March. Oh, March. Get at me! And bring your friend April too! February took as long to get through as listening to a voicemail from your grandma, didn't it? The winter of the "Polar Vortex." The winter of my discontent. You know shit is jacked up when you walk outside in 25 degree temperatures and you're like, "It's warm today!"
Add third trimester pregnancy and a head cold that has more staying power than a Viagra boner to the frigid mix and you're dealing with a very dangerous woman. It's probably best for both of us that I haven't spent much time around here or I'd have scared you off long ago. But if you're still here, I'm impressed. And I have much to share with you eventually! First we need to get through the birth of this here third kid I'm due to have on Monday.
That's right. Monday is the official due date. But we all know due dates are fairly meaningless. Like meeting up with that friend you have that's late to everything, you just kind of go into a dinner date expecting they'll be twenty minutes late so you may as well order your first drink and check Facebook on your phone because twenty minutes late is on time for them. I'm not saying I'll lovingly endure being pregnant once the official due date comes and goes because rest assured life will be miserable for anyone forced to deal with me during that time period, I'm just saying that I'm psyching myself up for the long haul.
Since this whole midwife/home birth thing is going to be a new experience for us we've decided to share it with you. Whoa. Whoa. Ho. Hold on there... Relax. I feel an obligation to assure you that there will be no talk of mucus plugs, bodily fluids, no vagina monologues, nothing that you can’t read while enjoying a sandwich, in fact. There will be photos but so help me god there will be no photos of my naked, bloated body, no baby covered in all manner of bodily substances – just a loose, hopefully humorous, sharing of events as they occur. The birth plan is there is no birth plan. We have no expectations other than bringing the little guy here as safely, happily and calmly as possible. We’re confident in our midwife but are prepared to transfer to a nearby hospital should any unforeseen complications occur.
It's mostly going to be Serge doing the updating as I'm trying to protect you from experiencing my current mood. Because unless you enter my room with an offering of a vegetarian burrito bowl from Chipotle you may as well just keep your distance.
Oh hey. Hi. I'm still here! I won't go away again, I don't think. Obviously I'm dealing with some personal stuff that isn't too difficult to figure out if you've been reading here for any period of time. However, I don't feel like writing about it just yet. So I took the blog down for a week to avoid splattering my guts all over here in some highly hormonal pregnant state. Look at that! I'm making grown up lady choices about what to share here on my blaaawg.
This morning I waged war against aching hips and a lower back whinier than Henry on his worst day and immersed myself in below freezing temperatures to walk through our neighborhood.
It was fairly early... No sound but the distant whoosh of passing traffic on the other side of the farms lining the northern half of our village. The sky was azure, snow like powdered sugar, golden cornstalks shyly peeking through the drifts and air so cold each inhale was a refreshing slap to the lungs.
The snow crunched beneath my footsteps but I couldn't hear it, only feel the shifting vibrations against the soles of my shoes, because instead of the silence I listened to Mazzy Star: Look On Down From The Bridge.
Everybody seems so far away from me
Everybody just wants to be free
Look away from the sky
It's no different when you're leaving home
I can't be the same thing to you now
I'm just gone, just gone
How could I say goodbye?
How could I say goodbye?
Know those scenes in music videos or in the movies where someone stands still while traffic and people move obliviously around them at increased speed? That's how I feel right now. All the time. Just another bird floating on a hurricane.
Action is required but I am molosses: thoughts, movements, feelings... Sticky and slow-moving. Fills my mouth, drips thickly down my throat, into my chest, a gummy mass surrounding my dead heart and then it fills my stomach until I feel like I could spend hours, days, spray-puking the sad/beautiful/horrifying/dazzling/heartbreaking realities of love and life and death and never be finished.
I see your mouth moving but I can't hear what you're saying.
I know the days are slipping by but I'm not keeping count.
"Some guys don't dig signs of natural maturity in a woman. For what its worth, they are not my brothers in any of this. For me, there is nothing quite as alluring as when I see an intriguing woman with little crow's feet at the corners of her eyes. I just think crow's feet on certain feminine faces are magnificent; when a girl smiles and they subtly appear like teeny angels knocking on the windowpanes of her eyeballs: grrrrrrr. Plastic surgery is the enemy, people. Remember that."
Serge apparently has a thing for gothic chicks. I did not know this until now. He also likes crow's feet on women. If you want to know what else about the ladies drives Serge wild, check it out here.