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My latest Mile High Mamas post is a hard-hitting examination of nesting—you know, that thing you do when you are nearing birth and you wonder if December is too late to plant tulip bulbs in the yard? Because all young infants deserve to live in a house with tall tulips waving in a springtime breeze. It’s all for the baby. Go say hi over here, please. On my way to my ultrasound and NST today, I saw a UPS truck exiting our subdivision. I was ticked off. All day, I had been waiting for two shipments—the LAST two before Christmas. According to UPS tracking, both shipments were “out for delivery” which to laypersons like me means “out for delivery.” I briefly considered running the UPS truck off the road, boarding it like an especially dumpy and swollen pirate, and demanding my packages. The only reason I didn’t? I had a date to see Mr. Baby on screen. The good news is that fluid rose to 8 and the NST showed a vigorous little man in there. He is doing well and I don’t have to go back until next Monday. I am thrilled with today’s appointment, which is far more important than the knowledge a giant brown diesel truck didn’t screech to a halt and idle at the end of my driveway. There is always tomorrow. Today brought blessings abundant. I just re-read Fitzgerald’s The Curious Case of Benjamin Button in the event I find myself sitting in a movie theater watching the Brad Pitt screen adaptation. You know, so I can seethe at the screen when something is glaringly different—like what happened when my Despereaux-obsessed eldest daughter saw the movie version on Saturday. Poor thing. She is young enough to still believe Book/Story = Film adaptation. She learned the hard way that important elements inexplicably change, are omitted, or are ridiculously embellished. In my current condition, my takeaway from re-reading Benjamin Button after about 15 years is WHAT ABOUT HIS MOTHER? She birthed a 70-year-old man and is barely mentioned. Mrs. Button survived, because she is referred to in passing when his “parents” are alluded to. I guess I can’t do fantasy or suspend disbelief any more? |
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