Wait...WHAT?

I'll wait a second while you re-read the NEW title of this blog.

Still with me?  Good, because from here on out, this blog is going to be really, really fun to read.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am pregnant.  With a baby.  Together, Dean and I have created a human being that lives inside of me, wakes me every two hours to pee, and refuses to let me wear my skinny jeans. And we are thrilled.

In the past few weeks, we've informed our families and some close friends, and the reactions have ranged from tears of joy to spit takes to uncontrollable laughter to stunned stares, and one report of someone actually falling out of their chair.  And those are just reactions from me and Dean.

Answers to your most pressing questions:  We're due in June, and we don't know if it's a boy or a girl yet.  We WILL find out, because otherwise I will explode.  We have chosen names, but won't be sharing them with anyone until the BIG DAY.  However, feel free to send suggestions, because we like a good laugh and could be persuaded to change our minds for something really good, like Bookcase or Hortence.  We're staying in NYC and are keeping our current apartment because it's awesome, it's near the Best Park in the World, and Hank would be devastated if we moved him away from his doggie girlfriend, Fenny.

My friend Kim pointed out that I completely started my life over at 40, and she's right.  In the past 2 years, I got married for the first (and last) time, changed my career, moved to New York, and NOW...am expecting a baby.

I realize our child will graduate from high school in 2030, and it freaks me out, because I have no idea how we're going to teach it to drive one of those flying George Jetson cars we'll all have by then.  Rather than dwell on the possibility that I might need a walker to attend the child's wedding, I'm going to embrace the fact that as we raise our child, I will have TWICE the life experience to draw from as a lot of first-time moms.  And when I get super depressed that my bras don't fit and I can't button my regular pants anymore, I smile and think of how adorable Dean Poynor will look walking around with a Baby Bjørn strapped to his chest.

Before I go eat Second Breakfast, I want to share one of my earliest blog posts with you.  It's called "Babyville."  It's even funnier now.

Guess I drank the water after all.

Babyville

No, I am not having a baby. But I may be the only woman in the Upper West Side who isn't.

Lately, it seems that every time I venture out, I find myself saying, "I should be taking pictures of this." By "this," I mean the astronomically high number of women who are either painfully pregnant, or pushing a child (or children, as is often the case) in high-end, souped-up strollers.

(At this point, I headed out with my camera to take some photos, but A) Hank was too distracted to cooperate with my secret mission, and B) how would you know if the photos were all from the same chunk of time? So, mission aborted. No pun intended.)

Seriously, though, there must be something in the water. Or more than likely, a high concentration of women in their late thirties who have lots of money and who have undergone fertility treatments of some kind, which would account for the high numbers of twins we see in our neighborhood. And the high number of blank stares on the faces of the fathers.

Have you seen the strollers out there these days? There are jogging strollers and twin strollers, and strollers that hold twins AND a toddler while you jog. These things have cup holders and phone holders and parking brakes and sunshades and umbrella attachments and ipod plug ins.

Dean and I were in the park the other day when we saw a whole line of mommies jogging behind their baby strollers. Just as I was about to snap a photo, the whole posse turned a corner, parked in a line right near us, and started doing leg lifts, using their strollers for balance. Upon closer examination, we realized they had a TRAINER who was leading a group exercise class for them. That guy is a genius, whoever he is.

Annnnd........here's the video to prove it. Watch over Dean's shoulder.

Don't get me wrong- we love our neighborhood. It is safe and clean, and there are lots of restaurants and museums and trees. It's a great place to raise a child. Or in our case, a Beagle named Hank. But just to be on the safe side, I'm going to drink good old fashioned NYC tap water instead of whatever fancy bottled water these chicks are drinking. We're not taking any chances.