Ten Signs I Suddenly Entered My Second Trimester

1. Exercising for an hour without thinking, "I am going to die."
2. Coming home awake at 9 pm, ready to empty the Dishwasher of Doom, clean the counter tops, freeze two batches of Campari-citrus sorbet, and roll and blind-bake four pie crusts.
• Fun fact: I'm pretty inexperienced with pie crusts, so the probability of frustration was high.
3. Watching, fascinated, and without screaming, as cheap ice-cream-maker #1 fails to freeze its batch of sorbet and cheap ice-cream-maker #2 freezes but subsequently melts its batch.  
• Fun facts: at the times of measurement, the sorbet was about a degree cooler in cheap ice-cream-maker #2, and the base of cheap ice-cream-maker #2 was a degree-and-a-half cooler than the base of ice-cream maker #1.  The two motors spun the cooling vessels at the same speed.
4. Not caring that I won't eat the proto-sorbet once it leaves the freezer.
5. Calmly realizing that one of my mother-in-law's homegrown summer squash, obtained only two days prior, had rotted and leaked. 
• Fun fact: during my first trimester, I would have raged at the squash over its non-compliance.
6. Producing two shrunken pie crusts and one doughy, shrunken pie crust, all with minimal complaint.
7. Setting off the smoke detector without lamenting the other inconveniences of the previous two hours.
8. Accepting the reality that uploading a photo of pie-crust #4, an attractive specimen, will have to wait until my cell phone decides to stop roaming.
• Fun fact: I am at home, where my phone should not roam.
9. It's 1:53 am, I am still awake, and I think I have two more hours in me.
10. I look a little bit fat.

Maybe this belongs in the "Tiny Fists of Rage" blog.

My life is wonderful.
I'm incredibly lucky in almost every way.
Here's a bulleted list of things I hate.

• The dishwasher, still.  
• Sticky and powdery things are its kryptonite.
• Our dark, narrow cabinets.  
• I shattered the glass lid of a casserole dish by forcing a salad spinner onto the bottom shelf. 
• I guess the salad spinner won?
• Home-decorating shows. 
• Our house decorates itself. 
• I don't need some lady from North Carolina telling me what looks good. 
• I'm sure that lady disagrees.
• Nearly all nineteen-eighties pop music.  
• I've always hated it, but now I really hate it.
• The ubiquity of aioli.
• Raw eggs! 
• Raw eggs!
• Other people's baby names.
• Some of the baby names I thought I liked.
• The fact that I've started to like names I thought I disliked.
• Posting a list of complaints when my life is very good.

And now, a bit of what I like:

• Ingenuity.  
• I retrieved the glass fragments from the back of our lowest kitchen-cabinet shelf with
• a flashlight
• a cookie spatula
• a frying pan
• a dustbuster.
• Refined sugar, for its medicinal properties.
• My husband, who laughs off my rage.
• Even when he's temporarily out of underwear.  
• I think the dryer's done now.

If I say "f$@%," and the baby's ears haven't developed, does it still...

At the bar on Saturday evening (I did not drink anything, I swear,) I mentioned that my new blog was called "Beer and Sushi."

"You should have called it 'Tiny Fists of Rage,'" my husband said.  "Is that one registered?  If not, could you register it?"  Our friends nodded.  "Beer and Sushi" was okay, but "Tiny Fists of Rage" was awesome.  

The Sunday before I learned I was pregnant, I screamed at the dishwasher, which had spewed the grainy residue from my latest baking project onto every flat surface and into every glass.  I had a full plate that afternoon, pun intended, and the last thing I wanted to do was clean what should have been clean in the first place.

My husband, far more even-keeled than I, sent me away from the kitchen.  It took him two hours to re-clean the dishes amidst his other chores.  (Thanks again, sweetie.)  Always excitable and opinionated, blaming the increased frequency and intensity of my rage on the baby, as convenient a scapegoat as it is, makes me a little uncomfortable; for now, I'll continue to hope that our offspring will inherit my husband's temperament.  Last week's ultrasound indicates that the baby has his head, but all babies have his head.

Omg, another pregnancy blog!

Hello, world, from my favorite bar. I'm not drinking anything, I swear.

With so many pregnancy blogs out there, you might wonder, "Why read Beer and Sushi?"

1.  You're a guy. My male Ob/Gyn suggested that I start a blog.  Twice.  He must think I'm hilarious.

2.  You know me in real life, and you're reading Beer and Sushi out of obligation.

3.  Your hunger-driven, online search for "beer and sushi" led you here, and you're inexplicably intrigued. Now go eat something before you get grouchy.