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Ninja. Baby Beer apparently cannot get enough of kicking and karate chopping my insides. Whether or not all this movement translates into serious ninja skills is up for debate. I keep telling Joe that I think it's highly unlikely our short, myopic, brown-haired child (with or without curls) will be a ninja. Or a winter Olympian (those commercials for the Winter Olympics have really got him excited). I know it's fun to dream about the world of opportunities for Baby Beer, but seriously, she still has us for parents. One of her parents can't drink from a water bottle without spilling half of it down the front of her shirt, and the other can only "dance" by hopping on one leg. Height, grace and great coordination might be beyond the poor little thing's gene pool.

Despite these disadvantages, Baby Beer is giving the ninja thing a serious try. I kept thinking I was suffering from some major indigestion, before I realized those weren't really bubbles in my stomach, but small little punches. Now the baby just won't stop moving! And though the little kicks and punches don't hurt, I swear all the activity is making me ten times more hungry than I was before--and I was already eating every two hours. Luckily we just got a membership to Costco, so feeding my granola-bar habits won't deplete the savings account too badly. I'll let you know how long the box of 48 bars lasts. Joe gives it a week.