As most of you know, I conduct a choir at the church in which I grew up. Actually, my father was raised in this church as well. My grandpa, Showboat Hobbs, was the president of the congregation for a time. Needless to say, I have some serious history with the place and most of the members have known me since I was a baby. This is what makes their comments about my pregnancy so strange to me. I know they love me, but WOW! Old ladies really come up with some interesting things to say. Here is a small collection:
“Don’t worry. . . I was that huge when I was pregnant too.”
“I hope you don’t sneeze before your due date! [insert laughter. . . their laughter, not mine]”
Folks, it’s prediction time. My dear friend Kelly gave me this idea and I think it’s a great one. My official due date is November 7. What I want you to do is predict when Baby Soren will actually hatch. And for some added fun (and to be used in case of a tie), I would also like you to include your best guess as to his weight and length. The best part is that if you’re the winner, I’ll give you a prize! I don’t know what that’s going to be yet. . . but it will be rad. Oh, and we’re not going by the Price is Right rules. Who ever is closest on the date, either early or late, will be named the winner.
I really feel like I’m losing steam. When I first started this blog, I thought I would have all sorts of things to share about being pregnant, and at the beginning of it all, I did. It was weird and new and exciting. It’s still exciting, but really, it’s that finally meeting Soren will be exciting. The pregnancy? Not that exciting. I am also very fearful that if I start writing openly about being pregnant, I might start to appear whiny. Which is something I have tried not to do for the past eight months. However, I know that some of you need an update, so here’s the best I can do. Currently, Soren is running out of space and is trying to make a quick getaway out my belly button. When that doesn’t pan out, he likes to play hide and seek under my ribs. If he gets bored of playing that game, he likes to use my bladder as a speed bag. See? I sound whiny.
Another odd symptom of pregnancy which I have written about a bit, is the weird dream phenomenon. It’s pretty nuts. Well, this marvel of the placenta brain was taken to a whole new level about a month ago. Before I start, I need to say that I have gone back and forth many times trying to decide whether or not to share this. Because it makes me sound insane. But then I realized that most of you reading this already know that I am afflicted with a touch of the crazies anyway, so what’s there to lose?
Anyway, here’s the story. . .
No, WAIT! Before I start, I need to lay some ground-work. You know that part in The Godfather where the movie producer wakes up with the horse head in his bed? Okay, if you haven’t the faintest clue as to what I am talking about, you really need to bone up on your movie watching because The Godfather is pretty much one of the best movies EVER. Anyway, here’s the clip. Oh and before you watch it, know that there’s some blood. And some dead horses (sorry Meem!).
That awesome screaming you just heard? Remember it. Now, on to the story. . . one night Brandon and I went to bed. It was kind of hot and humid this particular evening, so I turned on a big fan by the bedroom door. But then the fan noise was kind of keeping me awake, so I put in some ear plugs. Then I fell asleep. A few hours later, I woke up. Nothing strage there, I always wake up in the middle of the night. So I’m laying there awake, and all of a sudden I hear the sound of a man’s voice, filtered through the white-noise of the fan and my earplugs. And he yells, “EXCUSE ME!” So naturally, I FREAK OUT and start screaming myself (this is where you need to recall The Godfather horse-head screaming except in a more high-pitched, soprano type tone. . .but there’s definitely the “ahh, Ahh, AHHHH!” crescendo pattern). Poor Brandon wakes up and is all, what is wrong with you, woman?! “There was a man screaming the doorway of our bedroom!” I reply. He looks at me, and very matter-of-factly says, “No, honey. You’re the only one who’s screaming.” Then we go back to sleep.
Apparently, I wasn’t laying there awake, but I wasn’t asleep either. There was no man. No yelling. Except for mine. And I’m really happy that Brandon was the only one there to witness my moment loonsville.