Waiting....

Waiting for the big event now is almost exactly like that time DeeDee Spooner helped me get a loose tooth out in Darcy Elementary in Helena, Montana. She tied a string carefully around my wobbler (she MUST have had younger siblings) and fastened the other end to the bathroom door handle.

It didn't hurt, but it seemed like it was going to.

Waiting for her to count, One Two... was kind of like this. When I think about labor, I feel a little shot fo adrenaline jump around from my legs to my lungs somewhere. When I think about having a kid (like yesterday when I was folding ridiculously small onesies and putting them in a drawer) who depends on me I get a Venti jolt with about 15 shots in it. Also, I think that despite being all cumbersomely bumpy and having every woman in a 50-yard radius smile knowingly at me, I am still harboring a little kernel of denial. Who's pregnant? Yeah well, you're pregnant. Your mama's pregnant.

I'm not sure if I'm nesting or if I'm just indulging every crafty-cleany anal impulse that sprouts in my sleepy little brain stem. Mom and I spent hours yesterday putting up big creamy curtains (which I sewed! I'm a sewer- oh, that doesn't sound quite right...) over the closet in our room. The closet was previously concealed by those bending metal door things which A) are a little noisy, B) had something against me and staying in their tracks and C) protruded into the room when open. So of course that meant they were threatening precious baby-space and had to be dealt with.

I was so overzealously punching holes in cards and paper last night that I managed to break a brand new hole punch and make my right shoulder sore. It might have had something to do with the fact that we were watching Nanny 911 (remember, no cable out here= limited viewing choices) and the dad was a horrible schmoe. Plus they kept showing what kept him away from home (and his SIX kids) every night- the worship band at church! (I am sparing you multiple abundances of exclamation points from here on out, but feel free to imagine them anyway.) Every time they showed him with his group he was literally singing... no.. I can't say... Kum ba Yah. While his bratty little kids at home were acting out in every possible way to get some attention and to show the mom that they would treat her just like he was.

So somewhere in there, I must have over-punched the paper puncher.

I haven't practiced in 3 1/2 weeks. I also have not exercised (other than marathon shopping days with mom) in 2 weeks.

Assign me some rosaries, anoint me with holy water- confession complete.