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So I totally teased you the other day with my cliffhanger question, ‘Is Mimi Smartypants pregnant?’ and you’ve been checking back every single day trying to figure out what in the heck I meant, right?

You probably don’t even know who I’m talking about, right?

Well, as you will note (at right), Mimi Smartypants is my favorite blogger of all time. I even get all excited and call Tim at work when my tracking logs show that she visited us via her referral logs. (Yes, my life is that small.)

Anyway, I’ve been growing increasingly suspicious lately, because she’s been mentioning some pretty strange episodes of nausea, vomiting, irrational anger (dead giveaway for me, at least), feeling rundown, strangely emotional, etc. I won’t frighten everyone by directly quoting her site, but I think it’s time Mimi broke out the EPT…

I briefly considered starting an “IsMimiSmartypantsPregnant” site at Blogspot, but, after conferencing with Tim, I decided against it. I mean, it would just end up getting a 1,000 times more hits than here and I would get all depressed and feel guilty about being a bottom-feeding blogger trying to scam some of her Google referral scraps. I remember all too well my feeling of shame and bewilderment when our referral logs showed that someone ended up here by searching for “Mimi+Smartypants+pictures.” We have no pictures of her, I swear!

Am I making any sense?

If not, I apologize. It’s late, my throat is scratchy, and we’ve been wrapping up the final installment of furniture moving. Sure, it’s only been a little over four months since the Great Floor Refinishing of 2002, and one could make a strong case that if we’ve lived without these particular furnishings for this long, we probably don’t need them, but one wouldn’t want to be kicked sharply in the shin, would one?

Good night.

Auggie is going through this super-fun stage where he nods his head that, yes, he wants to eat that particular item you’re pointing to, but when you offer it to him, he only nibbles, licks at or generally man-handles enough to make it gross to put it back. So then I’ve got to eat it. (Suppose I could just throw it away, but let’s not get too rational here.) Repeat through each of the contents of our snack cabinet. This is not good for my lifestyle program.

Although I did lose two pounds last week… But Auggie wasn’t eating/digesting anything then.

I had to chuckle when one of my friends wrote about being sucked into Joe Millionaire the other day. I too once fell prey to the reality dating shows, I must admit, with the first season of The Bachelor. I was so totally into it.

This is incredibly embarrassing to admit.

Tim openly scoffed at me, though, you’ll be happy to know. I was so convinced that the guy (jeez, can’t even remember his name. Someone needs to fire their publicist…) and the girl he picked (Amanda?) were so right for one another! And I was completely indignant when he told the other girl (the current Bachelorette — this is all so complicated) that he was going to pick her. ‘She doesn’t love you!’ I would scream at our poor, beleaguered television. ‘Pick Amanda! Sure, she’s young and inexperienced and a little slutty, but what 30-something Harvard-grad doesn’t want that??’

But now I am wise to these network puppeteers. I will not be sucked in by any more of these reality dating shows. Hell, I didn’t even watch Survivor the past couple of seasons. ‘Oh, they’re eating bugs again? Wow.’

So when Letterman did this hilarious spoof of Osama bin Laden putting out a harsh statement about those misleading sweeps-blinded jerks at Fox stretching out the big finale of Joe Millionaire, I knew it was time to speak the truth: These people do not love each other. I know it is hard to accept. But when I heard that Alex (that’s his name) and Amanda were never really together at all once the show was over, I knew that the whole business was fake.

I mean, if Alex and the girl he chose from 25 other women that he kissed couldn’t make it, who could?

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Tomorrow: Is anybody else thinking that Mimi Smartypants is pregnant?

Long day today, friends. Here are some quick Auggie stats to tide you over:

At 18 months, he weighs 25 pounds even, is 32 inches tall and has a noggin the size of something 49 cm around.

Yippee!

Well, so far, he’s only thrown up once today, and that was this morning. He hasn’t been as interested in food today (maybe he’s starting to make the connection), so I’ve just given him clear fluids and a little bit

of applesauce. Here’s hoping that he might be up for a little yogurt tonight!

Who ever envisions that her life is going to end up like this?

Today’s countdown:

Number of outfits Auggie has worn: 6

Number of puking incidents: 5

Number of loads of laundry: 4

Number of times I almost puked: 3

Number of dogs I had for the majority of the day: 2 (2 were at the vet getting their teeth cleaned)

Number of meals Auggie digested: 1

Number of days I want to have exactly like this one: 0

Wow, is the stomach flu not fun. Sure, it sucks when you have it, but being a spectator is nothing to write home about either.

Poor Auggie.

I shouldn’t say this without knocking about four different kinds of wood first, but lunch has been in his tummy now for about an hour and a half. This has been the crucial time over the past 24 hours, as everything he’s eaten in that time has come back to meet Mr. Hardwood Floor within two hours.

I should flag this entry, in case I ever get a crazy whim to put in wall-to-wall carpeting or a crazy-expensive rug. Cleaning partially-digested Pasta Bake off of the hardwood is disgusting enough, but trying to lift those teeny noodle pieces out of carpeting? I shudder to think.

Everyone keeps telling me that I shouldn’t give him any solid food, but the poor little guy was begging me for something to eat at lunchtime. The chicken broth just wasn’t doing it for him. So I gave him a few noodles from the soup, which he scarfed with glee. Considering that that is one of the only things he has done with glee today, it will be worth it if I have to clean them out of his crib here in a little while.

Poor little guy.

He even feels lighter.

Another puke-fest after dinner. Not good.

But I found a red swimsuit! A tankini-deal that Tim thinks is pretty slinky.

So, that’s one good thing.

So I’m supposed to go swimsuit shopping tonight, which is frightening enough as it is, but of course Auggie just took the liberty of throwing up all over himself about an hour ago. I’m very proud of myself, though. I remained calm, I took him into the laundry room and stripped him down, threw his shoes and shoelaces in the washing machine and took him up for a bath.

I’m hoping that this was just an isolated incident, but his general malaise, lack of appetite and 100.4 degree temp have me more than a little worried.

Hey, if I can be vomited on repeatedly and still keep it together, surely I can hold up while looking at myself practically naked in swimsuits under unflattering department store fitting room lights, right?

I’ve been having nightmares lately. This is pretty unusual for me. I remember a lot of what I dream, but it’s never usually anything too scary or creepy. A little odd, perhaps, but nothing like lately.

On Sunday, I had this totally weird dream about our fish, Fishy (of course). Tim and I were cleaning out his tank, and Tim left the top off, so Fishy jumped out and landed on the floor. Tim was brushing his teeth, and, against my protestations, used the toothbrush to pick Fishy up and put him back in the tank. (Wonder what Seinfeld would have to say about that.) Well, Fishy didn’t look so good after all of the excitement, and he was floating around all sideways, so I put in some fish food. When he started eating the food, he started growing, until he was too big for the tank. And he had teeth! And I remember saying in my dream, ‘This is so trippy.’

Odd.

I’ve also been having nightmares about my upcoming high school reunion. There’s a running joke in my lifestyle program group that Classmates.com has a partnership with the company, just scaring the bejesus out of people by sending them e-mails about their high school reunions and thereby sending the people shrieking to their nearest weight-loss center.

In each of the nightmares, all of my high school classmates and I (some that I haven’t even thought about in 10 years) are stuck in some kind of weird situation that we can’t get out of. During the first dream, we were all on a bus together and everyone was mad at me for being late. Or was it the dream about the Paris train station? I think I mentioned that a while ago. Well, last night, I dreamt that we all had to produce a talent show, starring all of us. Oh, and it was directed by Peter Jackson. And there was some kind of kid with a developmental disability being cheered on by everyone. It’s all very confusing right now. And there were several of us to a bed, for some reason (although no hanky-panky was taking place, thank you very much).

Anyway, I think I have a little angst over my high school classmates’ expectations of me. Ya think?

But, and it’s amazing how life sometimes throws you a bone like this, this morning one of the LLL Leaders that I met last week called me out of the blue about another meeting. I had to decline to go to the meeting because it conflicted with my lifestyle program meeting, which led us to start talking about weight loss in general because she is a dietitian. I mentioned how I was having these odd feelings of detachment about losing 30 pounds — how it just doesn’t seem real to me at all. In fact, sometimes I feel like if I woke up tomorrow and I was 30 pounds heavier again, I wouldn’t be surprised at all. And then I mentioned that I really wanted to be close to my goal weight by my high school reunion. She cautioned me against setting a deadline, because that might prompt me to just go back to the way I was, once it was past. Good point. Plus, and this is the point of this long-winded story right here, life had also happened to them over the past ten years.

Hey, yeah. God, I love people.