I had another prenatal visit today, which is beginning to feel like a routine because I lost track of how many I've had. Last week's visit was just for the ultrasound. This week I waited about 45 minutes to see the doctor, she measured my abdomen, took the baby's heart rate (which I don't remember - sorry!) and answered my many questions about back pain, caffeine, pediatricians, and episiotomies (TMI alert on that link).
Quote of the day (in reference to my questions on caffeine, alcohol, etc.): "I don't care if you have a glass of wine every week; that amount of alcohol is not going to cause FAS." Not that I plan to test those boundaries, but I do enjoy a sip of Steve's beer now and then. I've been having cocktail cravings lately (more than a Blueberry Pom will cure).
Actually, now is time for another confession that adds to the fact that I am a terrible person who will just have to learn to live with myself: I don't like baby showers. The games, the balloons, the kitten prints, the cuteness, the cake... Not that I'll actually balk if someone wants to throw me a traditional shower. But my dream baby shower would be a swanky, evening affair with girls and guys, cocktails (mocktail for me), and Frank/Michael/Harry on the stereo.