Hey, guess who got the Mac hooked up again? In honor of this blessed occasion, I bring you pictures!
We'll start with my new hair. As you can see, I've been shorn. I posted about this in the blog when I got it done at the end of last month; this month's salon package included my choice of either highlights or a "color gloss," and I had no idea what to do. The stylist recommended the color gloss, and as you can see, it's absolutely beautiful.
What do you mean, you can't tell the difference? It's obvious! It's...it's...well, I can't tell the difference, either. It vaguely reminds me of when Cory was a young guy and decided to color his hair blond, a la some rock star whom I can't recall. We went through many boxes of commercial hair coloring with little to no effect until his girlfriend finally decided, "To heck with scalp care," and stripped and bleached it good and proper. I guess redheads just don't color easily.
But it's short, too, and that was what I wanted. It's much easier in the care department, and I feel lighter. (In spirit, if not in hue.)
We've been doing a lot of field trips with the moms' group. We went to the apple orchard, where Sam picked tons of apples and took me on a trip through a corn maze (you get your money's worth, at least in terms of time spent, when you allow a three-year-old to lead the way), and to a pumpkin patch, where Sam fell in love with the concept of Indian corn. In that first picture, you can see the "problem" with our group; when we have whole-group outings, the majority of the kids who come are all younger than Sam. Anybody in southeastern Wisconsin with older preschoolers, especially those who parent gently, please come join us!
You can also begin to see my newest problem with photographing the boy. Lately, when anybody asks him to smile, he puts this weird, goofy, open-mouth grin on his face that makes him look maniacal. Check out the sidebar pictures for more evidence. I can't seem to convince him to smile normally; if I try to get him to change his expression, he frequently decides he doesn't want his picture taken at all.
Sam's favorite playgroup activity: hugging.
We're pretty well prepared for Beta's arrival. The birth pool is even inflated and waiting water. It takes up almost the entire dining room, but since the last time we blew up a birth pool, we found out that it had a leak and had to return it, I didn't want to take the risk of not knowing until it was too late.
And now, of course, the reason you're all here, and what you're looking for:
Folks? Those are big belly pictures, true...and they're from four weeks ago. The real scary stuff is to follow: pictures taken today, at just about 37 weeks.
Even Sam cracks up when he looks at me now, and he chases me around, trying to poke my belly button. Oh, the humanity!
You can really tell that I've dropped, though. Hot Doc didn't even bother trying to do the usual muscle manipulations with me this afternoon; it was hard enough to do them last week, and he could see that this week, those muscles would be all but impossible to reach. I told him that if I can show up for next week's appointment, I wanted him to be ready to pull tricks out of his bag to get me into labor, pronto. Only half kidding, there.
Andrea, last night, also remarked on how low Beta now is. She had trouble getting a good fundal height measurement, since the baby's head has just about disappeared into the very basement of my pelvis. No wonder I can't get my feet remotely near each other when I walk lately. I'm the envy of ducks around the world.
Of course, this pressure is more than a little painful, and it makes me feel as though I could just drop the baby onto the floor at any moment. Last night, when I groggily woke to roll over in bed (yes, I have to wake up to do that now), I had a fuzzy thought that if I just pushed hard enough as I was, I could break my water and get the show on the road. Then Beta rolled onto a nerve, and I forgot all coherent thought. Ow.
Not much more to say that hasn't been said. I'm in pain, I'm grouchy, and I'd love to be counting the minutes until Beta's arrival, only in order to do that, I'd have to know when the little scalawag is going to decide to make an appearance. Until then, I'm taking a sick sort of pleasure in freaking out those around me with my Mad Contracting Skillz. It's fun to watch passerby recoil in horror at the thought of having to help this poor woman have a baby, right in the middle of the frozen foods aisle. It's also fun to watch the furnace repairman (just a routine cleaning) try to piece together a very pregnant woman, a swimming pool in the dining room, and a large stack of towels and other supplies taking over a corner.
We get our kicks where we can.
one year ago:
There's an urgency in their play that wasn't there before - a sort of need to squeeze as much love out of their time together as possible.
two years ago:
I have to keep reminding myself that he's only one year old, since his personal belief that he's at least seven is pretty darn convincing after a while.
three years ago:
I mean, this is a giggly baby the likes of which I have never before seen!
four years ago:
What makes one toddler after another yank book after book off the shelf, throwing them on the floor and yelling?
five years ago:
Now that I think of it, there have been very few things in my life that have not gone according to plan.
In the ears:|
On the Bookshelf:
Rereading Winter's Heart