I think Melissa said it best: "I'm not sure any man, no matter how much he was trying to be female, would talk about cervical mucus."

I guess there are only a few people as gullible as I usually am; most of you knew immediately that yesterday's entry was a load of malarkey. I did feel bad about tricking Denver Doug, who was so polite in his disappointment and with his request that "Jason" begin his own diary. To him and to anyone else who may have felt betrayed when they fell for my little prank, I apologize.

To the rest of you, thanks for not making me feel too lame with my efforts!

Sam had a great time over the past two weekends, seeing both sets of his grandparents. In Pittsburgh, we played in the hotel's swimming pool and visited the Carnegie Science Center; Sam got to splash wildly in both places, as the Science Center has a huge water table, complete with scoopers, floating balls, and small mills and sliding boards. The smallest smock we could find still hung loosely from his little shoulders as he stood on the step-stool between children twice his size and sent balls flying across the surface of the water. He didn't want to leave until he had managed to thoroghly soak his sleeves and turn his fingertips wrinkled and blue.

Easter with the in-laws was equally enjoyable, surprisingly. They brought Sam's Christmas wagon, which we were unable to bring home with us after the holidays, and Ronnie pulled Sam around in it for ages while the baby grinned and yelled with glee.

Speaking of yelling, he's doing that a lot. He bursts out with loud shouts while playing with us or by himself, while riding in his wagon or putting together (well, taking apart) a wooden puzzle. "Oh, whoa! Whoa! Whoa-whoa-wow-wow!" He waves his arms and bellows at the top of his lungs. From a previously quiet child, this is a huge change, but I'm enjoying it very much.

Where was I? Oh, yes, Easter. On Sunday we went to a new church, one of those humongous churches with a congregation of thousands, which we'd attended once before. Sam started his yelling routine during the music and didn't want to stop when the sermon began. I took him back to the nursery, thinking I'd stay there with him, since it was extremely far away from the sanctuary. Once there, though, he caught sight of the toys and promptly forgot all about me. When the attendants told me about their electronic alert system (when a baby fusses, an individually assigned number flashes across a screen in front of the congregation), I felt confident in leaving him there for the remainder of the service. I lingered for a few minutes to make sure he was fine, but he didn't seem to care one bit. After the service, when we went to pick him up, he smiled, but seemed content; the attendants told us that he had actually cheered up the other babies in the room with his infectious happiness.

That's my child, all right.

He's dancing on Eric's lap right now as they listen to video game music. The two of them look so alike as they stare at the computer screen, and it makes me feel all gooey inside.

The Zoloft seems to really be helping quite a bit. I no longer have those moments of crushing unhappiness during which I only want to curl into a ball and cry. When Sam cruises through the living room, destroying everything in his path, I feel stressed, but I don't feel like I'm about to lose my mind. His cries don't echo "Bad mommy, bad mommy" in my ears.

This may work out yet.