The boys (yes, including the one still in utero) have figured out how to tag-team me.

Wil wakes up in the middle of the night. He cries for me, tosses and turns and wants me right there until Thumper (the baby's name for now) wakes up, wriggling and kicking for all he's worth, and then Wil falls soundly asleep. Thumper's got good aim too; if he were kicking almost anywhere else, I could probably sleep through it, but the kicks in the cervix? Incredibly uncomfortable. That carries on until about five minutes before Wil wakes up again.

It's looking like it's going to be a long 17 years. They move out at 18, right? Right? At least I'll be down to one then...