The finely orchestrated piece of crap otherwise known as the finale to “Joe Millionaire.”
The look on my dog’s face when I took away his bone last night.
The delicate beauty of a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.
The moment we realized that the bed sheet we bought at Target was too small to fit the mattress for the baby’s crib, and the thought of my baby having to sleep on a bed sheetless mattress for the rest of her life.
The amount of money the plumber told us he is going to charge us to move our kitchen sink 24 inches to the right.
The realization that Paris Hilton is someone’s daughter.
Almost every sentence on every page of Under the Banner of Heaven, by Jon Krakauer.
The fact that my husband can’t get a good night’s sleep because of my bladder.
The fact that he is always awake to ask me if I’m okay when I return from the bathroom.
Not having enough sugar to complete the recipe for chocolate chip cookies and being unable to make chocolate chip cookies.
Twelve consecutive hours of no chocolate chip cookies in the house.
Having someone at the gym ask me when my baby is due and suddenly realizing, ohmigod, I’m pregnant.
Various segments on NBC’s “Today” show specifically engineered to make people in my condition cry, all of them involving the triumph of the human spirit or massive amounts of weight loss.
That one commercial where the guy is painting a wall in his living room and he accidentally backs up and knocks over the can of paint and it goes sprawling all over the wood floors and the Persian rug and he can’t do anything but watch it splatter. That poor guy.
Being unable to see the zipper or drawstring on my pants when I pull them up.
Remembering that when I was eight years old I thought I would grow up, have a baby girl and name her either Porsche or Shasta.
A spontaneous bout of heartburn that started over five days ago and has yet to subside.
Seeing a man on television belly flop into a pool of water and thinking that he totally just hurt his baby.
Thinking that there is no way a uterus could fit inside a body that can fit into Victoria’s Secret lingerie.
Sending my husband to buy a bulk-sized container of Tucks Medicated Pads.
The sudden death of my step-grandfather, the man who taught me how to play checkers.