I See London, I See France...

There is a robin that sits outside of our window every morning and sings its sweet little heart out. It's very Mary Poppins. Eeeeevery single morning at 5:30 AM.

I freaking hate that bird.

The other morning the bird started singing at precisely 5:17 AM and I was so mad that I got up and went outside intending to do something about it, something involving rocks and a few pointedly stinging remarks. Unfortunately, as soon as I got outside it flew up onto the roof of the neighbors house, right above their master bedroom window where it just knew I'd be scared to throw something, and then it resumed singing. MOCKING ME.

Me, whisper-yelling: "SHUT UP BIRD."
Bird: "Tweedle tweedle twee."
Me, full of impotent rage, jumping up and down: "Go away! Go away! You suck! I hate you!"
Bird: "Tweety tweet tweet."

It was very frustrating.

(One of my neighbors has very mischievous six and ten year old boys, and I cannot for the life of me understand why she has failed to furnish them with BB guns. This seems a tragic oversight.)

(Do you think that would be an unfortunate present for someone to leave at their doorstep?)

The bird's early morning singing leaves me plenty of time for rage-fueled tossing around in bed before it is time to get up. I do this with quite a bit of irritation and loud sighing, since in my sleep deprived haze I feel quite certain that my husband ought to be Doing Something About It, although I'm not sure what that would entail. Just something. I think I would like to hear him out there screaming at that bird, really giving it the what-for. Maybe throwing something heavy, like a patio chair or the swing set.

Despite my bird fueled rage, my attitude about all things baby is finally starting to improve. It helps to have ultra-sound proof that it's a boy and not actually a demon from the netherworld as I was beginning to suspect. Unfortunately the only thing I've really done to prepare for the baby's arrival is whine a lot.

When I found out I was pregnant I walked around the house moaning about how stupid we were to give away all of our baby stuff, stupid, stupid, HOW COULD WE BE SO STUPID - thoughts I cagily kept to myself when my sister-in-law generously offered to give me some of her old baby stuff. She sweetly said she didn't need any of it anymore, because they were Done, and I did my best to nod gratefully instead of mumbling "famous last words SUCKAH," under my breath.

(Actual conversation with doctor this morning after ultrasound: Doctor: In a few weeks we can start talking about whether or not you'd like to have a tubal ligation after your c-section. Me: TIE THEM! TIE THEM NOW! I WANT THEM TIED. WITH DOUBLE-KNOTS! DO YOU DO DOUBLE KNOTS? Doctor: Uh....)

Anyway, thanks to my sister-in-law the baby will sleep in an actual crib instead of a laundry basket, and will have a stroller instead of the conveyance I was mocking up - a trained Labrador with a saddle.

We don't have a stitch of baby clothing in the house, and I'm dreading the inevitable trip to Target, where we will lay down all of our pennies as a sacrifice to the baby apparel gods. Most weeks lately I feel like Alexander, Who Used To Be Rich Last Sunday - payments from my tech writing clients come in the mail and at first I dance my wild dance of crazy glee, and then I realize the dishwasher is broken, and we owe fifty-seven million dollars to the IRS, and Carter grew two sizes over the winter and needs new pants, and the mortgage is due in three days.

I can't bring myself to spend money on maternity clothes. It seems such a waste to buy new clothes that I will use for four months. I have decided to forge ahead with wearing pajama pants and stretching out my existing shirts for the next few months, and if my underwear happens to show, well then it JUST HAPPENS TO SHOW.

All in all, I expect that I will be quite grumpy this summer, what with the pregnancy and the extreme wardrobe, and if anyone says a word about my non-conventional maternity wear, they will RUE THE DAY, because I swear if it is the last thing I do I will find a way to sic that freaking bird on them.

Ginormica LIVES

• I've been avoiding blogging, because if I blog, it's proof I'm alive, and if I'm alive then I have to actually read my email and feel guilty for not answering it in a more timely-like fashion, and if I feel guilty then I have to eat more chocolate, and if I eat more chocolate than I have already eaten I will most likely end up in a diabetic coma.
  

• I'm finally off the cursed hormones, and I feel much more like my version of normal. The hormones not only made me crazy, they also made me narcoleptic. I was falling asleep anywhere and everywhere. While sitting at a stoplight. Standing in the grocery store looking at fruit. Typing a sentence. In the middle of saying something to my husband. I could stay awake and reasonably alert around the kids for most of the day, but by dinner time I was pretty much done. It wasn't all that uncommon for my husband to come home after work and find me dead asleep, sprawled on the hardwood floor in the kitchen, the kids running around scavenging for food and generally recreating scenes from Lord of the Flies.

• I'm at that stage where nothing fits very well, but I'm still resisting maternity pants in favor of sweats and really baggy jeans. The baby is only about the size of a cantaloupe right now, but I do not let this define the size of my stomach. I like to stay ahead of the pregnancy fashion curve (why look five months pregnant when you can look seven? Tres fashion forward).
  
  With all of my other pregnancies I've been pretty careful about gaining weight. I didn't need to be any heavier than I was already, thankyouverymuch - but this time around instead of feeling responsible and excited and careful, I've tended more towards feeling completely freaked out and a little depressed, and I ditched my usual cautionary weight gain attitude in favor of SCREW IT, pass the ice cream.
  
  I am GINORMOUS. (We took the kids to see Monsters vs. Aliens on Saturday afternoon. The female monster's name was Susan and her monster name was Ginormica, and I decided it was probably a sign from God, telling me it was inevitable and to just go with it for a couple of months.)

• I was blathering to my husband about camping this summer - maybe we could take the kids to the Grand Canyon, or maybe to Yellowstone, or - and my husband had to remind me about the baby, and the possible-but-not-certain early delivery issue. I just keep forgetting about the dang baby. I never forget the PREGNANCY, but I space the resulting baby. The reality of the baby still seems like some kind of elaborate April Fools prank.

• The doctor says I should be able to carry the baby all the way through to September, or maybe August, or possibly July. She would narrow it down a little, but it all just kind of depends on "how much your uterus rips and how likely spontaneous uterine rupture looks after each visit." But she says not to worry because they'll "keep an eye out." PHEW.
  

• The kids all mistakenly stayed home from school today. I pulled up the April school lunch menu online and it said "No School - Professional Development Day." I naively assumed this meant no school. But later, when we were driving by the school on our way to the plant nursery, and I realized that all of the other children in the universe were at school. WELL. Then I realized that it must've meant something else. Something more mysterious.

• Hooky or no hooky it was a gorgeous day, and once I was done with work we spent most of the afternoon outside. We planted a few flowers and I pulled up weeds while the kids jumped on the tramp. My husband came home a little bit later and threw baseballs to the kids while I sat on the steps watching in my lazy I-don't-have-to-play-because-I'm-pregnant way. Everyone was happy, and it was one of those moments I wished I had on tape - not just because it was a happy moment, but so that in a few months I could play it back for the kids and say - SEE?!! BEFORE THIS BABY CAME, I WAS A GOOD MOTHER. IT'S ALL THE BABY'S FAULT.
  
  (So if you were wondering if I had a plan for parenting four children, you can put those fears to rest. Clearly, I am ALL SET.)
  

The End.