I went shopping Friday night while Az stayed home with the kids. By the time I got home, it was dark. The air was too cold for anyone to be out on their porches. I pulled into the driveway and I just sat there, free for a few moments in the bliss of being completely unnoticed.

I stayed in the car for maybe 30 minutes, watching the night sky and the trees, soaking in the silence. I have found this stage of pregnancy draining because of my appalling obviousness. I am large and clumsy. I don’t fit between the space people normally leave between chairs anymore. I have to ask them to excuse me. I have to speak up.

I huff when I walk up steps. I cannot even stand in line too long without squatting or leaning to rest. People stare.

I hate this. Now more than ever, I want to fly under the radar. I want to deal with this discomfort, and the disappointment that it isn’t over yet, without the questions and the stares and the playfully harassing demands “Haven’t you had that baby yet?” I want to be silent and secret until I feel ready to face the world.

Az cannot handle silence. He tells me every day that I look angry. He wants my words, and he wants me to tell him frequently that I am not nursing resentment against him. We have been married almost eleven years, and in that time he has not yet accepted that I can have emotions that are not about him. There is no polite and loving way in this marriage to say, “Please be quiet. Leave me alone.”

I want to hide myself in a cave and lie full-length on the cool limestone until it leaches all my troubled heat away. I want to be still and quiet in the dark, and not come out until this baby is ready to be born. I want to coccoon myself, and think about something else for a while.

She will come when she comes. There is nothing I can do about it. And so I want desperately to do nothing and be unnoticed until she comes.

(I came home from my regular check-up today, crying. I am not even one-centimeter dilated.

We explained that the new baby wasn’t ready to come out yet. She took it all in stride.)

The girls have spent the morning dancing and singing. They each like to sing “Joy to the World” while they spin in circles, waving their arms and hands. “Let eeeeearth resweeeeeeve her Kiiiiing!” Pure toddler joy.

I am not a dancer. I remember dancing when I was young, and I remember loving the silly dance movies of the eighties: Footloose (though even then I thought Kevin Bacon couldn’t dance), Girls Just Wanna Have Fun — I even watched Body Rock. And then there was a certain R-rated movie which I wasn’t supposed to see, but did anyway. Just to seer it into your brain in an uncomfortable new way:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ayb8HoKSrH8">

But by the time I was 16, I was at a Christian college that forbade dancing, and it gradually killed the impulse.

Az and I took a few ballroom dancing lessons with friends when we were first married, and it was the only time we had ever cursed at each other. Two bad dancers should not try learning to dance together. He could never learn to hold me firmly, and I never learned to feel anything but awkward and stupid. I know what I look like dancing and it ain’t cool.

It was not a bonding time for us.

So dancing fell by the wayside, one of the enjoyments of adolescence that didn’t make the passage to adulthood. I don’t think I even missed it.

I don’t think I danced again until I was pregnant with JellyBean. Something about that big round belly made me want to cradle my arms around it and bounce around to whatever was on the radio. Since the girls have been born, I can put aside all my self-consciousness about looking silly in my own home, and hop and step to music for their enjoyment. They love to dance.

We turn the radio on in the kitchen, I hold one girl in my arms while the other prances around us, and we bounce and spin to the beat till they giggle themselves out of breath. I don’t think either of them will remember how clumsy I looked, but they’ll remember what it’s like to be spun around the floor in Mama’s arms.

Sunday night I had contractions every fifteen minutes. Monday they stopped. Now I am back to just plain old pregnant.

The usual folk methods for inducing labor are not working, and lately I imagine my husband mournfully confiding in someone, “My wife only wants me for my prostaglandins.” Poor fella.

I read about the poor, desperate pregnant women who take castor oil in hopes of stimulating labor. It causes horrible, um, digestive trouble, and the thinking is that the bowel spasms might start contractions in the uterus, too. Ha. I know torture when I see it. That method can stay safely on the shelf.

I am trying to enjoy the spring and be patient. I have terrible springtime allergies, and I am trying not to take my medication while pregnant, so the best I can do is carry tissues and wear a mask to keep out the pollen. JellyBean needed a lot of convincing this morning that Mama is allowed to wear a mask (”What is it? What is it? Take it off, Mommy! Take it off!”), but by the end of the day she and Sweetpea were taking Mommy’s mask and using it as a hat, a bowl, a lily pad for a frog, and a pretend scoop of ice cream.

Now maybe I’ll try and get some more sleep. I keep telling her that it’s nice out here and she should come out to meet her sisters and Daddy, but she pays no attention. Not even born and already ignoring me. That’s motherhood for you.

JellyBean is finally back to her old self.

The doctor said that she might have stomach cramps even after the other symptoms were gone, and that might affect her appetite. She recommended a teaspoon of Mylanta a few times a day, so yesterday JellyBean drank her dose, and immediately asked for breakfast. She ate well all day, and even requested water to drink.

Just in case I needed more reassurance, I was upstairs reading your blogs when I heard the shrieks from downstairs: “Mine! Mine! Share! Shaaaaaaarrrrre!” JellyBean and Sweetpea were debating ownership of a coveted book (Karaoke Kid Songbook, if you really want to know).

It takes energy to be selfish. I never thought it would make me so happy.

***************************************

Last night I started having contractions fifteen minutes apart. They have eased this morning, so it may not mean much, but I can see the finish line. I am a little worried about finding someone to take care of the kids - a few friends and neighbors have volunteered, but mid-week could be difficult for them. We will find someone, I’m sure, but I am anxious.

If I go to the hospital, I have left Az instructions on how to post the good news of the birth. I am not sure if he will post the name we choose; he may prefer me to find an oblique way to inform you of our choice, and he does not know how to link or post pictures. But one way or another, you will see our new bundle of joy when she comes, even if you have to wait a few days.

Thank you all for your prayers. They have been much appreciated.