And That’s Why I’m In Jail . . .

. . .  not really, but I think after you hear the conversation I just had you’d believe I acted in self defense.

I stopped by a Dollar General store near our school to pick up a couple of things before my first class started, and as the check-out lady approached me, she said, “Oh, you look like you’re ready to go at any time.  When’s your due date.”

When I told her I had 6 weeks until my due date, she looked incredulous and asked, “Are you having twins?”

“No.”  I replied.  “Just a big boy, I guess.”

“Oh good.  A boy and a girl.”  She replied.  “And then I hope they’ll tie your tubes.”

I had no response.  Was she commenting  on me personally?  She went on:

“Everyone’s having too many babies these days and the doctor’s aren’t doing anything to stop it.  I had to beg them to tie my tubes after my daughter.  They kept telling me I might change my mind.  I think it should be a routine procedure . . . ” and then, mercifully, my debit card processed, and she handed me the bag and I escaped a potentially harmful situation.

So what would you have said in a situation like that?  Or would you be calling your husband to bail you out of jail on an assault charge?

Slow Downs and Interruptions

Suppose the productive members of an organization are, over a short period of time, forced to work in half the space, doing fifty percent more work to support a growing community that not only fails to produce, it actively consumes the production of the productive members.  One would assume this would result in shortages, slow downs in service,  interruptions and general confusion.  In the extreme it could even cause localized strikes.

I am not speaking of our current economic system.  I am referring to the human body during pregnancy.

All of my organs have been squished into half the space they normally occupy and are being expected to do fifty percent more work to support a life that will eventually be self sufficient, but isn’t yet.  It shouldn’t then surprise me when I have daily reflux, and some of the other “service interruptions” that accompany pregnancy.

I praise the Lord (as I reach for the tums) that I’m not experiencing some of the real problems that some women do.  While my body is protesting a little, ( alright, sometimes I feel like I might burst open like a ripe melon) overall, it is carrying the load very well – better in some areas than during my pregnancy with the mackerdoodle.  I’m not experiencing edema this time around (hallelujah) and I’m (interestingly, considering I have a toddler) mostly sleeping better. 

Being bigger (much bigger)  (much, much bigger) than I was with the mackerdoodle ever, people are trying to encourage me by saying “Oh, you’re going to have a big, healthy boy!”  Let me point out that while the healthy part would be an answer to prayer, the *big* part is not what I want to hear.  Remember:  I’m the one who has to DELIVER the big boy.  A strapping son with big shoulders and strong legs is fine AFTER birth, but I don’t want to think about that NOW if you don’t mind.  🙂    My persistent Braxton-Hicks contractions make me hopeful that I’ll deliver the cheesedoodle a little early (37 or 38 weeks would be just fine) but I fear that if people keep telling me how big my boy will be, my body may launch a strike and demand early emancipation from its burden.

I Know a . . .

A week ago a friend of ours (who happens to be married to our pastor) gave me two kids CDs so the mackerdoodle would have some music in our van.  One of them is a series of fun Christian songs and the other is a collection of fun nursery rhyme style kids songs like “The Ants Go Marching” and “Old McDonald” which are some of the mackerdoodle’s favorites.  There are a lot I’ve never heard before, like “Let’s Go Fishing at the Crawdad Hole,” so periodically Jonathan and I find ourselves stopping a conversation and saying “What did they just sing?”

One such song that made us both sit up and take notice had the following lyrics:

I know a Weenie Man
He owns a weenie stand
He sells most everything from hotdogs on down
Someday I’ll change his life
I’ll be his Weenie Wife
Hot Dog!  I love that Weenie Man!  (repeat)
By the second time through, we both had tears in our eyes from trying to suppress our middle school boy style giggles.  You see for Jonathan and for me the word weenie had a lot of connotations growing up, and none of them applied to a carnival food.  The song just took us back to that stage in our lives when words like “weenie” and “dorcas” made us giggle.
To make matters worse, as I listened to the song, I began to think about the way my mackerdoodle says words right now: water is “wawee”, flowers are “fwawee”.  I fear that should my daughter try to sing the weenie man song, it would come out this way:  “I know a wee-wee man, he owns a wee-wee stand . . .” and it would go downhill from there. 
In my mind’s eye I saw a time in the not too distant future when we are meeting new people in St. Louis and all of a sudden my daughter would sing out “I know a wee-wee man.”  The hypothetical person would look shocked and say “Who taught your daughter that song?”  I made a decision the second the scenario came into my mind.  I’ll just have to be honest and tell the truth and let the chips fall where they may. 
If asked who taught my daughter to sing about a “wee-wee” man, I would look them in the eye and say “My pastor’s wife.”

For Comparison’s Sake

I thought I’d do something fun today.  I have a picture of me at 33 weeks with the mackerdoodle, so I thought I would put on the same outfit, and we could compare baby bumps.  I had worn this particular outfit the day before I delivered the mackerdoodle, so I was pretty confident I’d be fine.

I was wrong.

The shirt did not button!  IT DIDN’T BUTTON!

That’s me at 33 weeks with the mackerdoodle (and my sister and her two daughters almost 2 years ago) in the shirt that didn’t button this morning.

Here I am at 33 weeks pregnant with the cheesedoodle.  I think the picture speaks for itself.  By the time I deliver, a burqa may be my only clothing option!

Fashion Week: If I Ran the Fashion World

I’m tired of clothes. 

Please don’t misunderstand that statement!  I am a firm believer in clothes as a functional tool!  (especially at my current water buffalo size)  I’m just tired of having to find clothes that match, find clothes that fit, find clothes that I like, find clothes that actually serve their functional purpose as opposed to clothes that seem designed to cover as little as possible, and acentuate the rest.  I’m tired of clothes.

I think I would like to see burquas available in North America.  I would love the burqua option.  I wouldn’t have to worry about doing my hair, I wouldn’t have to worry about anything matching, I wouldn’t have to worry about things fitting.  There’s no such thing as a maternity burqua, because they’re ALL shaped like tents.  Every morning I could get up, put on a clean burqua and go about my day, at night it would go in the hamper and once a week I could wash them, and hang them up and I’d be ready to go for the next week. 

There would be no sorting laundry, because they’re all the same color.  There wouldn’t be folding laundry, because I’d just hang them up.  I think a burqua is right up my fashion alley.

Last week I expressed this opinion to my husband.  He looked at me, with a pained expression, and said, “But if you wore burquas all the time, you’d never shave your legs.”  Which just goes to prove that there are no perfect fashion choices. 

Please don’t get me wrong – I am not trying to make light of the oppression of women in muslim culture.  I don’t think the law should REQUIRE burquas as the only modest form of clothing.  I’d just like it as an option.  And I promise to shave my legs.