The tabloids have been obsessed with snapping shots of Kate Middleton's (always flat) tummy ever since the royal wedding in April 2011, speculating whether they see a baby bump. Well, their wildest dreams are coming true! Palace officials announced today that Prince William and Duchess Catherine are (really!) expecting a baby.

Now, let the other forms of speculation commence... When is the baby due? Will it be a boy or a girl? What will they name HRH (his/her royal highness!)?

One exciting bit of news that we know (almost) for sure is that the baby -- whether boy or girl -- will be the heir to the British throne. Thanks to a pending change in the rules of royal succession, first-born children of either gender will be eligible to take the throne. (Queen Elizabeth II is only the monarch because her parents didn't have any boys -- hmph!)

I'll admit that I have a touch of royal fever and am excited for William and Kate's baby story to unfold. So I'll kick off some baby name speculation...

If it's a girl, part of the name might be... (click on the name for its meaning and other info):

Elizabeth (obviously a nod to the queen, but also because the name is prominent in Kate's family tree and is her own middle name)

Diana (obvi. contender -- it wouldn't please the queen, but Wills adored his mum!)

Carole (Kate's mom)

When it comes to researching autism and other developmental disorders, it's been almost all about the moms. Her age. The age of her eggs. The risk of the birth. But a new study shows that older dads are more likely to have a child with autism or schizophrenia, and the mother's age may not have a role in the risk for those disorders.

The European study, published in the journal Nature, is being lauded by U.S. physicians as very well done and a breakthrough that may change how we research and try to curb the surge in autism. As the NYTimes reports: "The findings counter the longstanding assumption that the age of the mother is the most important factor in determining the odds of a child having developmental problems. The risk of chromosomal abnormalities, like Down syndrome, increases for older mothers, but when it comes to some complex developmental and psychiatric problems, the lion’s share of the genetic risk originates in the sperm, not the egg, the study found."

I'm a sucker for funny pregnancy movies, and I was planning to see What to Expect When You're Expecting in the movie theater sometime. But something crazy happened... I got to go to the premiere of the movie in Hollywood on my recent whirlwind vacation. Here's the story. I'm still reeling from it!

My husband and I took a much-needed trip together to California, where I had never been. We saw lots of cool sites in San Francisco, Wine Country, Big Sur, and on down the coast. Our final destination was L.A. -- and while I enjoy movies, pop culture, and palm trees, it was never high on my list of someday destinations.

We were in L.A. for just two nights, so we only had one day to squeeze in our sightseeing. In the morning, we went to Hollywood Blvd. (much sketchier than it looks on Oscar day!) and took one of the cheesy open-air bus tours that shows you the Hollywood sign; film locations for Grease, Pretty Woman, etc.; and the homes of the rich and famous, like Jennifer Aniston, Ron Howard, Hugh Hefner, the Kardashians, yada, yada. I sheepishly snapped shots of the glamorous homes as the tour bus driver shouted "Come out, Al Pacino! We know you're in there!" and such at the end of their driveways. Embarrassing but worthwhile. 

I was excited to snap one shot of Sharon Stone driving her Bentley convertible around town, and thought my celebrity sightings would end there.  

I don't have high taste in television, so it's no surprise that last night I got sucked into the sneak preview of a new Bravo reality show called "Pregnant in Heels," which actually premieres tonight.  

A sharp and unbearable pain suddenly pierced my side.
"OUCH!" I yelled.

It was early in June, starting to feel like summer.

Like any other teenager, I was hanging out at the playground, leaning against a fence.
"What’s wrong," asked my friend, Julie.
"I don’t know," I said, innocently.

I was seventeen years old and nine months pregnant.

I just read an interesting article, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Here is the situation; you and your man, have a nice romantic night together. A couple of weeks go by, and SURPRISE…you are going to expand your family. First off, let me congratulate you, Congratulations! So, as time goes by you get antsy to know the sex of the baby. No worries, because now there is an at-home test for expecting mothers that will determine the sex of the baby.

It's funny how sometimes events in your life take you along familiar roads, over and over again. I was thinking about that last week, when I found myself walking across a beautiful college campus, on the way to giving a reading from an essay of mine which appears in this wonderful book. It was a proud moment for me, and I was nervous and excited all at the same time.

Last week, when I was waiting outside T.’s school for the doors to click open so I could go inside, a mom ran up, breathless, dressed in a snazzy work-out outfit.

“Are the doors open yet?” she asked me.

“Nope.” I said.

“Whew.” She fanned herself with her hand. “I didn’t have time to shower after working out. I tell you—looking like I did before I had kids is HARD work.”

I've been invited, for the first time ever, to a trustees dinner at the college where I work, and I don't have a thing to wear. I raided my closet yesterday afternoon in the hopes of discovering some long-forgotten chic pantsuit I never in fact ever owned, but all I came up with was one pair of black slacks and a stretchy top I think I bought 6 years ago for a wedding rehearsal dinner. Later that afternoon I went into work for a meeting and consulted my colleague/friend, who has been to such dinners before, about what I should wear.

“So, what time is your doctor’s appointment?” I asked my client as we were walking to lunch.

“Ummm…I need to get out of here by 3:15,” he responded in a voice that sat somewhere between timid, embarrassed and apprehensive. Picking up on that, I had no choice but to pounce.