How does August 4th sound for a birthday?
It sounds far away to me.
But unless this little one decides otherwise, August 4th it is.
(Angie, that means that I will be induced on August 4th. Is that specific enough for you?)
As soon as Jason heard the date he went through a mental checklist.
'Heat the bottle on the stove in boiling water.'
'Learn to change a diaper.'
'Make sure you support the head.'
He makes me laugh.
Last night Jason left a message on my phone.
He wanted to go for a bike ride but was checking to make sure I didn't have other plans.
His plans worked perfectly with mine, because I wanted to get a pedicure.
I'm still suffering because of that pedicure.
My feet are more than a little swollen.
And by the time I get home at night they hurt...a lot.
It usually takes until the next morning for the swelling to go down enough for me to put shoes back on.
(Jason's flip flops to be specific...my flip flops don't fit at the moment.)
I said to the lady doing the pedicure, "My feet are swollen and they hurt."
She shook her head and made a sound that I thought meant, "Oh you poor thing. I'll take extra careful care of you."
I quickly realized that no, that's not what she meant.
I have never had a massage that hurt worse, and at one point I got tears in my eyes.
I would flinch and pull my foot away and she would look up at me and say, "Feel better yes?"
And then she would look down again and go back to her torture.
At the point where I had reached the end of my rope and was opening my mouth to tell her so she said, "There. Finished."
I eventually limped to my car and made it home.
When Jason got home I told him about my experience, and a few minutes later, when we were settled on the couch he pulled my foot up onto his lap and rubbed it for a long time.
(One foot is worse than the other.)
But even with that, the pain in my foot woke me up off and on all night long.
I'm pretty sure Emily is worth the pain.
There were two young girls getting manicures the same time as my pedicure.
They were fun to listen to, but when they started talking about bars and drinking I got a little concerned.
They weren't any older than 14 or 15.
They asked me a few questions about my pregnancy, and as I tried to get out of the chair they laughed at me.
I smiled at the girls and said, "Ladies, you better not even think about doing this, (and I pointed to my stomach) for a really long time."
What happened to me?
At what point along the way did I decide that if I was going to be a mother I needed to be everyone's mother?