The Babymooners

Now in the laryngitis stage of this strange not-a-head-cold-it's-a-chest-cold thing. Trying to talk to an automated operator on the phone, the computer said, "I'm sorry we're having so much trouble understanding each other; I'll transfer you to a representative," in a very sympathetic voice. I could get used to sensitive robots.

Our babymoon was AWE-SOME (said in hamster-whisper from the movie Bolt). Thanks to Mom and Dad and Kim and Alan for helping to make it possible.

I've got MB very suspicious that William and I secretly know the sex of the baby and are hiding it from everyone. Would that we were that artful! Who knew a little sky-blue paint slapped on a wall could make us appear duplicitous? If it weren't for the trauma inflicted on 6-year-old Bertie in the 44 Scotland Street series from having pink walls painted by his well-meaning mother, I would have gone with a rosy shade without a qualm. We have more yellow and green clothes than one could dream possible. Hope the baby doesn't look jaundiced in yellow. Katrina warned us it might.