You know how in women’s journal’s there’s an occasional (ha!) article about orgasm, with a question and answer section, and there’s always some question from a reader saying, “I think I had one, but I’m not sure…” and the advice-giver in the magazine says, “Oh, you’ll know. You’ll know.”?
I think that telling the difference between a growing, mid-trimester uterus and one too many last-meal-in-the-Southwest burritos will be like that. There’s something there that’s taking up space and pushing things around in there, and I think it’s Tiny, but it might just be the extra chile relleno.
Last week the German and I went rafting with my parents, uncle, and some family friends. I spent a LOT of time watching the German and my Dad delight each other. Feel free to count the units of joy in the following exchanges:
The German: I will go break down the toilet since we are packing up camp.
Dad: No, don’t worry about it. I’ll get it in a minute.
The German: But I would like to learn how.
Dad (in his head): I love you.
Dad: Let’s put our chairs in the river and sit in them and let the water run over us!
The German: We can do that?! Wow! OK!
After they set up chairs and showed us how to sit in them, they skipped rocks for an hour.
The German: I am sorry that we are leaving today. I wish we were staying.
Dad (not in his head): I’m going to wear my sunglasses so that you can’t see that I’m crying.
Mom: I’m happy.
Me: Me, too.
The German: Me, too.
Dad: Me, too.