Is "The Gimlet" a good fetal nickname?

Three Years Ago (again)

"Hello, Pineapple.
Even though you hurt my tummy, I am eating you for the deliciousness and for the old wive's tale about you and labor starting. Even though I know baby will be born on Monday due to my highly scientific "the number of cars I pass going the other way on Haselton Road between Black Brook and the Methodist Church equals the number of days from now baby will be born" method of prediction. Listen, if the also scientific "if I see three horses and a white dog on my way home, I am pregnant" works, this must too! And what about "the gender of the person driving the next red car I see is the gender of my baby" test? Also scientifically proven."

So I remember always being disappointed by the outcome of these "signs" last time, and my disappointment in not going early (or on time) was indeed founded. So I am trying to avoid reading the signs I make up. But this afternoon there was one that not even I can deny. (Play along, will ya?)

When I got home my cocktail shaker was sitting on the kitchen counter. It lives in the freezer, but apparently Bill doesn't know that. Anyway, the top lid on the shaker, the one that covers the strainer, has been stuck on that thing since last summer. I've tried freezing it, boiling it, warm water, lubing it up with oil, holding it between my legs and grunting as I pull on a towel wrapped around the top. Nothing. I can use the strainer, but have to use a complicated combo of a half removed bigger lid and a sieve in order to make some drinks.

Anyway. There was the shaker. I walked right over, picked it up, and OFF popped the lid!!!! I cheered! Lulu cheered! eMILy cheered! I yelled, "Come on out baby, Mama wants a gimlet!!!" La Lu repeated that and went into hysterics. Then she ran around chanting about gimlets and mama and the baby!

A definite sign something will happen soon.