My increasingly beloved friend Whitney randomly brought me chocolate cookies late this afternoon, delivering them with a saintly smile and a promise for some dinner "when the little gent does show up". We chatted for a minute, long enough for her boy Jack to crawl out of the car to give Gus the Thunderdog a once over, and for Whitney to rightfully observe that I certainly look round and ready to go.
Boy do I feel round and ready to go, like a big juicy peach hanging onto the branch for dear life.
PICK ME ALREADY WOULD YOU??
Even though technically, this kid could still take his sweet time for a few more weeks to come-if you subscribe to the timeline of due dates and that whole 40 week gestation sort of thing. I myself like to think of all that as more of a general guideline I like to stay on the shorter side of, both mentally and physically. Besides, when you get to the point where you find yourself rather unwillingly discussing the state and condition of your cervix with people like your Grandma, it's time to wrap this show up. No offense Grams, but my lady parts and their expansion aren't something I particularly feel like chatting about as we make our merry way to your weekly hair appointment.
There's always the back and forth of how you really feel too. Like sweet, this kid could come anytime! But crap, the nursery isn't put together, our insurance is switching providers Sept. 1st (triple blurgh), the Nub hasn't been reassigned bedrooms, the clothes haven't been washed and put away, I haven't even taken the car seat out of it's box in the garage and do I have any sort of a bag packed or prepared? Nope. Somehow this stuff will just take care of itself, right? Another week or so would do me some good, give me a buffer maybe. Except I think I am done and the promise of a few days in the hospital with the fuzzy and wrinkly opus of my 9.5 month effort is starting to sound pretty dang good.
So really I don't know where I stand, other than easily irritable, crampy, and uncomfortable, mildly anxious and somewhat reticent about it all at the same time.
I go a week without posting and then suddenly everyone gets all in a fuffle about whether or not this hatchling has flown my coop already. Okay or maybe that's how I play it out in my head because no one really said that to me. Do you ever do that? Create these fake scenarios that somehow become very real to you? Because I do, all the time. ALL THE FREAKING TIME and chances are I'm 99% wrong usually, but no matter, in my head that's how it goes so it must be real.
I'm not even making any sense now, please feel free to disregard.
It's late, like midnight late and that is straight ridiculous up in here. I feel like Alicia Keys when I talk like that you know, I mean I'm the whitest white girl ever but hey, I've got soul up in this bidness. Plus my dad is black and I did a song about New York with Jay-Z so that gives me cred. Except in my case my dad is whiter than me (at least his legs are) so Alicia and I do not have that much in common after all. I will neither confirm nor deny about doing any songs involving Jay-Z. Just because it hasn't happened yet doesn't mean it won't. Humph.
I just finished up some work that I didn't get to earlier thanks to a nice toddler fever and an afternoon spent in bed with my number one Spoonie Love From Up Above, or perhaps you know him better as Nub. Usually me no likey random fevers, but in this case we hung out for like 2 hours, napping off and on and banking some serious tender time together. And then this is the part where the panic sets in because of what I'm about to do to his life in a few short weeks. Never shall we be the same. I want to wax poetic about it and likely I will at some point so go ahead an gird your loins for that. But tonight, maybe just appreciate this post as a good example why I should always go to bed before 11, yeah?
Mayhaps today is an exception to the "Monday sucks" rule because we are decompressing and being awesome after the insanity of birthday weekend. I'm walking around in no bra with my shirt exposing a good 2 inches of white skin and ginorm belly (everything is too short these days), and my kid is in a diaper and pajama top after already having been hosed off once from playing in the dirt and likely at least twice more before the day is through. What can I say, we keep it classy.
I've got mountains of laundry to do and a kid to detox thanks to a diet consisting solely of root beer, any other drink sitting around that he filched, cake, and chips for the last three days. That's it.
Speaking of chips, here he is opening his favorite present:
a bag of doritos
seriously exciting if you're two I guess
Other things that excite me about today:
1. Costco coupons. Did you see that they finally stopped doing the co-coupon for diapers and wipes together? Sometimes I just want a diaper coupon you know? Today I got that wish. $6 off a box man, jackpot. I'll take two please. Except wait, I just realized I have to renew my membership this month too. DOH!
2. I'm not wearing a bra and I'm going to do my best to avoid doing so the rest of the day. I know I already mentioned this, but seriously, sometimes swinging low is the way to go youknowwhatimsayin?
3. I wrapped up some serious projects this weekend. That felt good, real good.
4. Dinner is already planned thanks to left overs.
off to Grandma Connie and Papa's for his very first sleepover sans Mama.
Sitting alone in this empty house I have so much to do; writing to catch up on, my bed to make, laundry to fold, birthday details to manage (how can he be turning 2 already?), a baby quilt to bind, a room to paint, a lawn to mow, more beans to pick (do they never stop growing back?), the list could go on infinitely I'm quite sure.
But instead, the only thing I want to do is sit here and think deeply about how much my life has changed in two short years, and how all this quiet isn't something I ever want to get used to again.