1) The gestation period for a human is NOT 10 months. I cannot understand why this little gem of information keeps making its way to me.
Let's do a little math. The gestation period is 40 weeks, although it's really not. It's really 38 weeks because the egg is not fertilized until two weeks after the LMP, which is the so-called "starting date" for pregnancy. Let's just use 40 weeks, okay?
And let's assume, because February is the only asshat with 28 days (or 29, 25% of the time), that each month is 4.33 weeks long (52 weeks/12 months = 4.33).
Finally, 40 weeks of gestation divided by 4.33 weeks in a month = 9.24 months! Not 10.
It's 2nd grade math, really.
2) There are a few things in life that should, by default, come one way or another. First, ice water at a restaurant. It should always come without lemon unless specifically requested. It's easier to add a lemon to a glass of water than it is to remove all lemony taste from the rim or water.
Second, you should, by default, assume that a pregnant woman does not want you to touch her belly. When I find the pregnant witch who sent out the memo that said all pregnant women love having their belly rubbed, I'm going to clobber her. For the life of me, I can't figure out why folks are so eager to feel me up. I feel like a jerk every time I have to swat away yet another person's hands.
3) "OMG, you're due on March 4? My birthday is March 12!"
Wow, that's totally awesome, and I really don't give a rat's butt. If, for some stupid reason, my child decides he wants to live inside my belly for an additional 8 days and I give birth on March 12, do you think I'm going to remember, "today is so-and-so's birthday!" Absolutely not.
I also don't understand the birthday celebrations. I mean, everyone has one. Everyone. I don't celebrate pants because, well, everyone wears them. Don't get me wrong, yesterday was my birthday, and I'm thankful for the well-wishes I received, but to be honest, I'd be perfectly content to receive well-wishes from only my husband and parents. If I won the Nobel Prize, not everyone does that, so obviously I would expect some sort of congratulations from my entire Facebook friends list.
4) "You're going to name him Atticus? Um. Okay. Where did you come up with that?"
If you really don't know where Atticus comes from, you have terrible literary tastes, and you probably watch crappy movies too. Furthermore, this is our baby, and if we want to name him Sir Longfellow Pencilpenis, that's our prerogative. If you want to select a name, have a baby. Get a dog. Or a parakeet. This is my turn.
15 more weeks.