A reader writes: You haven't posted in a while. Did you have the baby?

No, I didn't have the baby. Yes, we have no babies (to be sung to the tune of "Yes, We Have no Bananas.") We got nothing, except annoying Braxton-Hicks contractions in the middle of the night, every night. "Nothing doing," says the doctor cheerfully. And my doula's out of town. "So I should just call your backup if something happens?" I asked. She smiled at me indulgently. "You can call," she said, "but nothing's going to happen."

I did a reading at a Jewish Community Center in New Jersey last Wednesday -- my last pre-baby appearance, I think, and a good thing, too, because I'm having the baby breathlessness, where your diaphragm gets squeezed and it's hard to take a deep breath (and hence, hard to do any kind of extended public speaking). I was signing books after when a woman came up. "I'm a nurse, and I was keeping an eye on you," she said. "In case anything happened."

"Do you think anything's going to happen?" I asked eagerly.

"Nah," she said. "That baby's still way too high."

So that's the consensus. Nothing's happening. Nothing's going to happen. Possibly ever. At least not any time soon.

Which is okay insofar as I still have lots of work to do on Book Three. The problem is, I'm not very interested in doing it. I can see why this is the time lots of women leave their jobs. It's not that you're physically incapable of working, it's just that it's hard to focus on anything but the Impending Arrival.

Also -- thanks to everyone who wrote to tell me about the mesh lingerie bag that will prevent me from losing baby socks. I'd never even heard of such a thing. Then again, I was raised by wolves.