The internet debacle.

My husband and I fight over the internet. Kind of.

When we have it, he spends 3-6 hours per day YouTube-ing skate videos and myspace-stalking his favorite musicians and skate teams.

When we don't have it, I don't get to update my blog, read my favorite webcom, or check my email. (Unless, as is the case right now, I stay after at work.)

Luckily for us, we don't have the ability to argue anymore. Our wireless connection has booted us once and for all.

So here is the problem:

In order to get myself back online, I have to go to the landlady and complain and she will have someone come to fix our WiFi.

Do I want that?

Or would I rather give up my daily net in exchange for 3-6 extra hours with my hubby?

Someone is inside of my belly.

Only a pregnant woman would use such a word in reference to her abdomen.

There is a living, breathing human baby growing and kicking and twisting around inside of me and - cute as the idea is - it kinda grosses me out.

Nothing against babies. I like babies. They giggle and poop and coo and barf partially-digested breast milk down the back of your shirt. It is adorable. I'm just not sure that I am ready to turn my midsection over to this hog of a creature quite yet.

I'm constantly starving. My boobs hurt. My skin itches and my feet are puffy and I pee every twenty minutes and people won't stop touching me.

To clarify: I'm cool with the baby. Totally. I just wish I didn't have to be pregnant.

In a perfect world, I would get pregnant, go to sleep for nine months, and then - voila! -a bouncing baby whatever. No morning sickness, no constipation, no middle-aged women pawing my stretching stomach shouting: "Oh, my, hunny! You sure you just got ONE in there??!"

Whatever.

What becomes of our abandoned blogs?

Off to some great world wide web in the sky?