Sean came to me, his face was one of resignation, “Can you grab my headlamp?” I dashed to the kitchen, you know, like 39+week pregnant are wont to do, and snagged the headlamp from the drawer of the table in our kitchen, the kitchen that is just three light fixtures and the trim around one window from being completed. Sean was waiting for me upstairs, he was kneeling in front of a wall. I looked at him and then at the wall. He was directly in front of the small access panel to the plumbing of our upstairs bathroom, the only bathroom with a shower. Shit. Fuck. Of fucking course. “What are you thinking?” I asked after my silent homeowner prayer. “Honey, I think…
Archive for
Crocuses spring from the bleakest pockets of our yard, brilliant flashes of purple and white unexpectedly punctuating dark corners with cheer. The girls are like that, taking the most mundane moments and infusing them with a joy and passion that steals my breath. On walks they exclaim over planes and the song of an unseen bird. They laugh hysterically over the neighborhood cats lolling about beneath cars. My resting face is a smile when I am with them and, when I am not, I can capture their zest, laughing at my reflection in the window of a parked car, or seeing the preciousness of someone’s child in the grizzled face of the man behind me at the bank. I find myself deliciously conflicted, anxiously…
Did you watch?Did you root?Did you boo?Did you hiss? We flipped back and forth, fast enough at times that it seemed like Seacrest was calling the game, Stephanopoulos was questioning song choices and the YES commentators were grilling Obama. A brief driveway chat with a neighbor revealed that I have a “decent beer gut,” on me that’s “big enough for twins,” if you ask his daughter. Other neighbors were quick to say some of the things I bitched about yesterday, but they also said quickly, “Is that awful? Should we not say that?” All in all, it was kind of nice to know they cared, even if my first impulse was to kick them in the teeth with my swollen feet. I kid. My…
Categories: Me
And there we have it. Yes, I’ve “progressed.” No, I’m “not ready.” And, “you’ll deliver by next week.” She is doing her cute 16 kittens in a gunny sack dance right now. I keep telling her it’s roomier out here, but she isn’t buying it. Today, as a way of not wallowing in disappointment about not going into labor, I wore a flippy dress and kicky shoes. Briar’s eyes bugged out of her head as she saw me descend the stairs like a princess…a princess with an “e-noe-muss belly.” I felt absolutely glorious. Gorgeous. Radiant. Cross your fingers I can hold on to that until “next week.” xo
Categories: Me
Ok, so maybe I pulled the wagon all the way to the park.And maybe I ran up and down the stairs and over the bridge a couple times.I might’ve even tried to climb the boat and sprint the gangway while we were at the park. So these contractions, and their escalating intensity and rather impressive regularity and growing frequency, they could be just another “Amanda pushed too hard” fluke. Or maybe they aren’t, which has me thinking, how is it possible? Look at these girls. They are exquisite in every way, from their impossibly adorable curls, to their fiery tempers and iron wills. From their strong limbs and distinct voices to their early morning and late night quirks. My girls. And soon, another. My…
Categories: Mama Sap