It's hot. I'm big. Waa.

The past week has been chock full of activities, fun with friends, and of course, two very news-worthy events: the Royal Wedding, and the announcement of Osama Bin Laden's death (in yo face).

Being the angel child that I am, I went over to Mom's house Thursday night around midnight to join in the Royal Wedding festivities from across the pond. Toting hand-made British flags and eating biscotti (I know, not English fare, but at least the right continent), we watched history take place (and simultaneously judged each church hat with the propriety of the Housewives of Atlanta). Mom and I watched the affair from 12:15am - 4:05am, when my eyes finally rolled into the back of my skull and I couldn't shake the concept that if I was sleep deprived, then somehow, so must be the baby. Who needs Benadryl when a heaping teaspoon of maternal guilt can do the trick?

It was during the ceremony - I think just before William smushed the ring on Kate's finger and after Harry stared down his future sister-in-law as she walked down the aisle - that my mom realized something pretty spectacular: in 1981, my parents watched the wedding of Prince Charles and Princess Diana as it happened, just as we were now, on this early morning (adorable, I know, but that's not the spectacular part). What's amazing is that at that moment, my mom was as far along in her first pregnancy as I was while watching this wedding with her. Like, to the day. First pregnancy, having a boy (my brother, Andy), and watching the Royal wedding. And there we were, fast-forward almost 30 years later. A very special occasion, indeed.

In other news, it's hot out. Temperature has taken on an entirely new importance now that I'm carrying a person. I have gotten mixed reactions from other desert dwellers when they find out my due date: "August, eh? Wow, that wasn't planned very well"; "Oh August, that's perfect because it won't quite be that hot yet" (HUH?); "August? Well you won't be leaving the house at all for the first three months, anyway";  "August is a great month because I was born in August."

After some hearty and time-consuming research, I have found that the most effective way to combat the Arizona heat is by way of frozen yogurt. I take the responsibility very seriously, so as to not go into heat stroke and scare the baby. Weekly self-serves to replenish my inner cooling system seem to help reduc- aw hell. The fact is, I loves me some ice cream.

Josh and I have had a full and fun week. In addition to a book reading by David Sedaris, seeing the movie The Conspirator (pass), and a Diamondbacks-Cubs game, this weekend we went to ASU's Gammage Auditorium to see Billy Elliott, which was ranked one of the top - if not the top - musical of the year (or so said the "Billy Elliott" trailer parked outside the auditorium entrance). The show was very good, but slow at parts. By and large, the true redeeming quality of this show was the child actors, who were nothing short of brilliant in their dancing and overall performance.

As I watched Billy twirl and leap around the stage like he was born to do nothing but, I couldn't help but think about my sweet bundle. Who will he be? What will he like, what will he try, and what will be his calling in life?

Before I was pregnant, I never really understood when mothers-to-be said that they couldn't wait to "meet the baby". Meet the baby? For God's sake, you're creating him as we speak, he's IN your BELLY. Isn't meeting him a bit of a rewind from where you're at already with the booger? Now I get it. He is his own entity just as much as he is a part of me right now. His development is God's handywork. His spirit is his own, and that concept both boggles my mind and excites me beyond belief.

And I just CAN'T WAIT to meet him.

Yes, please.