A pregnancy is hard on a cat. First of all. There's no good lap space left. You try to rest your head and paws against this mountainous belly and either you slide down, or the belly moves and you slide down.

And then there's all the new stuff.

You. Must. Investigate. The. New. Stuff.

You sit on top of the co-sleeper. You crawl inside the storage space in the bottom of the co-sleeper.

People yell at you and shoo you away. But you are just doing your job.

Must. Spread. Scent. And. Fur.

My parents came to visit on Tuesday. They called it a "Dry Run."

For the big event. You know. In seven days (according to my LMP — Last Menstrual Period) or ten days, according to the measurement of the bean at that first 8-week ultrasound, or 24 days, if you count from day ten to the maximum two weeks late that a baby can be without being induced to leave the womb, or forcibly removed, by medical authorities.

They claimed that they'd never flown this one particular airline to this particular airport before, and so they wanted to test it out. Upon further investigation, ulterior motives became clear.

Motive 1: Said airline offers a special status for passengers who fly a certain number of miles in a year. So this one-day visit is a strategic effort towards reaching their total for 2007.

Motive 2: While my parents have seen me at least once a month this whole pregnancy, and they had originally decided we could forgo November, the thought of seeing me this big was too hard to resist.

Motive 3: It was the day before my dad's birthday.

I've bought things. I've returned things. I've had two baby showers. Our house has boxes of baby gear in every room, half-opened boxes from recent shipments, bags and boxes wherein I've made some attempts to organize all the stuff, stuff, stuff.

I'm two weeks from my due date. All I do is get bigger and slower, and ask Scott to do more things for me.

"This weekend, we have got to get this stuff organized and put away," I say to him.

Yes, dear.

The last two nights, I have had a new kind of insomnia that involves being wide-awake at 3 a.m., and sleeping fitfully later on in the morning. In addition, today I woke up with a sore throat. So Scott put on his superhero cape and went out into the world to do our errands for us. There was the new rug that needed washing in an industrial size washer at the laundromat, not to mention all our bedding, pillows, etc.; the farmers' market; the grocery store; a stop at a comic book store (a man has needs)...

I fought with my OB about it. I consulted two midwives for second and third opinions on the protocol. I discussed it with my doula. I obsessed about the issue with various friends and family members. And then I did it.

I went for my first fetal non-stress test (NST) today.

Since the midwives in particular both agreed that they would also prescribe the twice-weekly monitoring based on my age and SUA issues, I decided to stop feeling so railroaded by the medical establishment.

Because the test is particularly centered on fetal activity, my doula relayed a story about an OB she knew who advised a patient to "have a coke and a candy bar" before the test, to make sure the baby passed.

Those two items are not exactly part of my pregnancy diet repertoire, so I did my version: I stopped by Café Gratitude before my appointment and picked up an "i am chipper:" a smoothie made from nut milk, almond butter, dates, and raw cacao chips. (Yes, this place really exists. Come visit me in the Bay Area and we can consume our affirmations-named menu items together.)