Hospital Planning FAIL

This is the sign in the waiting room of the Maternal Fetal Medicine office.  You go through the same set of double doors if you are hugely pregnant and full of the speshul problems or if you have a rare cross-breed of malaria and syphilis.

I mean, it's pretty much impossible to come out of the office without thinking: OK, which ones of you sonzabitches is infectious?

Thank you for all of your comments - it really does help to hear from people who have been through it, and that people are pulling for my little drama queens.  I appreciate every single one.  And the emails, which I have read but haven't had time to respond to - you guys are the best. 

(Speaking of email, I changed my address because it turns out that I find Hotmail to be a complete whore.  So if you're emailing me regularly, check my profile to get the new address. Kthxbai.)

But really, I think we are doing a pretty good job of not going completely insane.  Partly because of this Fat Booth picture that my cousin took of me:

But mostly because of my little comedian.  She's like a flaming bag of adorable fun.  Kind of makes it impossible to be sad.

The other day, she pretended like she was going to give me a kiss, and then when she got right by my face she stole my glasses and belly laughed like a completely crazed maniac.