Well, it’s official. Our child tried to resist, but with a little poking and prodding (and cold orange juice and jumping up and down), the ultrasound tech was finally able to get good look at the… goods.

Perhaps it’s due to pregnancy’s hunger and cravings, but of course we use food to describe the baby (See Bryan’s post about comparing the baby’s development to produce). The analogy has been hot dog vs. hamburger. The hot dog is for obvious reasons, and the hamburger is for the 3 lines that make up a side view of a bun, burger, and bun. It’s safe to say, after a check and a re-check, that we are definitely cooking up one heck of a cute little hamburger!

She’ll hate us for it later, but what you’re looking at is the downward tushie view of the baby’s indoor plumbing. Don’t worry. This picture will not be going into her Bat Mitzvah party montage.

Team Pink’s roster officially has Baby Friedman on the All Star list and we are super excited! There are lots of adorable little girls in our family (shout out to both sets of Siegel cousins!) and we know that our daughter is going to be in great company! We can’t wait to see if she’ll be the sporty type (although, where would that come from?!) or the artsy type (duh!), and learn more about her personality.

It’s just so exciting to put a pronoun with the baby! “It” was getting a little too alien-esque. Somehow, especially for this almost 17-week pregnant mama, knowing the baby’s sex brings me a little closer to finding out just what’s in store for this little person and our lives.

And yes, we finally know what side of the store to shop on.

Alright, here’s the deal. I’ve been ruling the Friedman household since 2008, and I really like it that way. With my arrival came the arrangement of my own potty area in the atrium, a shared Cal-King bed in which I take up about 85%, theft of pillows on every cushiony surface, my own wall that houses an overflowing basket of toys, and a schedule that runs like clockwork, dictated by my food bowl and “psychotherapy” cocktail (my mom and dad have gone to countless dog-tors to determine that I have separation anxiety, for which I take a daily pill that most humans take during their 40s and 50s when they also buy a random sports car or boat. Yeah, sure, whatever. I am actually just an attention whore who throws a fit when I’m left alone and the spotlight is off).

So where am I going with this? I’m hearing all this talk about baby-this and August-that. As far as I know, I’m the baby and August is a slow month for regular dog park trips (something about the heat… but I’m a dog and don’t sweat, so it’s no big whoop to me). But then I saw mom reading these books and surfing the web for articles that had nothing to do with me. And she sleeps with this stupid looking pillow (which really interferes with my space). And I noticed lately she wears ridiculous jeans that are meant to accommodate her belly that’s looking — I’m sorry, but can I say this? — really fat these days. I know, I know, I’m one to talk with all the peanut butter I eat and the lack of exercise I get, but mom’s tummy is starting to look like that corgi’s I see at the dog park.

I’m no dummy (I know “sit,” “down,” “wave,” “car,” “in the house,” “crawl,” and everyone’s favorite, “bang bang”) and I’ve heard about this happening to other dogs I’ve met in my three years of life. My parents are going to have a baby (in fact, I was there when “it” happened. Ew). I’m not sure how I feel. Mom keeps saying I’ll be a cute big brother. What makes her assume such a thing? Dad tells me I’m in for a real treat. Great, but unless mom is giving birth to a chewy stick, I’m not so sure it’s such a treat. I’m still digesting this concept of having a baby in the house, and I’m a little worried about how it will affect me. I’ve heard some horror stories, but I’m actually pretty easy-going (besides being an attention whore. I’m well aware of that vice), so as long as there’s no excessive tail-pulling, I don’t have to share the bed with any more humans, and the dirty diapers stay far away from my food bowl, I think I may adjust just fine.

I actually really like kids. I’ve been around a few, and they’re not too bad. Just no drooling. I don’t drool and I’m a dog. So, as long as the new human doesn’t drool, we could be in business. I mean, I didn’t sign up to live with a Saint Bernard (gosh, some of my peers are so embarrassing). Also, let’s keep the crying to a minimum, alright? There’s no need. If you’re really a hungry, join me at my kibble. I’ll share. And a bottle is sooooo amateur. Lap it up and quench that thirst right away. Sheesh. No wonder Nana raised Wendy, John, and Michael. That bitch knew what she was doing (I mean that term in a technical and clinical way. I’m actually quite a gentleman). Anyway, what I’m saying is that yes, mom and dad are going to get all the credit for raising this baby. But really, I can teach it a thing or two and I’m not going to let that jealous stigma follow me. No, no, no. I’m going to welcome this baby with open paws and teach it how to play tug with a squeaky toy. I will protect the new baby and lie at the foot of the crib and keep mom company when she provides late night feedings (or just steal her pillow while she’s out of bed). We will go on adventures together and hike in the wildnerness (okay, who am I kidding? Friedmans don’t do wilderness. We do couch.). But to all those who mock, “Ohhh, Princeton, your days are numbered,” I say “Hogwash.” Make no bones about it, I am going to be one kick ass big brother.

And at the end of the day, we all know who still rules the house. Princeton is king.

Just this last weekend we went out to lunch with some friends who have a ten month old. We love hanging out with them and most importantly we love talking baby-stuff with them. In fact, they have offered us some really great advice already that I’ve added to my baby information queue. What was interesting about this outing, though, was that we ended up sitting next to another couple who had a young child also. Of course we ended up getting into quite a conversation with them, and it turns out that they are the proud owners of every single possible piece of baby gear known to man. The most obvious piece (and the conversation starter for obvious reasons) was the chair that their kid was sitting in — Phil and Ted’s MeToo Chair.

“Quite a handy little item,” I thought, tucking away this piece of information for later use. I was happy to stop the conversation right there. I got my tidbit, now let me enjoy my lunch. But no, these baby accessory enthusiasts had much, much more to offer…so much more than our group of four adults, one baby, and two dogs would ever want to know.

Look. I’m all for some friendly stranger-to-stranger baby chat in a restaurant. This experience, however, was not a simple chat. It was a full-fledged baby-centric infomercial. I’ll admit, I was almost sold on their awesome stroller-carseat combo designed by NASA that was super safe and easy to use. I said almost sold because then they mentioned that they paid $1,500 for it. Seems to me they got a little ripped off though — looks like it’s available for a mere……$900.

I guess I’m not really an expert on all this baby gear yet, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t see any strollers in this price range when Alison and I took a our own stroll through Babies R Us. (But maybe I just blocked them out from my memory…) Anyway, something tells me we’ll be able to find a nice simple stroller that does the job and makes us happy…for a much lower price. I hope.

In the prenatal conversation system, the people are represented by two separate yet equally important groups: the dad, who hunts for food options to bring home; and the mom, who fights her brain for making a decision. These are their stories.

As the pattern may show, food is a big deal. When I want it, I. WANT. IT. When I don’t, I really don’t. The appetite comes in and out and considering what to eat at every meal becomes a serious and important life decision, similar to the kind a couple makes when signing papers to buy a house, or the kind an 18-year-old makes about going to Harvard or Yale, or the kind a woman makes when picking out polish at a manicure appointment. And while I’m not making choices about my home, an Ivy League school, or an O.P.I. shade, food is still a pretty big deal. Especially if you are hormonal.

Bryan IMed me yesterday afternoon prior to leaving work and here’s how it went:

Bryan: so, TODAY i’m picking up In N Out
Bryan: i just need it
Bryan: it’s one of those weeks
Bryan: would you like some as well babe?
Alison: hmmmm
{long pause}
Alison: i want fries
Bryan: i will get some for you
Bryan: no burger?
Alison: eh….
Alison: not hungry enough for a burger
{after some deeper consideration}
Alison: shit
Alison: but i dont want to regret it…………
{another long pause}
Alison: this is such a dilemma!!!!!
Bryan: ill get you one
Alison: it’s kind of a cardinal sin to say no to in n out
Bryan: hahah true
Alison: but i dont actually want it RIGHT THIS MINUTE
Bryan: well i’ll get you one and if you don’t eat it, no biggie
Alison: but who knows?!
Bryan: you can just have the fries
Alison: but to have a burger and not eat it is a cardinal sin too!! I can’t just let an In N Out burger go to waste!
Bryan: should i get extra fries in case?
Bryan: hahaha, true
Alison: being pregnant is SO COMPLICATED
Bryan: princeton can have it
Alison: extra fries is always a good idea

And sure enough, 45 minutes later, in walked Prince Charming Bryan. Out came the hamburger from the bag. And in it went into my belly. No regrets.

All was good in the world.

This is what comes out of one trip to the grocery store when you’re pregnant:

At check out, the adolescent kid who rang me up totally judged me when he looked at me and asked, “Is this it?” I proudly answered, “Yyyyyup!” and then laughed at myself. I must have looked like such a heffer.

Yes. You see correctly. A mammoth size carton of Goldfish. Cans of Andersen’s Pea Soup (with bacon). Snickers bar (there is actually another one not pictured for extra oomph). Within a 90-minute period, I proceeded to eat a combination of these items. Yes, I am pregnant.

You know how else you know you’re pregnant?

You cry when the Goldfish milk carton packaging does not open without a fight. The folds were heavy-duty glued together and I could not rip the cardboard apart. And it didn’t help that I couldn’t get in there soon enough for handful after handful of perfectly salted, cheesy goodness. So, a few whiny expletives (Baby, cover your developing ears, please) and a frustrated tear or two later, I finally ripped in and the opening is not pretty but I don’t even care.

I’m having such a funny relationship with food. Sometimes, I can’t even look at it. Other times, I can’t get enough, but only very specific items. But, hey, it all makes sense. Pea soup is vegetables: that’s good. Snickers are full of protein (nuts) and dairy (chocolate). And Goldfish in mini Tupperware containers are basically a food staple for all children anyway. See? Good food choices.