Entries from July 2007 ↓

Dear Baby,

You need to wait a day or two before making your appearance.  Give me time to get over this horrendous cold/stomach bug or your delivery may make headlines.

Mother’s Head Explodes Giving Birth

Clean up expected to take weeks

That’s not how I’d like to be remembered.

Love,

Mom

Tim and I were able to go on a date last night, thanks to some friends who generously offered to watch the boys.

I thought 1408 might be good when the ticket seller mentioned seeing it three times.  We missed the first few minutes due to the website incorrectly posting the showtime and I apologize to the four other viewers for coming in late.  We were fast and attempted to be quiet, but the seat I chose in the dark was broken and dumped me unceremoniously toward the floor.  It is hard enough to be graceful with limbs the length of mine.  Throw in being nine month pregnant and forget it.

Other than floundering around trying to stand up and not make a scene the movie was excellent.  I had heard that John Cusack had done a fantastic job and I was not disappointed.  The movie while not lifted word for word from the story was impressively adapted for the screen.   It has been a long while since I have seen a thriller that didn’t rely entirely on gore or “cat in the closet” scares.

We finished off the evening with sushi (hush, I don’t indulge often) and a ride home through last night’s impressive lightning show.

Thank you to our friends for allowing us this last escape before baby.

We’re ready now.

JAZ from over at Choose Charleston pointed to my little blog when he wrote of Moncks Corner.  I love my not-as-little-as-it-was-town.  Growing up, we only ventured to the County Seat when we had to pay car taxes or -gasp- traffic tickets.

I never got to see a movie at the drive-in which was recently torn down to make way for the East Shore Athletic Club.  Frankly, I’m excited about a new gym.  I belong to the Y, but honestly it has been due to lack of alternatives rather than exciting enticements.

Back in highschool, we used to drive to the Strawberry Shortstop, a gas station on Old Hwy 52 that is long gone.  We had no reason to leave Goose Creek, it was just somewhere to go, back then when gas was $0.99 a gallon it was the drive, not the destination.  We played fox and hounds with CB radios and got lost in the Francis Marion forest.

We’d scare ourselves silly out at Strawberry Chapel looking for Little Mistress Chicken who had been tied to a tombstone as punishment for talking in class.

As a military brat, I spent hours upon hours in the lake at Short Stay, but I had never been to Lions Beach until this summer, where my youngest son is turning bronze and bleach blond.  The other only a slightly darker shade of ecru, he takes after me.

I enjoy how I always need to tack an extra five or ten minutes onto errands, because I am almost guaranteed to run into someone I know.

It’s bittersweet watching the new subdivisions grow.  I love this town and while I’m happy it’s not drying up and blowing away, part of me wants it to stay the same.

I often mull over post ideas for a few days, allowing them to ripen or die on the vine.  I have one rolling around on the concept of splurging at little or no cost.  One of my personal favorites is to tuck the monkeys in bed and soak in the tub accompanied by a good book, a few squares of dark chocolate, and something icy cold to drink.

A blogger buddy of mine probably just had a neurosis based coronary at the thought.  I wonder if the knowledge that the actual toilet is in a water closet will revive her?

Latest advice from the doc:

Don’t wait until you know you are in labor, come in if you think you MIGHT possibly be in labor.

Eyes glued to the clock.

Are they picking up or slowing down?  Just another sleepless night or is it time to call grandma to babysit.?  I told Tim it’s like having a hammer hanging over my head.  I know it’s going to hurt when it falls.  I know it won’t be for long, but knowing it’s unpleasant does put some damper on the excitement.  Like many  pregnant women I have a developed a minor obsession with birth stories.  I enjoy reading the midwifery blogs. Occasionally I stumble upon one that is tragic and yet I can’t tear myself away.  At other times I read the ones by those who believe themselves to be the embodiment of a goddess while giving birth and I laugh until I cry.  A positive outlook is helpful, but there is a line where you cross into the absurd.

I ‘ve done it both ways and I plan on trying to go natural once again, simply because the recovery was so much easier.  I will take a few hours of pain over weeks of discomfort any time.   You won’t hear me speaking of dancing on rainbows envisioning flowers during the expansions.  Contractions hurt, about that I have no illusions.

I think we’re down to days, but my house is clean and my freezer is nearly full.  I’m ready.

My birthday is tomorrow, I want to spend the day curled up with Harry Potter.  Hopefully I can.

Vera tagged me as a Rockin’ Girl Blogger. The deal is to tag five other people for it. I’m generally not good at these things, but here are five more…

BadbadIvy – Without her, there’d be no Home Ec 101, Moncks Corner Moments, nor would I be writing for Lowcountry Blogs.  Thanks for turning me on to the whole thing.   I owe ya one.

Margo – I’ve enjoyed watching her love of photography grow over the last year.

April – although she’s been very quiet, as of late.

KathyT – Another nashvillian, but I don’t hold it against her.  I enjoy her zest for life.

Kat Coble – like myself, I’m sure she’ll object to the title Rockin’  but. . . There have been times where I can’t separate her writing from my own internal monologue.  This frightens and intrigues me.

Even though I’ve hardly left the couch the past few weeks, I’ve managed to become behind in almost every venture.  I’m not even counting housework, as my doctor said, “I don’t care if it collapses, ignore it.”

Tuesday the restrictions are lifted and I can herd the dustbunnies, negotiate a truce with the laundry, and wipe out anything that may be growing in the bathrooms.  It’s probably telling that these things weigh so heavily on my mind.

It won’t be long.

Last night I skirted doctor’s orders and headed down to the beach with Margo for some pictures.  I didn’t want to miss what will be my last opportunity for maternity pictures.  It’s a closing chapter in my life, bittersweet with relief and very little regret.

These two are my favorites, but check out her post for more.

What’s blooming and why does it hate me so?

Once there was a husband who complained of a wicked sore throat.  He moaned and groaned, sweating and pale.

“Go to the doctor!”

“It’s just a cold.”

One by one we’re succumbing to spiking fevers and glassy eyes.   Expensive trips to Urgent Care, throat swabs, shots, and antibiotics.

I’m the last one standing.  A few more sleepless nights and nothing will save me.  I swear, if I go into labor with strep throat, there will be Hell to pay.

Aidan and Mark like to play with my old student trumpet.  Eventually we may have to get a second.