Meet Kymberli, a middle-school teacher from Georgia who kept this diary of her first pregnancy -- with twins!

Hello again friends! Well, it's the end of my first week in my own home, and I have survived. I haven't even been the least bit homesick. You all don't suppose that has anything to do with the facts that I live a mere two minutes away, and that I've been home every day since I left, do you? I also managed to transform my tough as nails mom into a blubbering mess of tears with my last journal entry. I guess I wasn't the only one going through a minor freak-out phase. We both recognize that we are mature, grown women and don't need to be all under each other 24/7 anymore. So naturally, we compensate by spending an average of three hours on the phone each night.

I have made it; I have arrived. I am two weeks into the second trimester, and like magic, the morning sickness has lifted and I'm eating like the pig I always wanted to be. Juicy pieces of barbequed chicken; hot, heaping mounds of creamy macaroni and cheese; greens cooked with ham hocks; thick cornbread; rich sweet potatoes; chilled pineapples; and cool vanilla ice cream accompanied by a flood of chocolate sauce -- and that was just lunch. Aaahh, the joys of eating almost whatever I want to whenever I want to eat it and being able to do so without the fears of immediate digestive reversal! This is definitely the life.

>From my first entry, you may recall my apparent fascination with the vomiting phenomenon. Now that I don't have that to ponder over, puking has been replaced by an even more revolting function of the digestive system. Now, I don't want you all to be alarmed; these are not things that I would readily admit to just anyone. But since we're all in the same boat, we might as well all get real and stop glossing over some of the more unattractive irregularities of pregnancy. Since I have stopped trying to fight this particular function, I feel liberated and at ease. I am boldly going where I have never gone before, and I hope that more of you will join me. I am shedding my cloak of denial and confessing to something I never thought I would -- I fart, and by golly I do it well. Please don't misunderstand me; I think it is utterly disgusting and I embarrass myself even when I am alone. But with the babies occupying so much of my inner space, I have far less room to hold in those noxious gasses, and containment soon gives way to abdominal cramps. I am not proud of the task, but I am proud that I have stopped stressing over such a natural bodily duty.

I have always been gassy by nature, but my talents were expressed solely in the form of burping. I could beat any drunken sailor hands down in a burping competition. In fact, when I had a pizza party for my students last year, I earned major Cool Points when I outburped every puberty-laden boy in my class. Needless to say, I got mad props when I performed my breathtaking rendition of the alphabet song with burps. My sisters, on the other hand, relish in playing the Fart Game, a sick pastime in which they fart and blame each other for the deed. Their best line of defense is the classic SBD -- "Silent But Deadly." I know you've heard of it. This is the incognito fart, the one you can blame on the dog or the innocent passer-by in the mall. Most of the time, my mother and I have to suffer from the after-effects of their Sonic Boom Nuclear farts. Farts of this sort are loud, rude, usually spontaneous, and can clear a room in mere seconds. Despite the offensiveness of these eruptions, they always send us into peals of laughter that leave us gasping for clean air on the floor where it's still relatively safe. I would usually tell them how disgusting and unladylike they were, and then punctuate my declaration with an equally offensive burp.

I was so anti-fart, my darling sisters used to bribe me to let just one go. They've still never heard me fart. I'm on the twelve-step Farters Anonymous program. I've climbed the first hurdle and admitted to the world that I do fart, but I am in no way ready to become an avid participant in the Fart Game. The one person who has heard me fart is my dear, sweet, husband Frank. One night when the pressure became too great, I tried to hurriedly excuse myself the bathroom. Halfway there, I was stopped dead in my tracks when I felt the thunder roll within me, and before I could take another step, my body relaxed and exploded with enough force to rival Old Faithful. Embarrassment washed over me as I slowly turned back to the bed to face whatever teasing I was about to fall victim to. He froze and stared at me with the wide-eyed shock of a deer caught in headlights. He was speechless; the only other time I have ever seen him in such a deep stupor was when we found out about the twins. Then this sheer look of revulsion clouded his face, but as I looked closer, I noticed a smile in the corner of his mouth and a twinkle of pride in his eyes. His diminutive, used-to-be-petite wife is now a champion, "Grade A" fart bag. I now have the ability to fart with all the gusto of a whoopee cushion. I still choose to do this in private, because this is not something hope to do regularly after the babies are born.

Ladies, don't fight it. We are not the lithe, glamorous vixens who look like the mothers of all creation that we see on the pregnancy magazines. We have every right to be slovenly, gaseous, impulsive, and offensive. If you feel like letting loose, just let go! Trust me, with all of the other digestive oddities going on, your intestines will thank you. It's the one thing you can do that will garnish immediate relief for digestive irritability. I agree that it's repulsive. I agree that you would rather not admit to it, but just for a few months let go of some of the things you thought were characteristic of good home training, and revel in every aspect of your pregnancy. Farting, in this case, is for a good cause, as is everything else we have to endure when growing our babies. Look at it this way -- you have to let roses revel in glorified manure in order for them to bloom beautifully.

Well, I think my creative energies have been sufficiently drained for the day, so I'm going to end this vulgar display here. And then, as a card-carrying member of Farters Anonymous, I'm going straight to the store to check if Beano is safe to use during

recommended for you