28 January 2014

Of Pregnancy Chatter

In case you missed it, I sit here at 36 weeks pregnant this morning. And clearly I've reached some sort of physical threshold with this burgeoning belly, because just this last weekend the instances of "When are you due, again?" have increased greatly - as in, everyone I see asks me this question, where it used to just be the few friends who actually cared when the baby was coming and honestly couldn't remember. Now the question means, "Wow, your belly is so big, clearly you're about to go into labor right here and I'm kind of hoping I'm not here when it happens - so just let me know if things start to feel weird and I'll bug out."

I'm 36 weeks pregnant.

For the record, that leaves me at a month away from my due date (or week, because a date is just unnecessary false hope) and, for further record, if this baby is anything like my last, I'm really about five or six weeks away from delivering (which puts me at four weeks away from, "Still in there?!" - no, I just like carrying basketballs under my shirt, it's so much more efficient). Which means six weeks of telling anyone and everyone I meet when this baby is supposed to come, it's a girl, no we don't have a name (at least not one we're sharing yet) and I'm still feeling ok and how excited we are or how ready I am for this even to transpire.

And can I be honest?

Half of what I say is a load of poo. I don't really mean it - I'm trying to gauge how you want me to respond so this umpteenth conversation about my pregnancy can end as quickly as possible. I'll tell you I feel ok because you don't want to hear about my woes, my sleepless nights or the bladder that's killing me. Conversely, if I can tell you think it's time this pregnancy were over, I'll totally agree and say I'm miserable, which I'm not, really, just a little uncomfortable sometimes. I'll say we're excited if you seem excited or say I'm nervous if you seem apprehensive about the fact that we're bringing home a fourth baby a mere few weeks after our youngest turns two (and I won't dare admit how excited I am that that's our largest gap between babies). Honestly, I just want you to go away and stop focusing on the protruding belly between us.

It's not that I don't love you. I do. I'm just done. This ain't my first rodeo and this fourth round of pregnant small talk is killing the introvert inside (ok, let's be honest, I hated it the first time) who yearns for deep conversation of any kind and does not thrive on the platitudes of well-meaning strangers and acquaintances. I understand this globe of a stomach is an obvious conversation starter but if you have nowhere to go from there, maybe just keep walking. I'd be ok with that, really.

And if you must address the elephant in the room, I'd recommend a simple, "We're looking forward to meeting her!", maybe a friendly belly rub (if you're daring - I know some moms hate it and, yes, it's awkward, but I'm totally used to it by now and at least makes me feel as though the my belly isn't an unwelcome addition to the room) and be done. No questions, no anecdotes about your sister's boyfriend's cousin who went two months past her due date (it's not helpful), just some loving encouragement.

Thank you and have a nice day.

This message brought to you by your friendly neighborhood pregnant lady.

26 January 2014

Of Our Little Home

As a good blogger, I shouldn't apologize for any absence or lack of updating on daily living, I should just jump right in, as if we've never been apart, leaving the topic of my silence to stand alone in the corner, as if it didn't even exist. Clearly I'm no good blogger as I've just started by inviting that awkward wallflower out in the middle of the floor to dance. That's ok. At least I'm not indulging in topic-snubbery. Because I do recognize, it's been awhile.

Frankly, it would have been longer, but I'm sitting in an empty house - like E.M.P.T.Y. Me. Alone. No kids. No husband. And this is maybe the second time this event has occurred in over five years. Which is apparently all the motivation (or loneliness) I need to actually pick up the keyboard and clack away on meaningless subject matter.

Truth be told, I wish this house were a little more empty, being packed away in boxes, ready to move on to our next abode. We've been trying to make that happen for nearly two months now with little to no interest happening in the housing market (at least regarding this particular house which, let's be honest, is the one I care most about right now). It makes me sad, not only because this season of waiting is trying, but also because I'm starting to feel a little defensive of our precious home.

I like this house. I really do. And if I were looking for a home and weren't 36 weeks pregnant with my fourth child, I'd totally want this house. And I just want to give it a big hug and assure it that it really is still pretty and those stupid buyers out there telling us "It's just not what we're looking for" wouldn't know a good house if it fell on their ruby red slippers. But instead I'm waiting impatiently for the day when it's not my house anymore. I suppose that's not very nice, either.

But it's not the house's fault. It's not the house's fault it only has three bedrooms and we're starting to feel that might not be enough for this family that's only getting bigger. If this home could magically sprout a few extra rooms with a few extra bunk beds stacked along the walls we'd stay in a heartbeat. We'd spend our summers in its backyard and we'd continue gathering with those neighbors we love so much. If the dining room could handle a table for twelve (or at least more than six since we'll be maxing that out in a short month or so), we'd be thrilled to enjoy a few more birthday dinners cooked right in that open kitchen.

In either case, it appears that's what we'll be doing for awhile longer, anyhow. And we're okay with that. We trust in a God that knows our needs and knows us. We are disillusioned enough in the American dream to understand that a bigger house isn't the solution to a perfect life, or even necessary for happiness. So, while we wait to see if this thing will pan out or not, we trust in Him, holding tight to our firm belief that His will is perfect - even if it means a family of six cozying up within these four walls - because we know others have done so with far less space and we don't even deserve the blessings we already have, nor do we deem to look on them with contempt.

So, here I sit, in this little home with a for sale sign in the front yard, waiting for the day it's taken down, but waiting even more anxiously for my three little blessings and their bigger blessing of a wonderful father and husband to walk through that door so we can celebrate life here just a little longer.

Until next time (which will, hopefully, not be nearly so distant) . . .