Theatre references are always funny.

News! Insomuch as there's no real "news." The baby has not flipped. The baby has a finite amount of time left in which to flip. The "baby" has an enormous head. (Okay, okay, maybe it's not *enormous,* but it's certainly bigger than it ought to be at 36 weeks. I mean, we're not talking John Merrick here, but rather large for my ribcage.) In fact, the baby's head is measuring at 39 weeks. Or, as someone mistakenly heard- 39 inches. (That's less 'Elephant Man' and more 'Dudley Moore's entire frame.' Owie.)

But there's still time! And, as my doctor so optimistically averaged it- less than 1% chance that the kiddo will flip on his or her own! Great! (So...you're saying there's a CHANCE.)

That said, we have THREE WEEKS left to do everything I've ever wanted to do as a childless person. Or, at least everything to the upstairs of the house and/or a few scenes of plays that should be done before a child is clinging to me like...oh, who the heck am I kidding? I already have a toddler-sized baby swinging from my ribs and rendering me useless, cranky and more than a little sleepy. So come on over, folks! The house is apparently done!

Babycenter.com says that my child should be about the size of a Crenshaw melon, which is probably the least helpful imagery ever. A), because it's clearly incorrect. Whatever the heck a Crenshaw melon is, I've just been informed that my kiddo is most likely bigger than it and b) what the heck IS a Crenshaw melon? And stop with the food comparisons! I'm not going to eat my child and I already find myself famished every twenty minutes as it is. (I blame babycenter.com for my pregnancy weight gain. Yeah, that's it!) I understand size references like: bowling ball. Laptop. Breadbox. (On an unrelated note, P.J. was describing something to me the other day and I asked how big it was. He replied, "It's actually EXACTLY the size of a breadbox!" I wondered how long he'd been sitting on that descriptive turn of phrase. And no, the object wasn't specifically a breadbox. I think it was something to do with home repair.)

I've been taking Lil to preschool on Wednesdays at a superbly pricey and preppy early education center lately ...and regardless of my advanced physical pregnant-ness, I am STILL the social pariah because of my nanny status. That's right, because I take care of children, the mothers cannot converse with me ABOUT children. I'm sure it makes sense to them. However, I do get to take a lot of good notes- not on childcare, mind you, most of these women don't know their own kids' middle names- but on the rank of certain possessions in their lives. FOR EXAMPLE: One of the moms was mugged a few months back, in Lincoln Park, while pregnant AND while her toddler was in tow. The first questions asked of her?

"Oh my God, was your iPhone out?"

"Did he take your ring?"

And the responses?

"Yes, he TOOK MY iPHONE!" ("Oh, you poor thing. Did you call AT&T right away?")

and (my favorite): "No, the ring was at the jeweler's- THANK GOD!"

I assume the kid was fine, as was the unborn child...or it would've come up. Right? Right? But I also learned how unfair the housing market is to PEOPLE WITH MONEY. (That's right, P.J., remember when we were feeling stressed about finding our home? Imagine if we had really had money! We have no idea how the other half has to live.) Turns out, if you're poor, people THROW mortgages at you, but if you have "too much money" (actual quote) it's really, really hard.

Sigh.

One woman also had the complaint about finding a gorgeous home that she could NEVER live in...because the master bathroom was, well, "you know what I'm talking about." And the other women nodded sagely.

What? What can it be like? My "master bathroom" is a makeshift closet off of a onetime D.I.Y. shoebox kitchen (next to the baby's room- nice) that currently has a ceiling furnace vent that FELL onto the floor the other night with such a loud bang that we believed a wall had fallen over. And the "vanity mirror" possesses a folded paper towel scrap in one corner that, if removed, causes an entire sheet of plate glass to crash into the sink. PLEASE tell me what a dealbreaker of a bathroom you saw. Was it beige? I bet it was beige.

On an extraordinarily positive note, our local Jewel has recently restocked AirWicks apple cinnamon air freshener. IT'S ABOUT TIME. After about three months, "fresh linen" scent no longer smells "fresh" or even particularly like fabric. Plus, we had a coupon for a free warmer! I have no idea why I need this! It's called a "Hidden Pleasures" AirWick wamer, which sounds fabulously deceitful and decadent. It also boasts a "discreet frosted" plastic cover. Why are we hiding this? I feel no shame for my love of apple cinnamon AirWicks, nor does a cover, discreetly frosted or otherwise, make it look less like an air freshener. Maybe each one should come with a Chia Pet cover! We could market it as "Obvious Quirks!"

Some people just have a head for business, I guess.