Destroying Angel

This morning I used our camera to take what would be its final picture:


How did this picture come to be, you might ask, and why was it the last? Those are both good questions. Let me explain.

This picture is of Michael immediately after he dumped an entire container of oats all over my freshly swept kitchen floor. In order to keep myself from knocking him into next Tuesday, I decided to take a picture. Then I began to sweep up the mess. While I was distracted, Michael somehow managed to get ahold of a box of spaghetti noodles and began adding those to the pile. He also decided it would be fun to use his hands and feet to sweep the oats over every square inch of the floor.

By this point I had reached the absolute end of my overstretched patience. I yelled at him (um, I mean sweetly asked) that he better not dump out anything else and told him to go away. Which he did. To the desk, where he found the camera I had used to take the picture. My back was turned to him, so I didn't see that he was playing with it. I only discovered this in time to see that he had totally mangled it. In thirty seconds he somehow managed to destroy it completely. Nothing works. Nothing. All the camera will do is let out a horrible, strangled alarm noise for about ten seconds and then sputter and die. The lens won't even hint at budging from its unnatural, Michael-induced position.

At least it was our old point-and-shoot camera, and not our new one. So farewell, beloved camera. Thanks for the memories, and I'm sorry you were so rudely swept out of existence.

As for Michael, well, he is still alive, and that shows just what a patient mother I am after all.

The Cuteness of Michael

Michael has many very cute moments. These are to help me have patience in the screaming-frustrated-I'm-almost-two-and-I-know-what-I-want-except-when-I-don't-know-what-I-want-in-which-case-I-want-you-to-guess-and-if-you-get-it-wrong-I'll-have-a-screaming-wailing-kicking-world-is-ending-tantrum moments. A few highlights from the last week:

One day as I was taking Michael upstairs for his nap, he pointed to my room and said, "Mama, cuddle?" How could I resist? (Now that he knows that word and has used it to his advantage, he often yells "cuddle!" to be rescued from his crib in the morning).

He says "Thank you" completely unprompted any time you give him something. When we went to our ward trunk-or-treat he would say, "Treat!" and then "Thank you" to every person who gave him candy. All the way home he kept repeating "Treat! Thank you!" "Treat! Thank you!"

This afternoon, following tantrum-of-the-day number 57, out of complete exasperation I asked him, "Michael, what will make you happy?" He paused from his wailing for a moment and said hopefully, "Daddy?".

In the morning he will say "See ya!" and "Love ya!" to his daddy.

He gets so excited by the sound of airplanes or trucks that he will put his hands over his ears (I assume to show me he hears something) and yell "Airpane!" or "Guck!" and run to the nearest window. He says new words every day. It amazes me how much he is learning.

When he is angry about being in his crib, he will throw his blankets and cup over the side. Tonight I went into his room to tuck him back in after he had fallen asleep. I found him curled up at the end of his crib, peacefully snoozing and looking like a little angel. It was a good moment that reminded me how precious he is - a nice end to a long, hard day.

Going All Political

I only have one thing to say about this presidential election: For crying out loud, isn't it over already?! At this point I don't care who wins (though for the record, I think Obama has it in the bag), I just want it to be OVER! Over, I say! Over! I can't stand even one more millisecond of political coverage. I get twitchy at the mere mention of the election, let alone the commercials warning us that voting for Obama/McCain will result in the death of all fluffy animals/the end of the earth.

So on that note, a political-something that actually made me laugh:


Let's just hope and pray this is not one of those elections that drags on interminably, recount after recount, until we just can't take it anymore and are forced to make a sanity-saving permanent relocation to Bora Bora.

O Fortuna

I am not superstitious and I don't get into horoscopes or anything like that, but I love fortune cookies at Chinese restaurants. Well most of the time. I hate the cookies that say things like "Sunshine is happiness" (not a fortune) or "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush" (again, not a fortune). But most of the time I like them. And I particularly enjoy the ones with misspellings, like "You will gain insight from your pears". Who knew Bartletts could be so helpful?

Luckily for me, my favorite Chinese restaurant generally has great fortunes. I'm talking about PF Chang's, of course, or her little sister eatery Pei Wei. I've received many a good fortune while dining at both establishments (waiting to crack open the cookie until my meal is finished, of course... it's bad luck to do it beforehand you know. Not that I care because I'm not superstitious).

My favorite fortune was one I got on my birthday several years ago. It said, "You and your spouse will be happy in your life together". Awww. Perfect birthday fortune.

Another was "A wish long delayed will soon be fulfilled". I got that one right before we found out I was pregnant with Michael, and those who know me know just how long delayed that wish actually was.

So tonight Michael and I ventured to Pei Wei for some chicken fried rice and a little insight from the Fortune Gods. Michael's cookie said he will receive many great kindnesses over the next year. I'm crossing my fingers (not literally, of course, because I'm not superstitious) for a patient nursery leader.

My cookie said, "Sometimes traveling to a new place leads to great transformation." Ah, fortune cookies, omniscient as ever. I'm hoping that "great transformation" has less to do with character-building and more to do with a decrease in hip circumference. Or possibly a few inches off my thighs. Okay, okay. I'll settle for a flat stomach.

I'm not picky.

You've Got Mail

On a daily basis there are a handful of news headlines that make my eyes bug out of my head. Today's highlight of leading news was the following:

"STD Postcards: You've Got Mail - And More"

Apparently you can now send a former, um, partner, the news that you might have shared a little more than just a romantic tete a tete. How cheerful. And how pathetic that someone you had a VERY intimate experience with is only deserving of an e-card to tell them you might have given them a life-threatening STD. "Just thought you'd like to know I'm HIV positive. You might want to get checked out too. Ciao!"

In the last four years, 49,500 of these rays-of-sunshine have been sent. I can't tell you how much this disturbs me. I mean, it's always been disturbing (and revolting) to me that people can meet someone, climb into bed with them, and move on the next day without so much as a slight there's-something-wrong-with-this nudge from their dulled conscience. But an STD e-card? Are you kidding me?

The irony of the casual-sex generation is that the same women (and men) who have participated in one night stands are the ones frantically rubbing their hands with sanitizer as they disembark the metro, sticking to an organic, pesticide free diet, and refusing to sit down on a public toilet seat for fear of contracting some icky disease. But hey, a roll in the sack with some drunk hottie they met in a bar? Okay. People are more concerned about buying bruised produce than they are about exchanging bodily fluids with a complete stranger.

I recognize that not all STDs are the result of a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, but if the purveyor of disease is a former boyfriend or significant other, I would hope that they would have the courtesy of informing their partner of a possible infection in person. But I guess if sex is nothing more than a "casual" exchange, why should informing someone of the bad consequences be any more formal?

Somehow chastity has never made more sense.

Is Anyone Surprised?

In the way of supposedly-shocking-but-not-really-surprising-to-anyone-with-a-pulse celebrity news, Madonna and her director husband Guy Ritchie are divorcing after nearly eight years of marriage. I know you are all shocked and appalled. Well, definitely not shocked, but in the case of Madonna it is always safe to be appalled.

The thing that gets me about the whole celebrity marriage charade is that these people seem truly bewildered when their unions crumble. In Madonna's case you are talking about a woman who has made a career out of writhing around on stage in less-than-nothing outfits, writing and starring in movies about her various sexcapades, and possessing such an over-inflated sense of self-importance that she recently dedicated a performance of her hit song "Like A Virgin" to the Pope. Classy. And she couldn't make her marriage work? I'm astounded.

Hollywood seems to be full of these types of people. They find a spouse, spend their days filming steamy love scenes with someone else, and then they end up dissolving their marriages on grounds of "irreconcilable differences". Yes, it is a bit hard to reconcile your sweetie pie rolling around in the hay with someone else, onscreen or not.

Honestly, the most shocking thing about Madonna's divorce is that it didn't happen sooner. If I were Guy Ritchie I would have divorced her as soon she evaporated her body fat and was left with nothing put a pile of veined, bulging muscles. I'm all for a little tone and definition, but the girl looks like she's shooting up testosterone. Nothing says femininity like the ability to bench-press your own body weight with your pinkie toe.

Ick, Madonna. Need I say more?

Naptime

Naptime has been a bit of a struggle in our house lately. Usually one of two things will happen: Michael will get a burst of energy and start jumping and doing somersaults in his crib, or he will get really mad and scream and cry (he has remarkable stamina). Scenario two always involves throwing his cup and blankets out of the crib,and then yelling that he wants them back.

I decided I needed to preserve these, um, "precious" moments for posterity. Unfortunately I didn't catch any of the somersaults on video, but it's a small taste of the energy ball that is Michael.

Enjoy!

Random Thoughts

Why do they make parallel parking such an integral part of the driving test? Unless you live in a large city, you will only have to parellel park about two times in your entire life. I agree with my sister that a better driving-skill indicator would be to take you to the interstate at rush hour and let you try to merge.

Have you ever noticed how the mornings when you absolutely have to be somewhere at a specific time, your child will sleep long past his regular waking time? And if you don't have to be anywhere and would like to sleep in, he will bounce out of bed at 5:30?

How is it that you can have 150 TV channels and absolutely nothing to watch?

Do you suppose prostitutes ever feel disenfranchised by the fact that everyone is wearing their clothing? Just how are you supposed to tell a hooker from a teenage girl nowadays?

People place too much stock in hearing someone say "I love you". Doesn't anyone realize that actions speak louder than words?

I just read that Lisa Kudrow, one of the stars of the hit TV series Friends, remained a virgin until her marriage at age 31. She said she is worried because kids are having sex at younger and younger ages. That is all very honorable, but if she truly feels that way, why did she star in a TV show (and play a character) that glorifies and encourages pre-marital sex?

Since Oliver keeps calling us every time he goes to Cafe Rio ("Just wanted you to know I'm eating at Cafe Rio," he'll say), I will now exact my revenge: I am making cinnamon rolls.

Anyone who says boys and girls are no different from each other has never had a child.

My sister-in-law compared this Presidential election to having a choice between cream of celery or spam for dinner. Somehow, either way we'll come out losers. Or at the very least throw up.

Why do women talk like sailors and dress like sluts and then act bewildered when their men don't treat them like ladies?

It's amazing what people categorize as "needs" even in difficult financial times. If cable TV is more important to you than eating, you are not that desperate.

What makes you dream about certain things? For example, why do people you haven't thought about in ten years suddenly appear in your dreams?

The latest "Dear Abby" column was people writing in about how they get offended if someone responds to their "Thank you" with "No problem". If you are spending time nitpicking over something that small, you need to get a life.

How is it that your child can smack the keyboard with one hand and manage to delete your hard drive and shut down your computer when you can't even figure out how to change your font?

Why does the dentist always wait until your mouth is full to ask you chatty questions?

I love that Michael can see an airplane for the thirtieth time in as many minutes, and be just as excited as the he was the for the first one.

Husband-Bashing Commercials, Part 3

Another husband-bashing commercial to add to the ever-growing litany of offensive advertising. (You can read about my other favorites here and here). The latest culprit? Pepto Bismol.

While this commercial takes a welcome break from the disturbing indigestion dance routine (if you don't know what I mean, count yourself lucky) it nonetheless ventures into something equally bothersome.

The commercial starts out with an attractive woman sitting on the couch, her dog's head resting woefully in her lap. She has called the Pepto help-line, wanting to know how she can help "Rex". You see, he has eaten everything in the house, leftover Chinese food, ice cream, tapioca, and of course dog treats.

"We don't cover dogs," the Pepto man says.

"Oh, no, Charlie is my dog. Rex is my husband."

Cut to the groaning husband in his chair, obviously regretting the dog treats he recently ingested.

I would have laughed, but I can't think of a single funny thing about such an insulting punch line. Honestly, who thinks of these things? They should be ashamed of themselves.

Satan's Little Helper

Last night we were engrossed in a new episode of "The Office" when a commercial came on for Bill Maher's new movie, "Religulous". Immediately out of David's mouth were the words, "I hate that guy. He's like Satan's Little Helper." An apt description, if I ever heard one. It sounds like something that should be on his resume: Bill Maher - Servant to the Prince of Darkness, a.k.a., "Satan's Little Helper".

In case you haven't heard, Maher's new film, "Religulous" is one of those documentary-type movies meant to make religious folks look like dangerous fools who are responsible for every bad happening since the beginning of time. (If you are at all curious, you can read Roger Ebert's review of it here).

The ironic thing, which I'm sure escapes Mr. Maher, is that this movie is sure to reveal way more about his own idiocy than that of those followers of religion he is trying to bash. He is showing his true colors, and they are nothing more than the telltale stripes of a paranoid jerk. He says he approached this movie as "I'm a skeptic, convince me", which is completely laughable. Instead he's preaching to the choir. People are only seeing this film for two reasons: they already agree with him or they want to see how despicable one person can be. I doubt anyone is going to the theater hoping for a spiritual experience.

Of course, that's really the good thing about a movie like this. Someone shares their psychotic-level paranoia with you, and you can see them for what they truly are. It's why I am definitely in the allow-flag-burning crowd. I want to be able to identify the ungrateful jerks that hate America. Why not allow them to reveal themselves to the rest of us?

So thanks for the reveal, Bill Maher. Of course, we already knew you were a dangerous nutcase, but it's nice to have indisputable proof.

The Nosiness of Strangers

There's a strange phenomenon out there. I'm sure we've all been on the receiving end of it at some time or another. This phenomenon causes all sorts of weird symptoms, but first and foremost, it causes strangers to abandon their I-don't-know-you politeness and to stick their noses in something very private and personal.

The subject? Your family planning.

I can see having an interest in your own siblings or your close friends. And I don't believe you if you say you have never once had a conversation about someone else's family planning. But hopefully you have had the tact and good sense to avoid sharing your opinion with the person in question. After all, it is absolutely none of your business, no matter how close your relationship with them may be.

But I just can't understand why complete strangers seem to feel no shame in informing someone that they have too many kids/too few kids/their kids are too close together/their kids are too far apart/they are obviously selfish because they don't have any kids/they are ruining the planet by having kids, etc., etc., etc.

I hate it when strangers, however well-meaning, inform me that my son needs a sibling. Thank you for reminding me. Would you like me to share the hell I've been through trying to have another child? No? But you seemed so interested in my personal life to begin with! And then, on the rare occasion that I say something like "my son was very difficult to come by", hoping it will end the conversation, my favorite follow-up question:

"Why don't you just adopt?"

Oh, I never thought of that! I will just run down to the Baby Store and pick up a brown-haired, green-eyed mini-me! Be right back!

But first, tell me why you let your kids act like dictators. Inquiring minds want to know!

Vaccinations And Spiritual Flu

A few years ago my mom gave a really great talk on "Spiritual Flu". In it she said that we can't quarantine our children from the evils of the world, but by helping them internalize the truths of the gospel we can immunize them so they will be far more able to resist evil when they come upon it. Alma tells us that teaching the gospel will have a more powerful effect on the minds of our children than the sword or anything else (see Alma 31:5). We need to teach our children (by word and example) so that they can develop the spiritual "antibodies" to resist wickedness.

Isn't my mom awesome? But besides that, she's a registered nurse and knows a whole lot of useful things about medicine. It is so handy! I can't count the number of times I've called her with some medical question or other. She's also practical. If we ever had a headache, the first question she would ask is, "Did you take something?" If we hadn't, she would send us off to take some Tylenol instead of listening to our complaining. She was a regular drug pusher. No need to suffer when something can be done about it, was her motto. When I got braces, she taught me how to swallow pills by rolling up little tiny balls of bread and having me practice swallowing them. She sneaked the ibuprofen in one of the little bread balls, and I got it down without a problem. From then on, taking medication was a snap.

But back to Spiritual Flu. The world seems to be getting so scary, I sometimes get really freaked out about sending Michael out there to fight off all the fiery darts of the adversary. But then I remember that David and I have the opportunity to immunize him against the evils of the world. If we do our absolute best to teach him the gospel, and if we do our absolute best at living it and showing him by our example what the gospel means to us, he'll be okay. There is no need for us to panic.

I have also been thinking about how this spiritual immunization parallels a current world situation. Doctors everywhere are getting concerned about the number of people who aren't vaccinating their children. In this day and age of too much access to crazy health information on the internet, belief in inaccurate reports of vaccines causing autism or other frightening side effects, and downright ignorance and stupidity, it seems many parents are foregoing the opportunity to protect their children against some awful diseases.

I honestly think part of the problem is that we have never seen what these diseases are like. We have never seen whooping cough or polio, or even measles or mumps. We have no idea of the devastation that can be caused by tetanus or diphtheria. And so we ignore the warnings of medical professionals, and we don't vaccinate our kids. After all, who gets these diseases anymore? Do we really need to make sure our kids get all these shots?

Frankly, this attitude scares the pants off me. Yesterday, my sister was telling me about a whooping cough outbreak in her daughter's school. It caused the death of two babies, who were not yet old enough to receive the vaccine. And how do you think those infants caught it? Well, their un-vaccinated friends or siblings brought it home! How scary!

I know of many pediatricians who will not treat children who haven't received their vaccinations. (And rightly so). It's simply too risky! They can't put other patients at risk because some parent thinks a polio vaccine is unnecessary for their own child. It's not one of those personal decisions that doesn't affect anyone else. One unvaccinated child can cause a whole lot of problems for a whole lot of people.

I really think the diseases that will sweep through and destroy a bunch of people in these last days are not going to be new-fangled bugs we haven't yet discovered. I think we are going to be wiped out by outbreaks of measles or pertussis, or diphtheria. We'll be killed by our own stupidity and our inability to listen to the warnings.

Which brings me back to Spiritual Flu. Prophets have told us, I don't know, about a billion times, to have Family Prayer, Family Scripture Study, and Family Home Evening. Why do you think they keep telling us this? Because it will help inoculate our children against the evils in the world! And yet, we still aren't doing it. Because we don't think it's important, because we don't think it will help anything, who knows? But when the fiery darts of the adversary manage to spiritually kill our children, won't we feel horrible for not having protected them by doing everything we could to immunize them?

And as long as we're spiritually immunizing, why not physically immunize as well? We have nothing to lose, and everything to gain.

TWS

One of the things that drives me crazy is something I will call Tyrannical Wife Syndrome (TWS, for short). I am sure everyone knows a man whose wife suffers from this affliction. It involves lots of wifely whining if hubby ever wants to do something by himself, lots of complaining if he is out of the house for any reason, and multiple restrictions on his activities away from wifey-dearest. It can also involve the husband being responsible for most of the household chores when he arrives home after a long day at work (cooking dinner, taking care of the kids, cleaning up, etc.).

I can't stand it when I hear a man say, "I can't come to (fill in the blank with activity) because my wife won't let me." Aaarrgh! I understand that there are times the husband is needed at home, but this is something that he and his wife should be able to openly discuss and compromise on. We often talk about how women need time for themselves, but somehow the memo that men also need time for themselves got misplaced en route to all the females. I know wives who complain constantly any time their husband is gone, whether it's work-related, church-calling-related, or out-with-friends-related. These same women demand to have time with their friends, they demand to have the husband watch little Johnny while they go to enrichment or visiting teaching, or while they just do whatever they want, but they completely flip out if hubby asks for the same courtesy.

Recently my sister and I were discussing this Tyrannical Wife Syndrome, and she was telling me how women in her ward were asked to submit questions for a discussion about how husbands could better help their wives. The thought made her cringe. Her perspective, and I agree, is that the question needs to be reversed. We expect our husbands to work, to help with all household chores, the kids, the meals, and at the same time read our minds, meet our emotional needs, put up with any moodiness associated with PMS, pregnancy, or other hormonal insanity, and do it all with a smile (and after they have brought us a bouquet of roses). And then we get together in little groups and talk about how incompetent our men are, how they can't do anything right, how they don't care about anything but the football game on TV, and how picked on we are.

I have to say, women are completely clueless. If our men treated us like this, the world would end. Yet, most men trudge on trying to do everything, anything to please their unpleaseable wives. What a tragedy.

Husbands are partners, not children. They have needs and feelings, and they get tired and discouraged just like we do. How much better would the world be if all the women would stop focusing on themselves, and start focusing on that guy they chose to marry? After all, you love your husband, right? Don't you want him to know you love him? Don't you want to show him?

All right, enough. End of rant.

As a postscript, One of the best books I have ever read on this subject is Laura Schlessinger's The Proper Care And Feeding Of Husbands. If you haven't read it, do it right now. You'll learn a lot.

What's In A Purse?

I have one purse. I bought it 7 years ago for $50 and used it every day until the advent of the diaper bag 22 months ago. It's a nice purse. Sometimes I wish it were a little bit bigger, but it holds the essentials - wallet, cell phone, chapstick, carkeys. Now it only makes its appearance on special occasions that don't require the diaper bag - hot dates with my hubby and the rare solo outing.

Recently some of David's female coworkers were gushing about some great purse and suggested to David that he buy it for me. For $1000. That's right, these women would consider spending $1000 on a purse. And not only would they consider buying it, they thought I would appreciate it if my husband bought it for me.

Um, hello? $1000 for a purse?!!! Are you kidding me?! No purse is worth $1000! Not one. Zip. Zero. Nada. And if David came home with such an expensive handbag, I would make him take it right back to the store. Actually, first I would murder him. Then I would take it back myself.

So here I was, thinking that this $1000 purse was nothing but pure insanity, when my sister sent me a link to this:


For those not in the know, this is a Birkin purse, a favorite among the Hollywood elite. You too can be the owner of this fetching handbag for the mere price of $55,000. Yes, that's fifty five thousand dollars. What a steal! Where do I sign up?

I find it absolutely disgusting that any human being would ever consider spending that much money on one purse. And yet, in the past there has even been a wait-list for this hot item. That's right. People were lining up to hand over their bank accounts (and, apparently, also their brains) to buy the stupid thing. Can you imagine?

And Hollywood says they're not out of touch with the rest of us.

It's A Sign

Anyone who has seen me teach Relief Society knows I am not a centerpiece person. This is not to say that I don't love decorations (I do! Have you seen my house around a holiday?) or that I don't like other people's lesson centerpieces, but when it comes down to it, I think it's a complete waste of time. Why would I want to spend hours stressing over an artsy arrangement to complement my assigned topic when I could spend those hours stressing over something more important, like, I don't know, the lesson itself? And why would I want to spend even more hours wrapping individual cookies in cute little baggies when I could just pass around a plate and let everyone help themselves?

If you are one of those people who enjoys making centerpieces for your RS Lessons, or bagging your cookies, more power to you. I am in awe. But it's just not my thing.

Along the same vein, I'm not much of a cheesy sign person. I have a few nice little sayings displayed in my house, and I've seen a few in other homes that I like, but I am not going to paint "Home Is Where The Heart Is" above my front door. Because then I would have to gag every time I left the house.

So I had to laugh my head off when I saw these alternative signs on the Six LDS Writers blog, created by the hilarious LDS author, Robison Wells:














I'm putting in my order now. Anyone else want one?

Magical Kisses

Michael recently discovered the healing power of a kiss. He will come to me multiple times a day saying "Owww!" and holding some body part that needs a little peck. It is amazing how well it works. The whining and crying stops immediately. And really, what is cuter than your little boy asking you to kiss a scraped knee, and then happily going off to play once everything is better?

He is also very concerned about my injuries and will point to my bruises or scrapes and say "Owww!" in a very worried tone of voice. Yesterday I asked him if he would kiss a particularly painful bruise he had been concerned about. He happily obliged, and I honestly did feel better.

Yesterday I also found myself needing an extra cuddle, and so gave into his whining and let him lie down with me for naptime. I let him snuggle until he fell asleep, and then went to put him back in his bed. As soon as I lifted the blanket to make the switch, he opened his eyes and said, "No, no, no" very earnestly and sweetly. It was easy to give in and just hold my little angel while he slept.

It's amazing how the magical cuddles and kisses have healing powers in both directions. I never realized they could work so well on me.

Dear Abby

I read advice columnists for two reasons: one, to see what sort of ridiculous things people seek help for, and two, to mock the mostly horrible advice the columnists give in response. The only columnist I still have any sort of respect for is "Miss Manners", who has somehow managed to maintain a little dignity and common sense in this crazy world.

Anyway, I read "Dear Abby" on a daily basis. I can't remember the last time I agreed with her advice. Probably when I was about eight. She is just that pathetic in her responses. But it is so entertaining to read that I just can't help myself.

The latest column that caught my eye wasn't really advice-related, it was a bunch of people writing in about surprise pregnancies, and how it is possible for someone to carry a baby to full-term without knowing they are pregnant. I've heard of cases where this has supposedly happened. And I realize people can be in extreme denial about things. But honestly, I just don't think there is a single pregnant woman, including these ladies, who has made it to full-term without having a single twinge or thought or inkling or nudge that she might be pregnant. Come on, your organs do not normally pummel you from the inside. And perhaps the huge belly would be a give-away, or maybe the missing period or the constant need to go to the bathroom. The only way I can see this being remotely possible is if a woman is very overweight in the first place and old enough to mistake herself as going through menopause. But your average-looking, childbearing-aged woman? If she didn't notice she was pregnant, don't you think someone would? A husband perhaps? Or a friend? Or the little old ladies at church? Seriously.

And surely, even if you didn't realize you were pregnant, wouldn't you realize something was off? The symptoms of pregnancy are often so dramatic I can't see that any sane, otherwise-healthy person would not seek the care of a doctor. If you didn't think you were pregnant, wouldn't you at least be concerned about all the aches and pains you were having?

I read all these stories, and I'm just not convinced that these women didn't "know" they were pregnant. They may have ignored the little red flags popping up along the way, but to make it full-term and have no idea? Come on. How could anyone be that clueless? And as for the nurses that "didn't know", would you really trust them to work in your hospital after ignoring every possible warning sign in their own bodies? I know I wouldn't. Who knows what else they might be missing?