I did have to give Barbara a call this morning though, since I didn't want to wait until next week to inquire about a little, er, problem I've been having. I won't go into great detail, since it's not a huge issue and since it's a rather delicate matter involving my intestinal activity. (You get the idea, I'm sure.) Many of the books and websites I checked, though, were quite adamant that it was a matter that needed to be brought swiftly to the attention of my doctor, and I was really beginning to worry. Barbara calmed me down and recommended acidophilus tablets, which I dutifully picked up this afternoon.

I shouldn't have panicked. I wouldn't have panicked, except that all the women to whom I've been speaking who happen to be due around the same time as I am have been fighting the exact opposite problem, and I'm not comfortable being the odd man out at a time like this.

So we'll see. I also had a rather impressive wave of nausea this morning, so things may be turning around on that front as well. My nerves are not calmed by the fact that, having been an early joiner to all my due date listservs and forums, I am now being treated to the sight of the first wave of miscarriages taking away a few women each day.

Diane, I should have heeded your advice. Not much I could really have done about this, though, other than avoid all newly pregnant women until we're all a little farther along.

Well, I managed to make it almost the whole way through the workday before I was overcome by a sudden onslaught of exhaustion. When I say "sudden," I couldn't be more literal; I was putting together a collection of books on birds for a teacher, was down on my hands and knees by a picture book stack, and suddenly couldn't fight the urge to rest my head on a nearby stool and close my eyes for a moment. I made it through that moment, but the exhaustion refused to leave me completely and was soon joined by another headache. Needless to say, I left work early and went to bed, where I slept for about two hours until Eric came home. We went out to dinner, then came home to sleep again. Now I'm sitting here in the wee hours of the morn, wondering if I'm ever going to get my internal clock back in order. From what the experienced moms have been telling me, it's not going to happen until the kids are old enough to regulate their own clocks.

I had odd dreams in the midst of all of that sleeping that I did. In one, Eric was Abe of Oddworld, and I was a Mudokan that he was rescuing. I was positive that he was going to get me killed, so whenever I saw an enemy, I would try to play innocent, scrubbing floors and answering any questions. Eric was more interested in trying to get away, no matter what; I wasn't about to leap down that dark elevator shaft, no matter how hard he tried to convince me that we would be all right.

In another dream, we were getting married. I'm not positive if it was supposed to be our first wedding or if we were just renewing our vows; Eric and his pack of groomsmen were dressed rather casually, but I was in a gorgeous, expensive-looking cream gown that made me look about ten sizes smaller. Everything was going fine with the ceremony (the small group of guests sat in folding chairs and cried as we danced to our handwritten vows), until one of the groomsmen, who had perhaps had too much to drink, stepped to close to a nearby fireplace, setting his leather pants on fire. I shrieked, but he just looked at me, confused as to what the problem was. Finally, after several agonizing minutes, he noticed his burning pants and tried to remove them, revealing that his skin was melting and sticking to the leather. I ran out of the room, screaming for somebody to call 911, and woke up.

Funny how my head feels no less foggy than it did before I went to bed.

I know an old lady who swallowed a horse.
She's dead, of course!

The child smiled then, and piped up, "Now she won't eat the animals anymore!" Future member of PETA, perhaps?

When I had done the story before, all had gone well, except for a small whisper halfway through, when I sang the refrain, "Perhaps she'll die." A little boy murmured (around a huge grin, mind you), "That's a bad word." I was immediately taken back in time to my old next-door neighbor, who approached my mother one afternoon when my brother, after spending the morning playing with her little girls, had taught her three-year-old the word "die." She was quite upset about this, having wanted to shield her daughter from that particular concept for a little while longer. Cory was allowed to play with the girls after that, but was ordered to keep things light and cheery, and put a cap on the gunplay.

I vented my frustration to Eric that night. "It's a great story, a real classic, but I don't want to get scolded by any parents!"

"Well, you could change it a little bit," he suggested. "How about, 'I know an old lady who swallowed a fly...I don't know why she swallowed a fly...Poor doggone fly?'"

I laughed. "But what about the ending?" He looked at me curiously, and I realized that he wasn't actually familiar with the song. What an outrage! I launched into the full song, ignoring for the moment the fact that we had been on a grocery expedition and that the other shoppers were all staring in amusement. When I reached the ending, he conceded my point. Perhaps the final line could be altered to "She's full, of course," but the morbid illustration of the old lady, lying on her back with crossed-out eyes, would give me away.

I'm at a loss. I have fond memories of my own grade-school teachers and librarians reading this story to me as a kid, and I would never have considered it as potentially offensive. Should I skip it? The other librarian seemed as torn as I was. Well, nobody's complained yet, so I guess I'll just move on.