The world is full of horrifying things, child. Sometimes, you just have to turn your head. Tonight, I will not discuss the imminent threat to my child's rights and freedoms presented by Attorney General John Ashcroft. I will not talk tonight about the fact that I, as an Arab-American, have misgivings about letting my child take my last name, because an an Arab name can be a devastating liability in America today. We won't discuss here the fears and the hopes that mix like cream in coffee as I try to sort out all the feelings I entertain when I think about the child K and I will be bringing into the world.

Tonight, I will talk about thank you notes. Sitting quietly, K and I wrote notes to family members, some crazy and some not, for the things they sent. These people are all family, and anything said about them is to be taken with the regular grain of salt that family comments should automatically elicit. You know the saying: you can pick your friends...

So as we wrote kind words, K and I made snide comments. It's what we do to survive. "Dear Louise: Thank you for the strange brown thing that may or may not be related to diaper changing. It is a shame it smells like cheap blended whiskey and feet." "Holdman Family: Your strange beige blanket/towel item and the mysterious (possibly pagan?) verse you included in your card remain an absolutely baffling enigma to us both. I hope you're well, and that your 1973 Plymouth Fury made it back to that god-forsaken hamlet you call home."

Just for posterity, I'm going to mention next that an interesting item was brought to our attention in baby class the other night. One potential symptom of pending labor is a sudden drop in appetite. So I'm just going to put it out there that, for the last few days, a full forty days before the due date, K is experiencing a surprising drop in desire to eat. I'm just saying, if anybody checks later, I wrote it down here.

More soon, but not too soon, I hope.