Last night I had a dream about the baby. The good news is - he was cute. The bad news is - he was cute in a rather oversized way: he was twenty pounds. Now- I'm not sure how long after birth the dream was supposed to have taken place, but I'm thinking that it must have been shortly afterwards because my mother was helping me with him and I had sort of a confused/overwhelmed feeling.
Also, my father tried to pick him up with one hand, by the scruff of the neck, as if he was a kitten. He did not succeed. No wonder- with a twenty pound kitten.
And when he spit up ( the baby, not my father), it was like leftover, congealed pea-soup- same color and texture. Greeeaaaaat.
I think this dream may have been influenced by the news story I heard the other day about the recent delivery of a 17 pound baby in Bosnia or Estonia or one of those '-ia' countries. The news story also mentioned the fact that the world's record for a baby's birth weight was 20 pounds. Huh. Thanks, but that's one record I don't think I'd care to make - or break. And as far as the pea soup/spit-up - I haven't a clue where THAT came from.
If this dream comes true, I have a feeling that a C-section will be in my future.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Friday, September 21, 2007
Something else - ANYthing else...
Okay- enough about my burgeoning belly.
I think burgeoning is one of Brad's favorite words.
Just wanted to remind you about/direct you over to Philip's blog as I have posted a new entry there and didn't feel like doing it again here. It's a happy li'l story that made my day.
I think burgeoning is one of Brad's favorite words.
Just wanted to remind you about/direct you over to Philip's blog as I have posted a new entry there and didn't feel like doing it again here. It's a happy li'l story that made my day.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Proverbs by Brad
Commenting on a slightly unfortunate incident this evening, I remarked, " Oh well. Live and learn." Brad's reply was, " Die - and really learn." I thought that was chucklesome.
Another comforting observation he made recently, when I was expressing some of my fears of childbirth, was, " Just think of the pioneer women." And my reply was, "Yes! They died!"
And while I'm reporting on Brad's recent sayings, I might as well tuck in the one about when I was bemoaning the toll that bearing children will take on my body, he said," Well, you've been beautiful for so long that it's okay if you're ugly for the rest of our marriage." Oh. Okay. So now I guess I'm free to be an unmitigated hag for the next fifty years - what liberation.
I like Brad.
Another comforting observation he made recently, when I was expressing some of my fears of childbirth, was, " Just think of the pioneer women." And my reply was, "Yes! They died!"
And while I'm reporting on Brad's recent sayings, I might as well tuck in the one about when I was bemoaning the toll that bearing children will take on my body, he said," Well, you've been beautiful for so long that it's okay if you're ugly for the rest of our marriage." Oh. Okay. So now I guess I'm free to be an unmitigated hag for the next fifty years - what liberation.
I like Brad.
Friday, September 07, 2007
I'm all over the map in this post - forgive me.
I was on my way to do an errand this morning and espied a yardsale, which is a SURE thing to lure me off whatever track I may be on. Sometimes I think if the devil wants to tempt me into hell, he might put a yardsale sign at the gate. ( I was running late picking up Philip from school today and I passed a couple of yardsales and it almost killed me that I didn't have time to stop and go treasure hunting.)
As I waited my turn to pay for my few odd purchases, an older gentleman approached me and said something about me having a bun in the oven. ( That's the second time a man has asked me that, using those words. I think it's funny but my friend Pari was scandalized when I told her about it.) I smiled and said that yes, indeed, I had a bun in the oven. He said, "Is it your first one?" And I said, "Yes, how could you tell?" He said seriously, " From the way you carry yourself. Very carefully." I thought that was quite precious and funny. I am not very conscious of carrying myself any differently, although I am finding it harder to pick things up off the floor or get up and down from chairs and such...The other day I was looking under the couch to see if Stan was hiding there, and it turned into quite an ordeal to heave and hoist myself around- I felt ridiculously pathetic.
I bought a few items at the yardsale, and my favorite was a beautiful, tall, plain glass pitcher. I felt I almost had no choice in the matter - it was just sitting there all clean and gorgeous and looking like the perfect thing to put lemonade in and only $2 - how could I refuse? Never mind that I have almost zero cupboard space in which to house it. I shall find room - even if it has to live in an odd place - like with the candles or the crockpot. Hmmm. I'm not materialistic or anything. I NEEDED a glorious pitcher - and my other pitchers are smaller! But do you ever have those moments when you see something perfectly BEAUTIFUL - be it a painting or a stained glass window or a baby or a tree or a sunset and you just want to CONSUME it and OWN it because of its beauty...? It was kind of like that with the pitcher. Is this bad?
And not to ramble or anything but, speaking of trees... recently there's been some construction nearby. A great swath of forest was cut down and it made me so sad. I don't even want to drive by there anymore; it depresses me too much. ( It could be difficult to avoid though- it's on our regular route to church. Maybe I should just shut my eyes... although that could have its own hazards, if I'm driving. I guess we'll just have to go to church another way.) It happened so suddenly - I was driving along one day and there was this horrible ugly gap where there used to be a stretch of old trees and even as I drove by, a huge, magnificent tree was falling. It horrified me. It was just like the scene from the "Two Towers" where Saruman cuts down all the trees at Isengard. I felt strangely wounded.
And this is no new phenomenon; as a child, I cried when men came to cut a tree down in our yard. I felt like they were killing a friend. Another time, when Hurricane Gloria came through, Liane and I literally PRAYED that somehow God would rescue the tree (with our swing in it) next to our house from the bad men who were going to cut it down. ( They were afraid that the storm would cause it to fall on the house.) ( And okay- they weren't bad men. They were just Markhams.) And the miraculous occurred: God heard our faint li'l cries... and the chainsaw jammed! We were stunned at the power of our prayers and looked with awe at the scars on the trunk of the tree where the chainsaw had attempted its doomed carnage. ( After we moved out of the house, they finally did cut that tree down. Hmmm. Even from a distance, we kind of resented it.)
Call me weird, but I can sort of see why people chain themselves to trees to keep loggers from cutting them down. Not that I'm an environmental wacko - I just really like and admire trees. And it seems rather disrespectful and crass to destroy something that has been there for generations just to put up another ugly strip mall. Yay. Another bland pharmacy... devoid of even a redemptive trace of architectural beauty. Yay. Another "Nails and Tan" place. We REALLY need another one of those. Yay. Another mediocre Chinese food place to saturate the population with lard. Three cheers for civilization and progress. Sometimes I feel embarrassed at the world I'm bringing this child into. I feel like apologizing to him.
As I waited my turn to pay for my few odd purchases, an older gentleman approached me and said something about me having a bun in the oven. ( That's the second time a man has asked me that, using those words. I think it's funny but my friend Pari was scandalized when I told her about it.) I smiled and said that yes, indeed, I had a bun in the oven. He said, "Is it your first one?" And I said, "Yes, how could you tell?" He said seriously, " From the way you carry yourself. Very carefully." I thought that was quite precious and funny. I am not very conscious of carrying myself any differently, although I am finding it harder to pick things up off the floor or get up and down from chairs and such...The other day I was looking under the couch to see if Stan was hiding there, and it turned into quite an ordeal to heave and hoist myself around- I felt ridiculously pathetic.
I bought a few items at the yardsale, and my favorite was a beautiful, tall, plain glass pitcher. I felt I almost had no choice in the matter - it was just sitting there all clean and gorgeous and looking like the perfect thing to put lemonade in and only $2 - how could I refuse? Never mind that I have almost zero cupboard space in which to house it. I shall find room - even if it has to live in an odd place - like with the candles or the crockpot. Hmmm. I'm not materialistic or anything. I NEEDED a glorious pitcher - and my other pitchers are smaller! But do you ever have those moments when you see something perfectly BEAUTIFUL - be it a painting or a stained glass window or a baby or a tree or a sunset and you just want to CONSUME it and OWN it because of its beauty...? It was kind of like that with the pitcher. Is this bad?
And not to ramble or anything but, speaking of trees... recently there's been some construction nearby. A great swath of forest was cut down and it made me so sad. I don't even want to drive by there anymore; it depresses me too much. ( It could be difficult to avoid though- it's on our regular route to church. Maybe I should just shut my eyes... although that could have its own hazards, if I'm driving. I guess we'll just have to go to church another way.) It happened so suddenly - I was driving along one day and there was this horrible ugly gap where there used to be a stretch of old trees and even as I drove by, a huge, magnificent tree was falling. It horrified me. It was just like the scene from the "Two Towers" where Saruman cuts down all the trees at Isengard. I felt strangely wounded.
And this is no new phenomenon; as a child, I cried when men came to cut a tree down in our yard. I felt like they were killing a friend. Another time, when Hurricane Gloria came through, Liane and I literally PRAYED that somehow God would rescue the tree (with our swing in it) next to our house from the bad men who were going to cut it down. ( They were afraid that the storm would cause it to fall on the house.) ( And okay- they weren't bad men. They were just Markhams.) And the miraculous occurred: God heard our faint li'l cries... and the chainsaw jammed! We were stunned at the power of our prayers and looked with awe at the scars on the trunk of the tree where the chainsaw had attempted its doomed carnage. ( After we moved out of the house, they finally did cut that tree down. Hmmm. Even from a distance, we kind of resented it.)
Call me weird, but I can sort of see why people chain themselves to trees to keep loggers from cutting them down. Not that I'm an environmental wacko - I just really like and admire trees. And it seems rather disrespectful and crass to destroy something that has been there for generations just to put up another ugly strip mall. Yay. Another bland pharmacy... devoid of even a redemptive trace of architectural beauty. Yay. Another "Nails and Tan" place. We REALLY need another one of those. Yay. Another mediocre Chinese food place to saturate the population with lard. Three cheers for civilization and progress. Sometimes I feel embarrassed at the world I'm bringing this child into. I feel like apologizing to him.
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Wanted: My Replacement
Since our beloved piano player has recently departed our midst, and because the CD system isn't quite up to speed yet, I have been filling in on Sunday mornings by playing my guitar for the hymns at church. This is interesting. While I'm not a complete stranger to leading music, it's not something that I do enough to feel totally comfortable with...You see, sometimes I get lost in singing the chorus and forget what verse we're on and so when the next verse starts, people get all higgledy-piggledy because they're following me and I have no idea what I'm doing. Very disconcerting to have to stop and say, "Um- what verse are we on?" Sooooo unprofessional.
( Okay- that only happened once. So far.) But then, I'm NOT a professional - not by any stretch. But I guess, without me, we'd be chanting a cappella. ( No matter HOW I spell it, this spell check is NEVER satisfied with the spelling of that last word...Argh.) And so far, no one's complained - to my face.
But there are a couple of advantages to leading the music. Firstly, I get to pick the songs we sing! Hah! Because I don't read music, I am limited in what I can play and so whoever is leading the worship time gives me a pretty good amount of freedom to choose what I want to play. Hurray! It's great to be able to choose stuff you like and shun that other stuff...Not that there are really BAD hymns, but to be honest, there are some that do bug me - whether it's a repetitive tune or the fact that they are terribly over-used and need to be given a rest for approximately twenty years.
But then there's the REAL bonus: I get to PITCH the songs! It seems that most hymns have been pitched for sopranos and old ladies who like to warble. I am neither. It's hard to worship when you're screeching up in the attic. The lower the better, I say. So I have taken great delight in pitching the songs LOOOOOWER. But then there's the challenge- I know not everyone likes my comfortable/tenor/basement philosophy of singing. What sounds normal to me suddenly seems a little growly when the rest of the congregation joins in with me...Ooops. Sorry, folks. So, I try to strike a good balance.
Anyway- all this said - this experience is giving me a greatly increased appreciation for musicians who contribute every Sunday. It's easy to take them for granted...until you become one of them! So...are there any piano players out there who would like to join us and take over for me? My belly is expanding and soon there may not be a lot of room left for a guitar on my lap...and from what I hear, ones' lung capacity is somewhat compromised in the later stages of pregnancy, which could make for some gaspy singing.
( Okay- that only happened once. So far.) But then, I'm NOT a professional - not by any stretch. But I guess, without me, we'd be chanting a cappella. ( No matter HOW I spell it, this spell check is NEVER satisfied with the spelling of that last word...Argh.) And so far, no one's complained - to my face.
But there are a couple of advantages to leading the music. Firstly, I get to pick the songs we sing! Hah! Because I don't read music, I am limited in what I can play and so whoever is leading the worship time gives me a pretty good amount of freedom to choose what I want to play. Hurray! It's great to be able to choose stuff you like and shun that other stuff...Not that there are really BAD hymns, but to be honest, there are some that do bug me - whether it's a repetitive tune or the fact that they are terribly over-used and need to be given a rest for approximately twenty years.
But then there's the REAL bonus: I get to PITCH the songs! It seems that most hymns have been pitched for sopranos and old ladies who like to warble. I am neither. It's hard to worship when you're screeching up in the attic. The lower the better, I say. So I have taken great delight in pitching the songs LOOOOOWER. But then there's the challenge- I know not everyone likes my comfortable/tenor/basement philosophy of singing. What sounds normal to me suddenly seems a little growly when the rest of the congregation joins in with me...Ooops. Sorry, folks. So, I try to strike a good balance.
Anyway- all this said - this experience is giving me a greatly increased appreciation for musicians who contribute every Sunday. It's easy to take them for granted...until you become one of them! So...are there any piano players out there who would like to join us and take over for me? My belly is expanding and soon there may not be a lot of room left for a guitar on my lap...and from what I hear, ones' lung capacity is somewhat compromised in the later stages of pregnancy, which could make for some gaspy singing.
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