School's out,
Holiday shopping.
Cookies, pictures,
Present wrapping.
Boys running,
Toys playing.
Doctor's office,
Project making.
Family visiting,
Friends talking.
Who am I kidding?
Blog dark.
Happy New Year. I'll greet you then.
Friday, December 28
Wednesday, December 19
Dancing Baby
Sometimes, I wish I could see what you are doing. I feel those little kicking feet and grabbing hands, the spinning and dancing. I can see your movements as I rest my hands on my abdomen, and they bounce up and down. When you are moving, I dare not use my belly as a book-rest, as the words will not stay in place.
Sometimes your head causes me to feel lop-sided, off-center. Sometimes, it is difficult to breathe. Then I gently caress your precious skull, nudge it out of the way so I am more comfortable. Sometimes you let me stay in comfort for a while before returning to your previous cozy position.
I don't remember feeling so much when your brothers were babies. Perhaps I was less attentive then, or perhaps my body was simply less worn down by the work of time and chasing two boys. There are other things that I don't remember: early contractions, not painful, but the odd sensation of an involuntary hug for my little boy, and those ailments that were probably the victims of selective memory: lower back pain, aching joints, too-frequent trips to the bathroom in the middle of the night.
Too, I sometimes feel over-sized and over-stuffed, ready to bring you into this world, although by the numbers you still have seven or eight weeks left in the warm confines of my womb. I am convinced, through my hazy memory, that I didn't feel this full with my previous babies until much closer to their due dates.
It is partly this feeling of fullness, partly stories related to me by friends and strangers alike, partly the abundance of feeling, and partly a dream last spring about a baby girl that leave me with a little fantasy, despite multiple early ultrasounds witnessing to the contrary, that I am carrying both a boy and a girl. I try to enjoy this fantasy for what it is, and take no expectations from it.
I wonder if you will arrive early, if the hospital is really baby-friendly, if labor will again be induced, if I will avoid anesthesia or drugs, and if you, like your brothers, will come quickly. But your birth will be what it will be, when you are ready.
Harboring expectations would not be fair to you, my dancing baby boy, who, like your brothers, reminds me to look at the world with new eyes.
Sometimes your head causes me to feel lop-sided, off-center. Sometimes, it is difficult to breathe. Then I gently caress your precious skull, nudge it out of the way so I am more comfortable. Sometimes you let me stay in comfort for a while before returning to your previous cozy position.
I don't remember feeling so much when your brothers were babies. Perhaps I was less attentive then, or perhaps my body was simply less worn down by the work of time and chasing two boys. There are other things that I don't remember: early contractions, not painful, but the odd sensation of an involuntary hug for my little boy, and those ailments that were probably the victims of selective memory: lower back pain, aching joints, too-frequent trips to the bathroom in the middle of the night.
Too, I sometimes feel over-sized and over-stuffed, ready to bring you into this world, although by the numbers you still have seven or eight weeks left in the warm confines of my womb. I am convinced, through my hazy memory, that I didn't feel this full with my previous babies until much closer to their due dates.
It is partly this feeling of fullness, partly stories related to me by friends and strangers alike, partly the abundance of feeling, and partly a dream last spring about a baby girl that leave me with a little fantasy, despite multiple early ultrasounds witnessing to the contrary, that I am carrying both a boy and a girl. I try to enjoy this fantasy for what it is, and take no expectations from it.
I wonder if you will arrive early, if the hospital is really baby-friendly, if labor will again be induced, if I will avoid anesthesia or drugs, and if you, like your brothers, will come quickly. But your birth will be what it will be, when you are ready.
Harboring expectations would not be fair to you, my dancing baby boy, who, like your brothers, reminds me to look at the world with new eyes.
Saturday, December 15
Front Porch
(not raw, but half-baked)
A bird serenades me
the warm sun caresses my skin
an airplane drones its path from here to there
parrots cackle.
The buzz of a large insect catches my attention
When I open my eyes I discover instead
a hummingbird has come to visit the bird of paradise.
Cars hum along their concrete path,
not knowing I am here.
A bit of music wafts on the breeze.
Leaves, brown and dry
rustle on their limbs before
fluttering to the ground.
Wind chimes tinkle and
the rope clangs
against the flagpole
across the street.
An old man rattles past
pushing a walker
his leg bound
in a large bandage.
Mysterious specks of light
(dust, pollen, rain?)
drop from the trees
to the ground.
Baby rolls over
tells me to sit up straight
and breathe.
Flower stalks waver in the wind.
Cars drone on,
the road rumbling with their passing.
The breeze tickles my toes and
cools my cheek.
And the serenade is back.
Live now with me baby
soon you will know these wonders on your own.
Linked to Wrapped Emotions, The Gift of Every Minute.
This moment was a gift to me this week.
A bird serenades me
the warm sun caresses my skin
an airplane drones its path from here to there
parrots cackle.
The buzz of a large insect catches my attention
When I open my eyes I discover instead
a hummingbird has come to visit the bird of paradise.
Cars hum along their concrete path,
not knowing I am here.
A bit of music wafts on the breeze.
Leaves, brown and dry
rustle on their limbs before
fluttering to the ground.
Wind chimes tinkle and
the rope clangs
against the flagpole
across the street.
An old man rattles past
pushing a walker
his leg bound
in a large bandage.
Mysterious specks of light
(dust, pollen, rain?)
drop from the trees
to the ground.
Baby rolls over
tells me to sit up straight
and breathe.
Flower stalks waver in the wind.
Cars drone on,
the road rumbling with their passing.
The breeze tickles my toes and
cools my cheek.
And the serenade is back.
Live now with me baby
soon you will know these wonders on your own.
Linked to Wrapped Emotions, The Gift of Every Minute.
This moment was a gift to me this week.
Precious time alone
AD has taken the boys to "climb to the top of the mountain", so I have some time to myself today.
What to do?
The house is a disaster, packages strewn about from the Inventor's birthday, floor needs vacuuming, kitchen needs cleaning, laundry needs to be done, and the Painter suggested that I go to the grocery store while they are hiking, because we are all out of juice boxes (not out of juice, mind you, or milk, or water, but those juice boxes are a critical part of the Painter's kindergarten routine). And AD just asked me to check if we have any film for our old 35 mm cameras, and to see if they work, since I've been wanting to take some photographs to celebrate my gravid state.
Or, I could have a shower, or -imagine- even a bath.
Or, I could catch up on blog reading, and respond to your comments.
Or, I could dig out the Christmas decorations, now that Hanukkah is over, and do something that I do love - decorating.
But the sun on the porch is beckoning me just now, so I think, for a while, I will just go sit.
What to do?
The house is a disaster, packages strewn about from the Inventor's birthday, floor needs vacuuming, kitchen needs cleaning, laundry needs to be done, and the Painter suggested that I go to the grocery store while they are hiking, because we are all out of juice boxes (not out of juice, mind you, or milk, or water, but those juice boxes are a critical part of the Painter's kindergarten routine). And AD just asked me to check if we have any film for our old 35 mm cameras, and to see if they work, since I've been wanting to take some photographs to celebrate my gravid state.
Or, I could have a shower, or -imagine- even a bath.
Or, I could catch up on blog reading, and respond to your comments.
Or, I could dig out the Christmas decorations, now that Hanukkah is over, and do something that I do love - decorating.
But the sun on the porch is beckoning me just now, so I think, for a while, I will just go sit.
Thursday, December 13
Taste of the Future
I experimented with working from home today. I have been telecommuting two days a week for more than a month, but usually work from AD's office, while D watches the boys at home. Now that D is gone, I thought I would try working from home so that AD could also get some grading done ... and so that I don't have to lug this anvil of a computer up the stairs at the office.
The verdict is ... (as many of you probably already know) that it is very difficult to concentrate for any span of time on work while also watching the boys.
Today wasn't an ordinary day, as we had the Inventor's three year check-up this morning, but still, I am reminded of the difficulties. Whereas it doesn't take a lot of mental energy to fold the laundry while the boys are playing, and that and similar tasks are easy to pause and return to later, trying to figure out what it is I am supposed to be doing, concentrating on an analysis, or even thinking through a response to an email is much more difficult with the constant buzz and interruptions of life and children. (They are currently happily occupied, playing with geo-mag's, but I am sure that the minute I try to concentrate, the calm will turn to chaos.)
But today was a good trial for me in another way. I found myself tidying up this morning (nesting perhaps), and thinking that I would rather do that than my work.
That's right. Right now cleaning the house (and setting a nice centerpiece on the table) is more interesting to me than work.
I guess I'm moving in the right direction.
The verdict is ... (as many of you probably already know) that it is very difficult to concentrate for any span of time on work while also watching the boys.
Today wasn't an ordinary day, as we had the Inventor's three year check-up this morning, but still, I am reminded of the difficulties. Whereas it doesn't take a lot of mental energy to fold the laundry while the boys are playing, and that and similar tasks are easy to pause and return to later, trying to figure out what it is I am supposed to be doing, concentrating on an analysis, or even thinking through a response to an email is much more difficult with the constant buzz and interruptions of life and children. (They are currently happily occupied, playing with geo-mag's, but I am sure that the minute I try to concentrate, the calm will turn to chaos.)
But today was a good trial for me in another way. I found myself tidying up this morning (nesting perhaps), and thinking that I would rather do that than my work.
That's right. Right now cleaning the house (and setting a nice centerpiece on the table) is more interesting to me than work.
I guess I'm moving in the right direction.
Happy Birthday, Dreamer
You are beautiful and amazing.
Born in Colorado three years (and three days) ago, you have become quite the traveler, following mommy and daddy on our gypsy-path to three cities and two states, as we searched for a place to work, and a place to wait.
And, you will follow us again, as we search for a place to call home.
You have learned so much in such a short time.
But we have also learned from you.
Life is messy, but that is part of the fun.Tuesday, December 11
Ready or not ...
... change is happening.
What's happening?
For more on the details, check out AD's post.
What else?
I had at first thought my OB was being over-cautious, when suggesting I take off work at week 30 or 32. Now I understand her advice. The last few days, back pain has left me uncomfortable while I am sitting, and nearly crippled when I get up. Probably just the effects of too much exertion coupled with too much sitting in the car over the weekend, but it makes me glad I will soon be able to avoid the commuting, walking, chair-sitting, and stress that are by-products of my job.
Last but not least ...
Although a corner of my mind remains unwilling to admit that the 20th will be my last day of work, not just for 4 months, but for quite a while beyond, we have started admitting our plans to our family.
Come about April, we will move to the land adjacent to the south-west corner of Lake Michigan, although the exact location has yet to be determined. For obvious reasons, AD's mom, who lives near Boston was visibly upset by this news, while my parents, who live near Chicago, were delighted to hear it (even when we inadvertently may have given them the impression we expect on-call gratis baby-sitting services from them on a regular basis).
The two primary factors in moving to that part of the country as opposed to another are the cost of living, and, more importantly, family density. In addition to my parents, we will be within a few hours drive of my three surviving grandparents (who aren't getting any younger), a half-dozen aunts & uncles, my brother & sister-in-law who are working on adopting some cousins for our brood, and a smattering of my cousins and their families. I miss seeing my family on a regular basis, and I am excited that we will be nearer to them soon. Home is where the heart is ... and my heart is with my family.
What's happening?
For more on the details, check out AD's post.
What else?
I had at first thought my OB was being over-cautious, when suggesting I take off work at week 30 or 32. Now I understand her advice. The last few days, back pain has left me uncomfortable while I am sitting, and nearly crippled when I get up. Probably just the effects of too much exertion coupled with too much sitting in the car over the weekend, but it makes me glad I will soon be able to avoid the commuting, walking, chair-sitting, and stress that are by-products of my job.
Last but not least ...
Although a corner of my mind remains unwilling to admit that the 20th will be my last day of work, not just for 4 months, but for quite a while beyond, we have started admitting our plans to our family.
Come about April, we will move to the land adjacent to the south-west corner of Lake Michigan, although the exact location has yet to be determined. For obvious reasons, AD's mom, who lives near Boston was visibly upset by this news, while my parents, who live near Chicago, were delighted to hear it (even when we inadvertently may have given them the impression we expect on-call gratis baby-sitting services from them on a regular basis).
The two primary factors in moving to that part of the country as opposed to another are the cost of living, and, more importantly, family density. In addition to my parents, we will be within a few hours drive of my three surviving grandparents (who aren't getting any younger), a half-dozen aunts & uncles, my brother & sister-in-law who are working on adopting some cousins for our brood, and a smattering of my cousins and their families. I miss seeing my family on a regular basis, and I am excited that we will be nearer to them soon. Home is where the heart is ... and my heart is with my family.
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