There's more to the first trimester than throwing up in the parking lot of the gym. There are nap attacks. Suddenly I feel a bit sleepy, and I think to myself, "I'll just set my head down for a minute." Then I wake up from a drooling, snoring, time warp of a deep sleep. It is a kind of sleepiness that defies discipline of mind, or will power. It takes over and commands limbs to succumb to gravity.
Fortunately, the children aren't prone to wandering or starting fires, so when a spontaneous nap comes on I can more or less be assured that they are safe. They play chess or work on writing computer games. They practice drawing, make grilled cheese sandwiches, finish math homework, and read BIONICLE comics.
All their classes are going well, even karate, which is a challenging program. They're good boys, and learning good things. William and Alex and I play "Name the Baby," where we suggest the best of the worst possible choices. Our latest thoughts are Christmas themed, like: Ebeneezer, or (Tiny) Tim. A girl might be named Strawberry Shortcake, or Barbie. So far, Max's only remark about the baby regards his concern that the baby will get in to his stuff. "The baby might get in to my stuff, " he says in a heavy tone. He's right of course.
Speaking of "stuff," Geoff finally found a car for sale that meets his standards. Four wheel drive, and convertible, that seats more than five: