And she has small confidence in my coping skills.

JellyBean, today, while playing: “No one can come to Mommy’s party. That is so sad for you. You will be lying in bed all night.”

Today I took JellyBean out on the town, just the two of us. She asked what we were going to do and I said, “We will go shopping for some new shirts, dresses and shoes for you. Then we will go out for lunch and you can practice your manners.”

“What will we do next, Mommy?”

“I don’t know what we will do after lunch, honey. What would you like to do?”

“Try to TAKE OVER THE WORLD!”

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iJPFSNu_QNs]

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.

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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.

After three years of motherhood, I am still getting used to this job. I still remember the lovely unencumbered feeling of going where I wanted to without first asking “Will the stroller fit? Are kids welcome? Can they make noise? Where can I change them?” Sometimes I miss the freedom and independence of solitude.

Thursday is supposed to be my day, the day when Az watches the kids and I get to do other things important to me. We have just started this schedule, and I love it, but Sweetpea has been sick for a few days, so today did not work out. Instead of reading and writing and going to the library and coffeehouse, I have been providing mama-comfort to the queen of vommit.

Sweetpea is ordinarily a serene and self-possessed child, but her temper changes whenever something is physically wrong. Hunger, exhaustion, injury and illness turn her into a scolding or sobbing tyrant. Up comes breakfast all over the floor, and she stands in it screaming at us: Make this better! Make me better! Now, now, now!

Among the other changes, though, is a special one: illness makes her cuddly. Ordinarily she doesn’t want much physical affection. It gets in the way of her many goals: grabbing that toy, climbing those steps, flopping on that cushion, holding that book. But when she is ill, nothing will do but snuggling into Mama’s bosom, thumb firmly planted in mouth, clinging to me as though health itself radiated through my body heat. I love this. I eat it up. I can handle a little vommit when this is my reward.

One night, after a tiring day of dealing with one demanding sick girl and one demanding healthy girl, I went in to check on them after bedtime. Sweetpea was sleeping peacefully, curled up with her blanket. JellyBean looked up at me and said, “Mommy, I want some snuggles.”

I lay down in her big girl bed and she scooted so I could slip my arm under her shoulders. Then she turned toward me, put one hand on each side of my face, looked into my eyes and said, “Oh, Mommy. I love you so much.”

Hmm. Solitude is overrated.