replicate them, but she picked up the sentiment and was making fun of me for it. She was mocking me. MOCKING ME. And she was doing a damn hilarious job of it. She even had her shoulder hunched and her eyes squinty. Just like I do.

She is evil, that child. Pure evil.

It’s too bad LilZ wasn’t in the mood to enjoy it. I told him later about it and we tried to recreate it, but she has learned one thing: Some performances can not be given on demand with the same effect. He will simply have to wait until the next time I decide to go off about something, and then she’ll break out her best material. Next time I’m predicting she’ll grab a towel to throw down on the counter or possibly kick a garbage can for good measure. You have to keep things fresh when mocking your parents, you know.

The Top 40 station we have locally has a Friday Morning Free-For-All every week and they let callers call in and request whatever song they want. Mostly, the requests are from the 80s. That’s fine! I grew up in the 80s, I can hang with that. But why, why, why must the callers request the suckiest 80s music ever? Bah. Every Friday I spend the drive bitching to LilZ about how he should not judge the entire decade of music based on Falco’s “Rock Me Amadeus.” Who calls and requests that song every Friday? HOW DO I MAKE THEM STOP?

LilZ started contemplating the fact that when he is my age people will be calling in music that’s playing on the radio now. So, we started discussing what songs he did not want people to call in and request. He got depressed thinking about it. Heh. Welcome to my world, sucka’.

Today NikkiZ turns 2. The age difference is great enough between her and LilZ that their “generation” of music will not be the same. He’ll be feeling old hearing his favorite songs playing during “Retro Lunch” for the first time when she is old enough to be the kid bitching that the stations plays crappy music at lunch time. This depressed him. It should. I don’t want to be the only one feeling old, dammit.

LilZ likes to look at the future and imagine things like, NikkiZ attending his college graduation when she’s in 7th grade. Or possibly being a bridesmaid in his wedding when she’s in high school. He wonders if he’ll have kids already when she graduates from high school. Will he bring his kids to visit her in college like we did recently for MrZ’s sister? (Who, happens to be separated by the exact same amount of years.) It’s a neat thing to consider and one of the many unexpected cool things about having kids 11 years apart.

That and having a built-in babysitter, of course. That part is the best.