Butter Pecan

I love everything about Miss Darcy. She is sweet and gentle and her skin is warm and velvety and her head is fuzzy and soft. Her eyelashes emerge more everyday, and I love it when she coos with me. Her first smile caught me by surprise. I was holding her in my left arm and I was on the phone with a friend, looking over some cub scout paperwork (the friend was my assistant den leader, and she is taking over as Bear leader). We were discussing the art belt loop, when I looked down at my baby. She caught my eye, almost like she was trying to look at me. I lingered on her face for a moment, because that look seemed familiar, and then I saw the corners of her little mouth turn up into a smile, followed by a tiny "gaa." So cute, so easy to be in love with.

Something that I never expected to love is butter pecan ice cream. For Pete's sake, it's the stuff grandpas like. As it so happens, both of my children's grandfathers were recently visiting with us (to see Miss Darcy, of course) and when each accompanied Husband to the grocery store, they both chose butter pecan ice cream to bring home. After they left, I found myself needing a treat. We dished up some bp, and I have been hooked ever since. I must be getting older.

The Princess Who Will Never Become a Queen

A year or two ago, a character started popping up in our family fiction: a certain princess who would never become queen. When I first heard about her, she struck me as a tragic figure and I wondered why Husband would have ever come up with her in the silly stories he tells the children. Well, I came to understand that she was actually the construct of my sweet little Goose. Long, long ago we had a dinner discussion where one of the children informed her that she would be a Grandma someday. Well, it was if she were staring her mortality in the face and she recoiled in horror. And apparently she still holds this sentiment. The other day Husband brutally told her, "Goose, even if a princess doesn't become a queen, she'll still GET OLD."
But bless her soul, she's sticking to her notions. She is "playing chess" with Cheeseball right now and she insists that her queen be called a princess!

So last night I was very naughty and took a hot bath. The standard answer to whether pregnant women can bathe is, "Yes, in water that is no hotter than 100 degrees," the idea being that you don't want to raise your body temperature because that can reduce the blood flow to the baby and cause distress. Well guess what? Cold baths stink. So I filled up the tub and checked the temperature. It registered a scalding 104.7 but it didn't feel very hot to me. I figured I wouldn't stay in too long. And I don't think I did, but all night I was bothered that I wasn't really able to feel the baby move. I think I have felt it a little today, but I'm pretty annoyed with myself. Husband is right, I should just avoid baths for the next six months.

15 weeks and counting

I've been able to feel the baby move for at least four weeks now, which, according to the internet, is much earlier than the typical 16 weeks. I experience mid-abominal flutterings when I sit or lay still and I'm reassured that the little person is still there. It feels like a big ball bearing slowly rolling through the midst of me.
I have been feeling great, other than I'm totally lazy and completely unmotivated to do anything that takes any effort. The only downsides for pregnancy for me are scary, ugly veins on my legs and the rouund ligament pain that I get when I move too fast. Oh, and this time around, I apparently can't eat raw red onions without feeling a little ill.
Ever since I learned I was pregnant I've been checking up on the baby online, to see how big it is or what it looks like or should be doing. It's such a different experience than when I was first expecting 17 years ago when everything was a guess and wonder.
The other kids are pretty excited. Beulah has finally stopped suggesting names every ten minutes (don't tell anyone but I like "Violet" and Rob and I both like "Gaius" but I don't think we're considering it seriously because it is a fairly ridicuous name with Battlestar Gallactica baggage) and Goose lovingly pats my stomach every once in a while.
I ordered some maternity clothes from Old Navy last night. Maxi dresses here I come.
It's amazing how this pregnancy has changed everything in our lives and yet it feels right and almost perfectly planned. I am so excited to see my big kids come to the hosptital after the birth--this will be the first time since the first that I don't have to worry about a toddler playing with the cords around my bed and and IV hook-up.
I thank God for this miracle and gift.

Letting it all hang out

So at five minutes to 9:00 at night I found myself in the obscure section of the Water Garden Cinema 6 parking lot, waiting for Beulah to text me if she was able to get tickets for her and a friend to see a movie. I have my phone out and I'm playing a game of sudoku to pass the time. I switch on the radio and I hear a familiar baseline . . . . "Starlight" by Muse, one of my favorite songs (ever since I saw The Tourist and heard that same baseline at the start of the credits--what a great finale!). I'm in my fuzzy leopard pajamas with my coat on and I can't stop myself. I close my eyes and start to sing along, "Far away, this ship is taking me far away, far away from the memories," but I can't keep my eyes closed too long because I'm playing sudoku and it's going so well. I think I might be slightly dancing in my seat by now. Singing, dancing, playing, buzzed by my unusual beverage choice of orange Sunkist soda, I look up and see a guy emerge from the car parked next to me, looking amused. It's nice to enjoy life's little pleasures.

Today I read Like Water for Chocolate. It was entertaining and interesting, but I am not a believer in the strange form of obsessive love that so often presents itself in Latin novels. I just finished Love in the Time of Cholera, which took me five or six weeks to read. Very intriguing characters, amazing detail and descriptions, and yet I'm still frustrated by this irrational, all-consuming passion that insists on calling itself love, yet isn't based on any true familiarity or friendship--just a feeling that manifests itself and seems uncontrollable. I guess I don't trust feelings to be reliable or long lasting. Or fair, even. I think they have their place in courtship, but to place your entire life's happiness based on an emotion experienced with eye contact is absurd.


Gloria