Summer is here

Good christ, it is hot. Blech. I am using the power of positive imagery to get through this. In my mind, I am sashaying my sleek fecund form around town in my litte tank top and flowy skirt, my now long curly hair swinging in a pert cute way as I glow my way through the end of this pregnancy. A reality check would show that I am waddling around with my thin clothing clinging to my glistening ever-more rotund body, 'flowing' curls gently sticking to my face and neck as I schvitz in the heat. This body which had the coffee shop guy exclaim this morning, "Wow - you look ready to pop any second now!" and the used baby goods store proprietor offering to carry my purchases to my car for me. (I take in hand-me-downs that hit the gross trifecta - pink, frilly and floral - and exit with lovely orange clothes and dirt cheap baby-proofing devices for our house. Win-win for everyone.)

No news is good news to the OB. I saw the wife of the practice this morning, and all is well. Baby is clearly dropping, as I am finally measuring behind (I am almost 38 weeks along, and measuring only 36 weeks, which means about 2 weeks worth of baby growth is now lodged in my pelvis. Yahoo, I say.) The most significant change from last week is that peeing has become a directional event. I sit down and nothing happens. I have to twist, turn, shift, crouch, and jiggle until I find a position that allows my bladder to find a way to work around the human head blocking its way. Most interesting, and I'm sure I'd enjoy the humor if I didn't have to PEE. I walked out of the OBs office with a doctor's note stating that I am not allowed to work more than 4 hours per day (Yippee! and thanks to all who talked me through the decision to put myself before my job). She narrated as she wrote, "Homestead Mom is only allowed to work 4 hours per day from now until the end of her pregnancy, as the process of creating a human life is contra-indicated with working full time at this point." When I read the actual script I was a little sorry that it didn't really write it like that. I think it was totally accurate. I will now be napping in the early afternoon, and then working on the house, or taking walks with Pequita in the best stroller in the world, or riding the lawn mower over our acreage (hey - the vibrations might induce labor!) or - blessed be - lying on the couch watching BBC America reruns of gory mysteries (all of which seem to star Robson Green) with a tall glass of iced anything balanced on my belly. Damned luxurious, eh?

The homestead is clean - Homestead Mama and I were up til midnight last night getting it put to rights so I can relax and not dread going into labor in squalor. My mother says she'll tidy when she arrives, but she'll be taking care of Pequita, which is at this clingy stage a full-time job. I've gotten rid of so much superfluous crap that I think the dogs believe that we're moving again - they are annoyingly underfoot in case we make a break for it & leave them behind. They aren't stupid. I hope the garbage collectors have enough room in their truck for all our bags by the curb.

Life is good, my friends.