There comes a point in every pregnancy where my brain grows sluggish.  I have trouble forming any thoughts more complicated than “My back hurts.”  The creative juices do not flow.  The blogging drafts pile up, and I wonder how I will ever finish them. Everything seems a chore - frequently a chore that makes me cry.  Even food stops tasting good.

I am now in those pregnancy doldrums, wishing for nothing more than an ocean breeze, a couple of margaritas, and a few days without children.  Needless to say, none of that is going to happen.

So in an effort to clear my head, here are summaries of the posts I have been trying unsuccessfully to write for my patient readers:

1. A list of my favorite curmudgeons.  Harrison Ford (see his Conan O’Brien interview here) and Tommy Lee Jones were on the list, but then I got bogged down with historical people.  Can I put St. Jerome on the same list with Robert Duvall?  And would it be funny or just dumb if I added my moody Hebrew teacher that none of you have met?

2. A deep and profound post about the martyrdom of Thomas Cranmer and what it teaches us about God’s mercy.  This post is based largely on Charles Williams’ play Thomas Cranmer of Canterbury (seriously, read it).  Problem is, once I tell myself that my post has to be “deep and profound,” nothing I write can possibly be good enough.

3. Mockery of the liberal liturgy of my denomination.  It is generally awful and fully deserves to be mocked, but at the current speed of my imagination, I just can’t make it funny enough.  Plus, I’ve been going to a conservative congregation the last two years, so I’m not sure I have the church street cred to handle this subject anymore.

4. A list of movies that really are better than the book.  Top of the list: the tv versions of the Brother Cadfael mysteries.  Derek Jacobi’s subtlety gives Cadfael a historical verisimilitude that he lacks in Ellis Peters novels.

5. A comparison of the differences between “forgiving yourself” and accepting forgiveness.  The only problem with this post is that my irritation with popular culture’s namby-pamby theology is painfully evident, and I’m really not that amusing when I’m sour and disapproving.

6.  Using Much Ado About Nothing and Dorothy Sayers’ Busman’s Honeymoon, a discussion of love and manipulation.  Is love still love if we use it to make people do what we want?

There they are, folks.  My unfinished posts, awaiting a day when I can write something more captivating than “Pregnancy is lousy.  Hurry up, baby, please.  But don’t have colic.  Cause that would be worse.”

Maybe you can do something with my incomplete thoughts that I can’t.

My posting has been a little light lately.  First, our computer broke.  Then Sunday night, lightning struck the transformer in front of our house and the power company was in the street all night fixing it.  By 4:30 am on Monday, we had power again.  Then last night a spectacular thunderstorm blew through town and knocked the power out again - this time for 27,000 people.

Az and I took the girls out for breakfast, then to the park.  We just got home and found our air conditioner back on (YAY!) and the fridge running again.  We are relieved.  Az is grumbling that we should buy a generator, but since we live in the middle of a large-ish city where power outages are rare, I think that’s silly.

Speaking of lightning striking the same place twice, I have another post up at 5 Minutes for Parenting.  In it I dare to question the culture of constant parental affirmation, and end up feeling rather grateful for the heretical realism of my own parents.

During my first three deliveries, I had an epidural. During the first birth, the epidural was not very strong, and I still felt pain and tearing. During the second birth, the epidural was so strong that I lost the ability to move my legs, which I found far more frightening than pain. During the third birth, the contractions from pitocin were so strong that the epidural was useless. I ended up rolling around, moaning and howling and clinging to the bedrails until I could push.

So none of the epidurals were a raging success. I am seriously considering going without one this time. When I was receiving the last one, I jumped when the needle went in, and the anesthesiologist gasped.

I never want to hear a gasp from someone sticking a needle so close to my spine.

I think I might skip the epidural this time, if I can handle the pain. My doctors are the supportive type and won’t pressure me into anything. So I want some advice from all of you who have delivered babies without anesthesia. How did you manage the pain? What do I need to know? Anything you recommend I read?

Let’s just say that detoxing was difficult.

Also, the one place in the world where you can be pretty sure that your three small children are not welcome? The Apple store.  It took the sales people forever to pay attention to me, until I politely pointed out that they would have my dancing, spinning children in their store until one of them waited on me.

The last place we received frozen disapproval like that was the craft store.  Apparently not all women who look like grandmothers actually like children.

Anyway, because I was computerless, I was not able to tell you all to go read my guest post at Chilihead’s.  I wrote about sex, so my brother and my pastor might want to skip this one.

And before I feel too horribly guilty about the hypocrisy, I should point out that my reaction to my children’s demands while I am setting up a new computer was not all that warm and welcoming either.

… but my computer is.

I will be back in a couple of days.

Until then, I am grateful for my fantastically brilliant, hansome, and witty (notice the comma) brother-in-law who wrote this for me.