All right, so I’m starting to enter the uncomfortable phase of pregnancy. And maybe I’m getting a bit crabby.

My husband had put his hand on my belly, hoping to feel the baby move. “What an incredible thing it must be,” he said dreamily, “to carry a life inside of you. I wish I could know how that feels.”

“Oh yeah” I snapped, “it’s fantastic. Here are some examples.”

“Would you like to have boobs so sore that you can barely wear clothes?”

“Uhhhh, no.”

“How about nausea and morning sickness that hits any time of day?”

“N-no.”

“Does being constipated work for you?”

“Er….”

“How about a sore back and sore hips in the morning because you have no choice other than to sleep on your side? No matter how much you want to go on your stomach, you can’t.”

“Uhhh…”

How about people shoving their hands up your vagina whenever you go to the doctor?”

“I don’t really have one, but not that great, I suppose.”

“Being kept awake at night because some other person is deciding to do the hokey pokey in your uterus?”

“Ahhh…”

“Oh and best of all, how do you think it feels to have the major organs of your lower body be completely squished and be forced to go wherever there might happen to be a little room?”

“……”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

OK, I’m definitely getting crabby.

I’m a busy girl. Seriously, busy, busy, busy. Between picking the gladiolas out of the altar flowers before Plumcake notices and downloading the dirty bits of Hugh Jackman movies, I have hardly any free time at all. This is why I have a slight blogging backlog; indeed, sometime around 13 or 14 months ago, Glinda challenged me to dig up a hat the Munchkin would tolerate for more than the time it took for him to undo the knot under his chin.

I admit to you, I have failed. I even suggested a real Cavalry Hat, but I guess without the pony to go with it, the ten gallon was just a half-pint. Soooooo… I’m basically going to circle and poke at the Munchkin until we strike the acceptable Hattitudes.

So, here we go. Wish me luck:

Automatically eliminated: any hat that looks like he stole it off the stiffening corpse of Bing Crosby. Because I want it!

Also eliminated: anything that gives the impression he was conceived at a rave. Don’t get me wrong: I love my Syd Barrett as much as anyone, I just think there’s a time and place and when you’re sitting in a stroller, not old enough to drink coffee, it’s not time yet.

Better: a subtle hat with funky details although black might get a little toasty in semi-desert climes like Californistan.

Seriously, WHAT is this kid’s problem? He looks wicked cool in that snappy newsboy, and it’s even big enough to provide some shade! Buck up and think of the millions you’ll make selling the Chronicle…uh, Newsweek? Uh, pirated Fark printouts?

How about an authentic pith helmet in cool camo, featherweight and breathable, and custom-made for the Boy Scouts? Come on, if it’s good enough for the Boy Scouts, it’s good enough for me. Sadly, I fear the Playground Peer Pressure Police are dreadfully behind the times and might kick up a fuss. Don’t they know Chanel said after twenty years, anything’s a classic? And at least this hat will never make you look like you fell off the back of a 4×4.

Still with me? I’m serious here: why do I suddenly feel like a Uniform Fetishist’s Version Of The Mom In About a Boy and don’t answer that? Look: It’s got a decent brim to keep the sun and rain off, it’s a nice neutral colour, not as costumey as a cowboy hat, and it’s excellent quality workmanship and materials, so it will last almost as long as your child’s resentment of you for making him wear a hat in the first place.

Whatever you think of my picks, do take my advice on one thing: do NOT play with the Village Hat Shop Virtual Hat Try-On-Inator. Because there goes four solid hours…