EXCUSE THE HORMONES, PLEASE
We were already running late, but couldn't resist the opportunity when we drove past a yard sale full of baby girl things. We don't know if Baby Chicken will be a boy or a girl, but so far the pregnancy seems to have gone a lot like my girl pregnancies did. With my boy pregnancies, I seemed to have an extra edge, ambition, angst, energy. I definitely seemed to be full of testosterone. My girl pregnancies softened me up; I'm sensitive, emotional, feminine. I kind of like it. I've been feeling that way lately, so we have our suspicions of sugar and spice. Time will tell, I suppose. I've been wrong every time other than Zoe, so I don't really trust my intuition.
Because of the time constraints and because it's so darn annoying to constantly unbuckle a gazillion (or so it feels) car seats just to redo them five minutes later, Rene and the kids stayed in the car while I ran up the drive to do some baby girl shopping. I don't get five minutes alone very often, it was a treat! I picked out a bundle of beautiful babygros in pinks and purples for 50c a piece and found myself getting emotional imagining my sweet little Chicken filling them out in the not too distant future. I fought back the lump in my throat, as this was certainly not the time nor the place to start acting all "girl pregnant".
I figured I'd buy myself some time to regain composure before purchasing my items, so I stooped down to look through a tote of children's books. Seemed like a good idea at the time...
I quickly discovered this was no innocent tote of children's books. This was a tote chock full of unexpectedly over-sentimental, potently tear inducing, heart string tugging words and illustrations that I was utterly powerless against. Books about "Grandma loved you before you were born", were sweet enough, but I could handle it. The book explaining Heaven and how to deal with loss of a loved one, aimed at 5 year old had me pulling out all my defenses. I was certainly choking back tears at "I Believe in you", a beautiful book full of a mother's encouragement to the little tots. But when I reached, "Let Me Hold You Longer" by Karen Kingsbury, and read the first page,
"Long ago you came to me, a miracle of firsts:
First smiles and teeth and baby steps,
a sunbeam on the burst.
But one day you will move away
and leave me to your past,
And I will be left thinking of a lifetime of your lasts."
I was a bawling mess. Heck, I'm crying again now typing it.
So I there I squatted, in some stranger's driveway weeping my eyes out, dropping baby girl clothes all over the ground, sobbing into my hands while my husband and kids waited patiently in the car. The lady of the house came gently over to me, offered to carry the clothes and help me up while I apologized in between sobs and scolded her for having such sentimental material sitting there with no warnings when there are clearly hormonal people around here. She was very polite, but kept the transaction as swift as possible and as I jumped in the passenger seat of our car and began explaining myself to Rene, I was filled with gratitude that I would never have to meet that woman ever again. No dignity in that, whatsoever.
SING IT OUT
The following day we made a trip to Lowes. I know I'm getting a bit uncomfortable in my third trimester, but that doesn't mean I don't know how to handle some power tools and make myself some furniture. I'm going to try anyway.
It's always inevitable that any Lowes trip will involve at least one multi person trip to the restroom and water fountains. I guess it's the highlight of the excursion for the little ones. Being the good mother that I am, I thought I'd make a mundane event a little more cheerful, by singing to my 5 year old in the cubicle beside me while we carried out our necessary duties. I don't remember exactly how it went, as I was making it up as I go along (jazz style), but it was something like this,
we're going to pee, pee, pee
it's so fun to pee, pee, pee
can you pee with me?
We all need to pee
we can pee every day."
I made sure it was loud and enthusiastic to keep her interest. Imagine my horror when I heard the sound of a high heel shoe hit the ground under the cubical wall, instead of my daughter's little sneaker. Turns out Zoe had chosen not to go in the one next to me, but rather had headed for the large wheelchair accessible one way at the other end...and apparently we weren't alone in the restroom after all.
I did what any self respecting person would do - rushed Zoe to wash her hands and get the heck out of there before the lady was done. Unfortunately, Rene needed to go when we were done, and the moment the lady walked out of the bathroom, smirking at me, I happened to be half way through a silly song about driving in a car, sung to Ally. Otherwise maybe she wouldn't have known it was me?? *sigh*. At least I'll never have to see her again either.
So there you go. Two embarrassing stories, too long for a facebook status, but worth sharing nonetheless.