It's important to be warm

It has come to my attention that forty weeks is a long time. (Forget forty days and nights in the desert.) I have a ways to go yet, and I’m already growing weary of the constant carrying. Everything is a haul, from the most minute movement to any real work I attempt. My bones ache so I can’t sleep a full night even if both baby and bladder agreed to the notion. I have to get up simply to shift the weight onto some other bone less complaining than the current bearer of my bulk.

This of course is nothing new to anyone who has had children. Those that haven’t can’t really believe that I have significantly larger to grow, significantly more to haul before finally letting this baby out into the world.

Ian attempted to comfort me by sweetly telling me that I’ll be a mother for far longer than I’ll be pregnant. I reminded him that I sincerely hope to have a few moments in all those years where I am not as full-time as being pregnant requires. I know my days of solo leisurely trips to the bathroom are numbered, though I must admit, I don’t feel alone at the moment anyway. There is clearly another body in there with me, even if he’s more completely contained than he’ll be at any other point in his life.

I am counting down weeks, not counting up as I was for so long. The numbers have their own power. There is something that happens at the age of thirty (or thereabouts) where time takes a different meaning. Far from life being over at thirty, I feel it’s just really getting going, but I do have a lot less patience for things and people who would squander the precious time I have to get it all happening. I’m not counting down to the age of forty by any method, though I see it ahead, and hope that I’ll have a few things accomplished betwixt now and then. Maybe there is a pattern in this, a shift that is as natural to the human body as the process I’m engaging in already. Do these numbers echo and resonate, like threes and sevens in other contexts? If I listen closely, I might hear it in the creaks and settling of my marrow.

Filed by joy at 9:30 am under baby
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May I introduce my new friend, the mini cradle. Ahhhh, my hip hasn’t hurt all afternoon. This is just as fabulous a purchase as the Bravados. As if I didn’t lurrrve the internet before…

Filed by joy at 4:48 pm under baby
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It wasn’t that long ago that I cast doubt on those that felt pregnant women/moms ought to be protected from certain aspects of the world. [Of course, it's all about who decides *what* needs to be protected from whom, and if the women themselves choose what information they will take in, but that's a tangent.]

Last night we watched the brilliant and disturbing film The Constant Gardener. I enjoyed it on the level of beauty and sociopolitical commentary it was meant to address. I highly recommend it. However, I paid the price of watching a difficult film during the night. I dreamt that both I and another waking-life pregnant woman I know were each carrying twins (I recently read about internal positioning of twins, which I find fascinating). She gave birth to both of hers, as did I, but one of mine died in the birthing, and the other was very heavily bruised and hurt. I remember very little of the content of the dreams, except the strong visual of these three living babies, all in their hospital preemie chambers, mine looking so black and blue, struggling to breathe between the cords and equipment. This wasn’t a horror-style reactive panic of a nightmare; this story played out in my mind as if it was commonplace, acceptable state of things, which didn’t exactly add to the strain on my psyche.

I now fully comprehend the woman I (albeit gently and only in my head) tsk-ed in my mind for admitting she did not wish to expose herself to a TV program that dealt with danger coming to a small child. It has little to do with ignoring the world and everything to do with getting through the day with some sanity left. Fear itself is mighty powerful and we’ve got plenty of real fear to process, without encouraging emotional gymnastics for the sake of themselves.

Filed by joy at 5:05 pm under baby, dreams, life
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To continue on the happy theme of late, I’m always impressed by juggling. It’s just cool in a really low-tech nearly-useless-very-pretty skill kinda way, like seeing a unicyclist go down the street.

I also am very fond of Abbey Road. So, if you’ve got 4.5 minutes to kill, some decent bandwidth, and speakers on your machine, check out this video.

Filed by joy at 3:27 pm under life, visuals
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Ian sent this article to me this morning, after our flooring man and his three buddies showed up 1/2 hour early (meaning 7:30am, not 8, on a Sunday, mind you).

Fixing a Hole is a fine little explanation of the beast we call “The House of (increasingly less) Pink”.

Filed by joy at 9:54 am under crafty
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Here’s a sneak preview of the baby’s room, and some of our vast collection of paint:

Today is loud and dusty at the house. Our flooring man is here: bashing, leveling, nail-gunning, and generally prepping for our laminate floor to go in. W00T!

Not shown is the slate that will go in the front entryway because it’s not in yet.

The house is at this wonderful point where even with all the chaos and destruction, we don’t have to apologize for the state of things. Enough is done for any reasonable viewer to realize what is the “before” and what is the “after” or at least the “in progress” state. It is all intentional and obvious. Makes it far simpler to deal with the fact that the bathroom is lit by one bare bulb and is covered in attic/crawlspace dust.

Filed by joy at 12:08 pm under baby, crafty, visuals
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