Not small-for-dates after all

Hooray! My small-for-dates baby is normal-sized!

We had our sonogram today, and baby is just fine. "Not too big, not too small," the sonogram technician said.

This is such good news. I told myself and everyone else I wasn't worried, but in my head I was thinking maybe I should pack an overnight bag in case I was sent immediately to the hospital for an emergency C-section.

Henry, on the other hand, took a face-first dive off his chair onto the brick floor of the patio at Dona Tomas restaurant this evening. I was droning on about American political consultants while trying to maximize the amount of mole salsa I got on my tortilla chip when he just lurched away and smacked down.

I usually make a point of staying calm when he bonks something, but this time his face was covered in blood from the nose down. So he was bawling, I was sobbing with guilt, and Simon was trying to get the busboy to bring us some ice.

The ice stopped the crying because Henry became focused on eating each piece as I tried to ice his lip down. Then he just wanted his beans and rice. Within three minutes all that was left of the accident was his fat lip and three bloody white napkins. Oh, and blood stains down the front of his shirt. He looked like a street thug.

Simon said, "Should we get them to wrap up the food?"

"No way," I said. Honestly, how often do we go out to eat? OK, pretty often. But usually to the burger place, not someplace nice.

On the career front, I've sent two query letters and gotten no response from either magazine. I know, editors are busy, but can they at least type a "No thanks"? Something. Anything. At this point I'd take a Simon Cowell response--"This is atrocious, stop writing now." I just want to know--are they not responding because they didn't get it, the topic is too narrow, or it's so appallingly bad that my letter is now stuck on the office bulletin board next to yesterday's Bizarro cartoon?

Well, of course I'll keep sending my queries around. It's not boldness or determination. I just have nothing better to do with Henry's naptimes.