It worked before

Dear Uterus,

Thank you.  You've been truly great the last 40 weeks and 2 days.  Really.  You've made my life much easier than I expected it to be and I am forever grateful.  Not all uteruses were created equal and you seem to be one of the best.  You were made to carry babies.  Good job.  But it's my turn to hold him now.  You've had your share.  Give him up.

Now I know we've been a little unsure about when your tenure would be up.  But everybody else has been ready to help him move on out for weeks now and you won't release your grip.  I am convinced yesterday was the day.  You missed a deadline. You know how I feel about that.

Maybe you're scared.  Me too.  But would you rather spend each day scared or just buck up and face the inevitable?  Because seriously, there's only one way for this all to end.  And maybe you don't know what to do.  I'd buy that if you weren't so freaking awesome at your job the past 40 weeks.  I think you know.  You've even been practicing.  It's time to take the plunge and contract.  Repeatedly.  Now.

Now I don't want to threaten you, but the reality is if you decide to be stubborn and hold your ground and refuse, the doctor will intervene.  He'll force you to.  It's called induction and it will happen before week's end.  I know it's not fair.  But it's not fair for you to hold my baby hostage anymore, either.  Yes, I appreciate the physical comfort of not contracting, but you're throwing my hips and nerves all out of whack everywhere else - essentially holding my body hostage, too.  Let me be clear - I hate the idea of induction.  Hate it.  Can't really explain all the reasons why, but I don't want it.  You're just leaving me no choice.

But you still have options.  Contract.  Today.  Break that bag of waters.  Right now.  Just do it.  I know you can.  You'll be great.  In fact, the progress we've made the last three weeks tells me this will be quick and easy.  There are people out there who labor for 12 hours to get to where we are.  It's time.  Let's go.

sweet dreams

They say that the dreams you have while pregnant are some of the most entertaining you'll have your whole life.  I'd have to agree.

It's especially helpful when you sleep as much as I have been the past few days - you remember them better.

Last night, I dreamt that the reason why I hadn't had my baby yet was because it was essential that I convinced Gorbachev to submit to the life-saving dialysis that he was refusing.  I was forced to go visit him - at the Korean strip mall where Keith's best friend used to own a coffee shop in Washington D.C.  And as soon as ol' Gorbachev would agree to go on dialysis, I was promised that I would go into labor.  I was seeking advice from everyone I knew about how to convince him it was worth it because if he said no, would I be pregnant forever?  Or just until he died?  No one could tell me.  And why in the world was this my responsibility over all the people in the world?  It was extremely frustrating.  In part because I woke up wondering - who is Gorbachev again? 

Just a glimpse

You can read a lot about parent/child bonding and still not understand it. I sort of understand it when it comes to my parents, but I cannot grasp the bond I'm creating with my child. Not even close. To be perfectly frank, I fear it won't come as easy for me as it does for some. I pray it does. And every once in a while, God gives me a little glimpse of just how beautifully he orchestrates this bond, even when you aren't paying attention.

The first time my heart twinged with the thought of being on the parent side of this relationship was in our breast feeding class. I was uncomfortable and frustrated and overwhelmed. And then, in an effort to prove to the men in the class (my husband being one of them) that men really do matter in the feeding process, the nurse spoke about going into rooms to examine babies, making them upset, and dad just walking over and speaking to the baby, calming them down. These are babies who are 4 hours old and they recognize the voice and the smell of their daddy enough to trust the safety he offers, even without the warmth of his embrace. That's incredible.

And last night, we kicked off care group season by passing around our newest member, a 3 week old 7 pounder. She's tiny. It's hard to comfort someone so tiny. She started squaking something fierce. Mom stood up, crossed the room, picked her up, and it was over. In an instant. She wasn't unsafe or uncomfortable or abandoned in someone else's arms. But they weren't her mommy's. And that's really all she wanted. It's miraculous. I can't believe I get to take part so soon!

I love fall

Trapper keepers and new erasers.
Haircuts and new lunch boxes.
Gym shoes that squeak and school shoes that stain the tips of your socks brown because you forgot to waterproof them and it's still hot enough to sweat at recess.
Organized locker.
The new kid.
Slippers in the morning.
The down comforter at night.
Pumpkin. Spice. Lattes.
New jeans.
Long sleeves.
Hooded sweatshirts.
The breeze.
Dusk at dinner time.
The colors orange, red, and gold.
Crunchy leaves on the sidewalk.
Cider.
Routine.
Good hair days (aka less humidity)
Football games (aka marching bands)
Baking.
Stew.
Chilly husband.
Cozy husband.
Snuggles.
Red wine and green tea.

I really lucked out having a fall baby... fall weeks at home totally make up for spending a hot summer pregnant. I just can't wait.

What Mario isn't telling you

Evidence of "the man" in my life can be found at Getty Images.
Any guesses where we might show up?

Bonus points if you can name the TV reference in this post's title.

Hey, you - office pooper:

Our one-holer toilet closets don't offer much air circulation. Therefore, when you poop, turn off the light (and subsequently the fan) and then shut the door, you trap your poo smell in that tiny little room until someone finally breaks down and knocks on the shut door only to realize they've been pacing outside of an empty room for 20 minutes and then enter only to be knocked out by the fumes.
As far as I see it, you have two options:
1. Buck up, trooper. Everybody poops. And lots of people do it at work. So leave the door open at least a bit to let it air out. If you're feeling exceptionally self conscious (even after the courtesy flush), then leave the light/fan on. And give the room a little squirt of that fancy little air freshener that sits right there next to the toilet. Yes, if you squirt it, I might catch on to the fact that you dropped a deuce while you were in there for 20 minutes. But I'm here to tell you I'm onto you even without the courtesy of a little fresh air.
2. If you must close the door, leave the frickin' fan on!
3. And while we're on the subject, another note. If you stand up to pee, why wouldn't you do it in the urinal? It's right there. And when you pee in there, I can't hear it. And yep, I can hear you in there.