Last night I dreamed that one of my teeth fell out.

It was very painful at the time, but then the pain stopped and I was left with this small and perfect molar in my hand. I spent the rest of the dream trying to figure out whether I should call my dentist or just walk to his office (which is a block away) to see if anyone could put my tooth back. I've had the requisite vivid/strange/disturbing dreams that are supposed to be common during pregnancy (and I wish I'd known about them when I was writing GOOD IN BED), but this is the first thing that could even be loosely construed as a birth dream.

Adam and I spent a romantic afternoon at Babies R Us, and I'm now feeling a lot calmer about actually being prepared, at least in terms of physical stuff. We now have a car seat, and a stroller (not assembled, but purchased), and a multi-pack of breast pads that Adam tossed into the cart without flinching. And this week are all of our classes -- Baby Care Basics, Breastfeeding and Infant CPR (whenever I give the rundown, I'm reminded of Alan Rachins' line in Showgirls: "Honey, the show's called Goddess, it ain't called Classes!")

Last but not least, the Mouse of the Second Floor is no more. Rest in peace, rodent invader.