This is my favorite week of the year, and I’m missing it.

Our backyard has this beautiful lilac tree and each year it blooms for just one week. During that week, I spend every free moment sitting under it and smelling to my heart is content. Nothing, I mean nothing, can compare to the smell of real fresh lilac in my book.

This week, my tree burst forth in massive blooms. Only problem is, I have a cold and can’t smell a single bloody thing. And so, every day this week, I’ve watched my lilac blossoms begin to fade knowing that I’ve missed that wonderful smell and will have to wait a whole year for the next run of flowers.

What are the odds that the one week I need my nose, it’s out of commission? It’s a conspiracy I tell you. Grrrr.

OK, I have to confess that my new obsession is poker. Now, don’t worry, I’m not actually playing poker. Rather, I’ve become addicted to the World Poker Tour (WPT) on the Travel Channel. The game is Texas Hold ‘Em and every week a new finalist is selected for the million dollar WPT showdown.

It’s riveting. Even Kevin has been sucked in. They idea is they go to different gambling spots around the country and hold massive poker tournaments. For a mere $3,000 anyone can enter and play in the elimination rounds. This draws both professional and beginner players alike. After so many hours/days, you have the final eight who play for a spot at the final table. This is the game the Travel Channel shows.

What’s so cool is that they have special hidden cameras set in the table so when the players look at their cards, you get to see them to. This means, you know who’s bluffing, who has the better hand, and who’s about to get slammed. Utterly mesmerizing. Even neater is watching the amateur players beat out the professionals. Gives me hope really. Of couse, none of them are women. I wonder why that is?

Anyhow, I’m restraining myself and regulating my poker craziness to obsessed fan rather than stupid-beginner-person-who-loses-all-her-money-at-an-Indian-casino but it’s hard it tell you.

Oh yes, Mini-Me is doing great and I now have two strech marks to prove her growth. grrr.

Here is a picture of our new crib. Chrissie set it up all by herself this afternoon and is now paying the price. Here back is killing her and all I’ve banished her to the sofa to watch tv. She’s not allowed to do anything tonight. No dishes, no walking the dog, and especially no laundry. Bad Pooka!

click on the picture to super-size it.

The other day, I realized it is truely and officially spring. No, it wasn’t the fact that my tulips had flowered or the buds on my lilac tree had arrived. Instead, my moment of zen occurred late at night.

At about midnight, Kevin and I both awoke from a sound sleep and whispered, “do you hear that?” After a moment of silence, the sound came again. It was unmistakable… the pitiful cry of a dying bird. Kevin sighed and rolled out of bed while I covered my eyes before he turned on the light. After sweeping our room and finding no feathered friend, he decended to the main floor and searched. While he didn’t find a bird, he did find both cats curled up on the couch, napping. They may have looked innocent but Kevin wasn’t fooled. With Artie close at his heels, he headed down to the basement to complete the bird sweep. About 10 minutes later, he returned to bed empty handed. Where ever that chirping came from, he couldn’t locate it.

We lay in bed for a while, straining to hear the peeping again but all was silent and eventually we dozed off again… untill 3am when the desperate chirping woke me again. I poked Kevin who, dutiful husband that he is, rolled out of bed and investigated. Again, the kitties where still sleeping on the sofa and no bird was found. I thought perhaps I was hallucinating the whole incident until the next morning.

Artie actually fround the poor thing. What was left of it was lying right below our bedroom window. We couldn’t really tell if it was a bird or not. It no head and all fur/feathers had been artfully removed. In fact, at first glance, it looked like a piece of raw chicken – maybe half a breast or a thigh – ready to be tossed on the BBQ.

We can’t pin this one on our cats but I have my doubts. One thing I’m sure of thought, spring is finally here.

I suppose I should admit right now at the start that I’ve never seen Rocky. Or, at least, not the whole movie start to finish. I’ve seen bits and pieces over the years – mostly training stuff and the big fight ending. I guess I’m not a big boxing fan. But, now that I think about it, I’ve never seen a Rambo movie either so perhaps I’m not a Stallone fan?

Either way, the last few weeks, I’ve felt like a punching bag. At around month 4, I began waiting for the first sign of baby movement. People told me it felt like butterfly wings or eskimo kisses. And so I sat with hand on belly waiting for the first stirring of life from within. What I didn’t expect was internal brusing.

Mini-Me is a tank. She’s a spring loaded jack hammer She’s a boxer.

No butterfly kisses for this girl. Oh no, she came out swinging. One day, I felt someone punching the inside of my tummy. And it’s getting worse. Watching tv the other night, I put Kevin’s hand on my stomach. After about 10 minutes, Mini-Me let fly with a strong right hook and walloped me. Kevin almost jumped out of the sofa. He turned to me with wide eyes and said,”was that her?” I think he was expecting a gentle poke not a massive punch.

Today I had a second ultrasound and got to see the little lightweight in action. Turns out, she’s lying on the back with her legs tucked against her tummy and, ever now and then, she breaks into the bicycle excersize. You know, when you start windmilling your legs in the air. Only, instead of air, she windmills them into my stomach.

Butterfly kisses, yeah, right. Only if the butterflies are on serious steriods!

Many months ago, Dan gave Kevin a book to read called The Expectant Father. Like a maternity book, it walked the dad to be through the pregnancy month by month and brought up topics that might interest the father-to-be. For the last few months, this book has sat, untounched, on our coffee table until last night when Kevin decided to pick it up and thumb through it. He was amazed.

Over the next hour or so, he’d turn to me and say “did you know that pregnant women have these hormones that cause mood swings” or “would you like it if I vaccumed the house without being told?” I’m telling you, he learned more in that hour than in the last five months combined.

For example, he learned that one should not call his wife “tubby”, “fat”, or “big momma”. He learned that pointing at her belly and yelling, “oh my gosh it’s huge!” is not appreciated. Also discovered was that the mother would be going through mood swings and a little patience goes a long way instead of rolling the eyes and muttering “you’re crazy”. My favorite was, after a moment of quiet reading, he turned to me and said, “you know, I love you.” Sweet music to my ears!

I don’t know how much actually sunk in but I’m hoping something stuck. I think Kevin’s favorite chapter was the financial planning part. I heard him muttering about the cost of college tuition and t-bonds and we got ready for bed. I’m thinking that’s the sign of a great dad-to-be, don’t you?