Parting the Waters

Everybody keeps telling me I should be resting up. "Everybody" would include my husband, my kids, my midwife, my friends, my neighbors, my grocery checkout lady. Basically, everybody who has even glanced at my very large belly tells me I need to go and rest. Honestly, though, I think they're just tired of looking at me with my full-to-capacity-womb and want to put me out of sight but, of course, not out of mind.

Last night I noticed that I was quite literally waddling, now. I know what genuine waddling looks like, too, because our neighbors have two ducks who hang out together and waddle over lawns and gardens. It looks cute when they do it, but I just look like a very pregnant lady trying to navigate around furniture and between walls and doorways. I have used this to my advantage, and shamelessly so. A couple of Sundays ago I was waiting to fetch myself a cup of coffee, after church, and there were about three men nattering away at the table. Yes, men do indeed natter. They weren't migrating elsewhere anytime soon, either, so I stated, "I'm pregnant and I need coffee." It was like the parting of the Red Sea! What power and authority! Just to make doubly sure, last week I employed the same technique to fetch our kids from their CE classes. And yet again, the waters parted and I passed through, barely needing to waddle and inch!

Bill has discovered that my pregnancy has worked to our advantage in selling our house, as well. At least it would appear that way. We have a couple ready to close the deal and move in, all the while seeing my belly expanding with every visit to our home. They know this birth is imminent so it has seemed that they have been quick and decisive and are not asking us to do much in the way of repairs to this nearly ten year old manufactured home. And we have a house waiting that really appeals to us and will fit into our long-term plans of living in town and raising our children close to their friends. Again, the path is clearing and we are well on our way!

Now, if I just had the same power and authority to part the amniotic waters at will and usher forth this little boy through the canal and into our world. Alas, that task belongs to him and him alone.

Glory

Bragging Rights

I turned my back on Murron for a few short moments and discovered this:I did not teach her this. No one did. She blesses me so profoundly!

Glory

The Home Stretch

First of all, I want to say how much I have appreciated Bill's postings while I have taken my pre-natal mental hiatus. You'll have to trust me on this one; you would not have wanted to read anything I might have posted during this time.

So, take a look at this:

That's my darling little pregnancy ticker which, today, should read that I am 2 weeks away from delivering Craig Boy II. Sounds like some kind of sci-fi warship, huh? Well, that's not too far from his movements, of late. Remember the Alien movies, any of them? That would be my tummy. While I was laying on our little sofa, the other day, Elizabeth placed a piece of 8 1/2 x 11 cardstock on my tummy. Craig Boy II started moving around and Elizabeth said, "It looks like a hoverboard!" It did, until I started laughing. Then it looked like the shingles that have flown off our roof during our pacific gale storms. Anyway, the entire family has been entertained by this phenomenon. Even Ulie delights in seeing my tummy and saying, "Baby!" before he proceeds to open a drooling mouth and perform impressive zerberts on his brother's warm dwelling.

So, that's about it, for now. When the waiting game gets really dull and I am deep into obsessing over every pelvis plunge, Braxton-Hicks, hip separation, and abdominal cramp, you might read a new entry or two. Until then, it's all about tummy butter, hot therapeutic baths, and LOTS of good wholesome naps. Those are Bill's orders, anyhow!

Glory

Enticements and clean toilets

We have a new soda machine in the hallway of my workplace. It has one of those environmental sensors on it so it will turn itself off if no one has ventured by in a while. The object of such sensors, they say, is to conserve energy. I think it's an insidious way to tempt one into buying something one doesn't need by honing in on one's other senses...or perhaps by scaring the daylights out of the would-be consumer.

The other day while walking down the hall, I became startled when the machine suddenly whirred to life, blinked on and off and on a couple of times, charged the freon in the cooling chamber and beckoned me to buy an icy cold beverage. After I stopped shaking, I found myself hypnotized and started patting my pockets for change. Fortunately I didn't have enough money that day, but I realized to my shame how easy I could give in to corporate suggestion.

Speaking of scary things, we tackled the master bath toilet over the weekend by replacing the wax gasket underneath the bowl. Who knows how long it had been since that pleasant task was completed. It had to have been several years, at least. I had gloves on, and that was enough protection for the job, but I wondered about that guy (you know the one) who has to replace the wax seals underneath the commodes at the public library, the gas stations or even the bus depot in Seattle. If I see that guy, I think I will shake his hand--provided he's wearing gloves--and buy him a nice lunch.

Perhaps the commode creators ought to come up with a sensor device like their soft drink counterparts. The toilet would know when the gasket needed to be replaced and could blink, honk or make some other noises to let you know. That way, if it scared you half to death, you'd already be in the right place.

Bill