this is getting old

I still do not have a baby. I have a cold, I have a severe case of the boredoms, and I have three very anxious pets who want to know why the hell I haven't left the house since last Friday.

Liam is very active, and it makes it much harder to figure out whether these are early contractions or just jumpin-jive. I am SO ready to have this kid...why do I get no say in the timing?

It's a popular belief that Liam will be born tomorrow, on Valentine's Day and/or during the imminent super-big snowstorm headed our way. Either would be okay with me, but for a V-day baby, shouldn't we get a move on now?? sigh

I am, however, so so so much more comfortable here in my jammies than struggling at work. I'm glad I gave up the fight.

In other news, three of the most important women in my life are all falling apart in the most spectacular way. All three crises are being driven by horrible, cruel, unforgivably bad behavior on the part of their menfolk. Perhaps I'm not at the best point in my life to be giving emotional support right now, given my own biological need to take care of the little person, but I find myself occasionally unable to understand their plights. Where have all the strong women gone?? It not being my story, and this not being an adolescent ennui-type of blog, I'm not going to go into details. Let's just say, that as much as I love my husband, if he ever, EVER acted half so badly and so callously and so not caring, he would be out on his ass that very day.

I love these women so much, and it makes me just crazy that they are taking all this (totally undeserved) shit from men who have made a commitment to love and honor them. Where is the anger? Why would you mourn for someone whose intention it is to cause you pain and suffering? Why are they afraid to stand up for themselves? How could it possibly be better than being alone? What is wrong with being alone? And really, what is wrong with starting over? Scary? Yes. Overwhelming? Hell, yes. But life is about starting over, again and again and again. Nothing stays the same, and we live in a culture where there are newer, better, more compatible models evolving all the time.

I feel like a failure to them, because I fail to see what they're afraid to lose. Having someone love you is terribly important, but not as important as your self-respect and your sense of worth, neither of which should be tied to your lover's actions or opinions of you. If you're willing to put up with cruel and demeaning behavior just in order to keep someone from leaving you, then you've already lost something much, much more important. In the most loving way, I just wish I could shake them all into righteous indignation instead of this self-flagellating behavior that exposes their weaknesses to the people who hurt them so much in the first place.

Harsh, I know. It's a well-known character flaw of mine. I am Mrs. Lynde, and not sweet Diana. But I call it like I see it, and I'm harsh in direct proportion to how much I love these people. I can't heap more stuff on them, and my heart is too full when I'm talking to them, but I'll close here with something I hear often in my head when we are talking. Here goes, and thanks Mimi, for putting it so right:

Life's too short babe
Time is flying
I'm looking for baggage that goes with mine.

So don't settle. Keep your expectations high. They will be met, but only by the right person.

Letters to Liam - Week 40

Dear LL,

We're here. We've arrived at the (approximate) end of this journey. With every passing hour, we expect this next part to begin. You were due yesterday, and although I'm still at home, waiting for something to happen, I know you're not far away.

It's been difficult to concentrate on anything but you this past week. I stopped working last Monday, much to the relief of my boss and coworkers. They're were all dreading the day I went into labor with you while at work. It was a relief to me too, as I'm getting too big to do anything comfortably, especially drag myself to work and get stuff done. Stopping work, though, also meant that I had much, much less to concentrate on, besides waiting for you. So that's mostly what I've been doing this week. Waiting.

Your dad is waiting too. He keeps planning little outings to keep himself from going crazy in the house. He'll go ice fishing, or for a ride on the snowmobile, but he keeps showing up back at the house much earlier than expected. He'll look sheepishly around, and explain that he can't think about anything else while he's out except that you and I might need him then. It's sweet.

Yesterday, the day you were due, I woke up with the cold I've been trying to avoid catching. It's a pretty yucky one...all sinus pressure and sneezies and sore throat. It keeps me up at night, shaving off another few hours from the sleep I'm already not getting. If I must be up, then I wish you were here to at least make me feel like I was accomplishing something. I hate the television, I've got no movies to watch; thank goodness for the stack of books I bought on Thursday. It's so nice to have new reading material. I started with a biography of Beatrix Potter, and it's quite interesting.

The pets have been behaving quite funny this week. They all know something is up. Lola hasn't left my side in four days, quite literally. She's my constant companion in bed, tunneling under the blankets, or on my lap, on on the side of the bathtub, or underfoot in the kitchen. Oscar refuses to give up his perch on my belly, no matter how hard and rounded it has become. He balances well, and I don't think you'll be a stranger the the sensations of a purring cat next to you once you are born. Murphy is his usual sweet self, anxiously splitting his night time between your dad in our bed downstairs and me in the spare room where I've retreated to. The bed there is much easier to get in and out of a dozen times a night, being much higher off the ground, and is conveniently located directly next to the bathroom. Plus, when we wake at three and can't get back to sleep, we don't wake your dad by reading upstairs or listening to an audiobook.

It might interest you to know that if you haven't decided to arrive by next Friday, then I'll be induced that day, which means you'll have to come out like it or not. Better to make that decision on your own, I'm thinking. So for heaven's sake, let's get this party started. I've begun screening our calls, out of sheer necessity. Our phone rings constantly, and everyone wants to know where you are. You might be a Valentine's baby after all, I'm thinking. That, I suppose, is up to you.

Come out, Little Lentil. It's your birthday and we want to celebrate.

Love,

Your mama