• From a reference librarian: "How's the baby doing?" I tried my best to keep my eyes from widening and from tripping over my feet as I fought to maintain control. Of course, she was referring to the guinea pigs, who have become something of a fascination for the staff members who have seen me bring them into the library on occasion.
  
  
• The "Lion Puppet Incident": When I brought out the puppet before storytime, I was chuckling; I'd never used this particular puppet before, and thus had never had opportunity to notice the lion's little "beer belly." When I pointed it out to the other librarian on duty, she said, "No, it's just pregnant." Cough, choke!
  
  
• Yesterday afternoon, I got into a little argument with one of our teenage pages, who happens to be a dog-lover. She couldn't fathom that I had no desire to own a dog of my own, and argued voraciously that should I ever have children, they needed a puppy. Then she looked at me with sly eyes and said, "So, are you planning on any 'little Carrie's and Eric's?'" This time, I was able to play it cool and say, "Someday." Yeah, as in "Someday, next June."

I am not a good liar or a good secret-keeper. I can't even play poker with any success; my emotions tend to run straight for the most obvious planes of my face, jumping up and down and screaming, "Yoo-hoo! Look at me! I'm more transparant than freshly-cleaned glass!" I have worked incredibly hard to become better at keeping secrets, especially since I adore surprises, but I'm afraid that it's still one of my weakest attributes.

Keeping a baby a secret? I'm doomed.

Back in college, I used to periodically play a little "game," wherein I would estimate the arrival time of a baby, should all our precautions against such have failed. If I conceived this month, I'd start showing over the summer...that's no good, I'd be at home. If I conceived this month, I wouldn't show until fall, and I might be able to keep my parents from finding out. Of course, I never bothered to take into account the fact that I would never, not in a million years, have actually been able to keep the secret from anybody who took one look at my face.

My current goal is to make it until December before I spill the beans here at the library. If I can make it to that point, I'll see about extending it; smaller steps seem to be the best way to go right now. Of course, if people keep coming close to the mark, even jokingly, I can only pray that I won't end up sinking my own battleship.

Of course, this is all predicated on the fact that I am the one picking her up, wrapping her up, and feeding her the meds. She seems to know that Eric will be the weak one, willing to let her get away with struggling and fussing. "Look, honey, I think you're hurting her neck!" he'll cry when she begins to wriggle, nevermind the fact that I'm holding her about the waist and not even approaching her neck.

I am sympathetic toward the pig. After all, I was the child who had to take several different liquid medicines, multiple times a day, for years when I was a small child who suffered from various kidney and bladder-related problems. Mom still gets the shivers when she recalls how, morning and evening, Dad had to sit on my legs and hold my arms by my sides while she tipped my head back, held my nose, and poured the medicine down my screaming throat. To this day, I still cannot take liquid medicines; even Pepto Bismol makes me gag.

I also know that Oriana will struggle even against accepting the yogurt syringe, which she normally adores, if she is given the least bit of leeway. She simply hates the process, and the process is necessary - no arguments allowed.

Last night we had a message left on our answering machine. It turns out that, after examining the culture of her abscess, Ori's current antibiotic isn't as effective as the vet would like. I'll be picking up her new antibiotic after work this afternoon; I hope introducing it won't cause the start of another battle.

I feel almost ready to face Rita and say, "I know the place is a mess; I haven't seen much of it other than my bed for the past week. You touch the vacuum, and I break your hand." I think Eric might object, though. More likely is that I'll go home early today, spend a few hours frantically hurling everything into the basement, and lock a few doors to the messier rooms before they arrive. Oh, and vacuum; the rodents have spent the past week cheerfully hurling the wood shavings out of their cage and onto the floor. I have no idea how I'm going to keep a handle on that little problem when the baby arrives; at least the wood shavings are better than corncob bedding, which is what we had been using. Any suggestions?

Oh, and I got my birthday presents from Mom last night, as well as a little gift for Little Bit: a stuffed Hippo with a rattle in its butt. The pigs went wild when I unwrapped it, climbing the sides of their cages (still separate since Ori's surgery) to see what was making the noise. I get the feeling that rattles are going to be a fun piggy toy for Eric for at least the next few months.

Mom also gave me, among other things, a copy of Dave Barry's Babies and Other Hazards of Sex. I've been giggling over it ever since; it was just what I needed to help break through these horrible mood swings that I've been battling over the last few days. Last night I almost bit poor Eric's head off when he asked whether there were second helpings of anything for dinner. Oh, I hope I can control myself this weekend, especially when the fights for the dinner check ensue!