7th inning stretch

I'm currently sitting in my pajamas, sipping decaf coffee and staring out at the choppy waves of the Gulf of Mexico from the couch of my parents' condo in Destin. Mom and Dad are at church, and Cal is still asleep.

It's nice to be here; Cal and I haven't been able to make the 5+ hour drive since last spring break. On that trip, we stopped in Thomasville to pick up my sister Amy and her 3-week-old baby William. Now, William's 1-year-old birthday is coming up in 3weeks, and I'm nearly 30 pounds heavier and counting the days until the arrival of my own little boy. Who could've ever guessed?

Our lives have been a flurry of activity lately. On top of all the baby preoccupation, I've had a job interview for a teaching position at one of the local colleges, and I have another later this week. I'm trying to pick up a night class or two to teach in the fall in order to not only supplement our income, but also help keep me sane. We have, in case you're not aware, decided for me to resign from my teaching post at FPD so that I can stay home with Parks. If I teach at night, Cal will be able to be home, and the problem of paying for childcare is, theoretically, solved.

The folks at Macon State seemed genuinely interested, but they won't know until July (or, one of them said, possibly even two weeks before the semester starts) if they have any openings. It all depends on enrollment levels, so we're praying for strong student turnouts on registration day.

My doctor's appointments are currently coming every two weeks, although starting next week I'll have to visit twice a week for something called a "non-stress test" because of my chronic hypertension issues. Everyone assures me that it's a non-invasive procedure, but when they go on to describe the tubes, machines, etc that will be hooked up to my belly, the doubts as to their honesty begin to creep in. I'll let you know.

I'm 33 weeks along, which, in the non-pregnant world, equals about 7 1/2 months. You can thank me later for sparing you the math. In spite of our busy-ness, I feel like I've been pregnant for 10 years, and 7 months pregnant for 9 of those. It's not so much that I can't wait to have that little bundle of joy here for all the cuddling and cooing (I don't think I'm so naive to the trials of motherhood as that) as it is that I just don't really like being pregnant.

So many people go on and on about the blessings of the knowledge of growing a child in their womb, and, really, I am grateful that I can have this experience when so many women are unable to for one reason or another. However, I'm simply ready to have my body back to myself.

Due to the extra weight on the front side of my torso (currently about 28 pounds -- or a little more than one Nick the Cat, as I describe it to my husband), I find myself more clumsier than ever. Now, you all can vouch for the fact that I have never claimed to be anything more than the least graceful of all women, but lately it's gotten out of hand. Since getting pregnant, I have fallen 4 times. The first being the incident in the school cafeteria, the most recent being the parking lot in front of the Destin Steinmart just yesterday.

Aside from the slip in the lunchroom, all of the falls have been classic, fall flat on your face kinds of events. Two of them occurred while I was out walking in the neighborhood; yesterday's was a little more public and, therefore, a quite bit more embarrassing. For each I've managed to keep off my stomach. Yesterday's maneuver was at the expense of my poor chin: as I was going down face-first, I curled up my torso so that it wouldn't hit the ground and therefore ended up with my face on the asphalt. Sheesh. Two skinned knees, a scraped face, and a swollen ankle later, I'm fine and Parks is still moving violently (and visibly) within my belly, even as I type.

Cal, understandably, is quite concerned at my propensity to collapse at the first sign of a pebble in my path, although his solution of buying me a walking stick (even one of those "cool ones" that he insists exist in the world) just doesn't seem to appeal to me. He finally acknowledged yesterday that with the way things have been going lately, the additional, stabilizing "leg" might complicate my clumsiness even more by getting in the way and causing even more accidents.

Sleeping, too, has become much less pleasurable than it once was. For Christmas, Cal bought me one of those pregnancy body pillows, and it has worked wonders for my comfort levels. However, switching from side-to-side in the middle of the night with no stomach muscles and a nearly 30-pound weight anchoring my front side of the body to the mattress is still a challenge that I'm not sure how to overcome.

Whenever I mention this particular woe in public, all current mothers (and some aggravatingly "all-knowing" men, too) smile smugly and say, "Just wait, honey, until that baby gets here; you'll be wishing that turning over in the middle of the night is at the top of your list of sleeping problems!" Don't they realize that I know that? Reminding me of a fact that I'm well aware of --that my favorite pasttime is soon to be nonexistent-- doesn't help matters. It's the same as when Cal's friends laugh when he says he's busy, then say something like "Oooooh, just wait till the baby gets here! No more tennis for you!" We're aware of the sacrifices, all you joykillers out there. Just trying not to dwell on them. Thank you very much.

All jokes aside, I really have had it easy. I've been able to continue teaching and plan to up until spring break, which conveniently falls one week before my due date. My students aren't real excited about this fact. They keep asking when my baby is coming, not out of excitement for his arrival, but out of anticipation of my departure and the arrival of my fresh, young long-term substitute. "She's SOOOOO nice!" they all exclaim when they hear who's scheduled to take my place.

I've also felt pretty good the entire time, other than the normal fatigue, and Cal says my hormone-induced moodiness hasn't been too overwhelming, either. Of course, what's he going to say, right? He's been wonderful through it all ... cooking, cleaning, laundry, etc. I don't know what I would've done without him.

This post, as usual, really has no point; however, I haven't written in a while and it'll be nice to have a record of these things a few years from now when Parks is older and these memories have all become distant. I should wrap things up, though. Mom and Dad are due home any minute, and I must go take care of this coffee stain that, like other food spills of late, has streaked down the front of my shirt instead of falling straight to my lap. The lap, you know, is quickly disappearing.

Bring on Parks!