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Hospital, Food
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Let's do this backwards. First off: everything is totally fine, baby and Heather are healthy, no sign of any trouble, everything is both peachy and keen. But we did spend a couple of hours at the hospital last night to find that out. Heather had cramps for most of the day yesterday, and they were persistent and severe enough that she decided to call the advice nurse yesterday evening, who basically said, "Get down here right now!" At the time we were in the early stages of a backyard farewell barbecue with my sister-in-law and our nephew (they're moving this weekend), so we dropped everything and headed for the hospital. (Holly was kind enough to finish cooking all the half-cooked stuff on the grill, so when we got home, we had delicious barbecue food waiting patiently in our fridge, plus some apple crumble Holly made, which we ate with sweet cream and honey ice cream.) We hung out at the hospital, Heather was poked and prodded, and we even got another ultrasound -- but the baby still refused to reveal hisherits sex! Just sat there all demure with its legs crossed. (Actually, it danced and flipped and rolled and wiggled, but it never revealed its privates.) They ruled out all the scary possibilities, declared that everything looked fine, and the conclusion seems to be that, well, some women get cramps. If they get worse, we'll go back. But we're okay to take our trip to Portland and so on. Hurray!

A great relief. I was pretty freaked out. Just a little tiny ghost of a glimpse of how concerned and anxious I'll be about the health and well-being of our child after it's born, I think!

We'll hang out a bit with Holly tonight to make up for last night. No barbecue this time, but we still have leftovers from last night. Drinking beer in the backyard is just as fun whether there's a fire going or not, really.

Our vacation is so close I can taste the indolence. It tastes like microbrew beer and trout and coffee. Also old books, though that's more a smell than a taste. I've never been to Powell's. I can't wait. Bookstores are the closest thing I have to church.

Last night I got my Asimov's Award certificate, all nice and framed, along with a check for $100, which I am donating to the "Heather and Tim Vacation Fund."

I've put up a vestigial website for my Marla Mason novels, at Right now, there's precious little there, except a pretty cover, a couple of blurbs, and some blather about Blood Engines. In the next month or so I'll add the full text of my novelette "Pale Dog," and the opening chapter of Blood Engines, and a page for reviews (as they come trundling in), and a news blog, and maybe other stuff. (I wouldn't object to some fan art, though I suppose one needs fans for that. Ahem, I'm looking at you, Greg -- don't you want to doodle me a picture of Rondeau punching a monkey in the face or something?)

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