Hi there, baby-
These letters get later and later every week. Your 33rd week is over now, and I feel a bit behind. I'm afraid I'm not doing a very good job taking care of us, little one. The prenatal vitamins got lost in the shuffle of the move, I haven't set foot in a gym in well over a month, and the free refill policy at the Mandolin has put my caffeine intake over the requisite amounts more times than is probably acceptable... I think about these things and wonder if I ought to try harder or be more gentle with myself. Pregnancy is a little like walking a tightrope.
News from the ex-utero world is that our house papers are signed (finished!) but delayed by a neighbor filing a poorly timed boundary dispute. This morning I indulged in a long fantasy about marching my pregnant self up to her front door and giving her a piece of my mind. In this daydream, I can't decide whether a basket of warm muffins and sympathy or cursing and finger pointing is a more effective strategy, but I'm leaning toward the latter. I wonder if she realizes that her old beef with a long gone property investor is forcing a very pregnant lady to sleep on an air mattress for the third week in a row?
While I was engaged in this imaginary conversation with our neighbor, I neglected to notice the nozzle on the kettle was open and all the water had boiled out, evaporating and accumulating in droplets on the built in microwave above the oven. Attempting to mop up this mess I dropped the paper towel, which turned made that whispery burning paper noise and turned charcoal black on the hot stove. Through the smoke, I shook my head at the sky and told Jesus to please, please stop messing with me.
I know that there are nuggets of wisdom to be found in all this waiting, but I am too anxious to look for them. We have to be out of our temporary place soon, so the words "indefinite hold" have got me more afraid of homelessness than overlooked opportunities for spiritual insight. Pray, child, if you do that kind of thing yet. You may be comfortable enough in there now, but I can guarantee sleeping bags in Tacoma alleys are not so cozy as the womb!
….On a brighter note, you dad made a smashing debut on the drums (no pun intended) at church this week, and Ruthy is throwing you a party in just a few days. Ruthy is not only busy crafting little treasures to help welcome you into the world - she's also doing the difficult work of being 19 weeks pregnant with a little boy or girl who is bound to be one of your friends! You can thank her later.
Here's your portrait for the week. You continue to get compliments everywhere we go. Your dad and I like to laugh about how popular you've made us. Only 6 more weeks until you come along and steal the show completely. We promise to take it well!
Love, Mom
