Here's To Silly!

I hit a new milestone this morning.  I think I reached the "Diva" level of being a princess.  Now, don't get me wrong, I value being a princess and I know that all girls are princesses.  I know I deserve to be treated as such.  Bryan taught me well.  However, maybe there should be limits? 

Lemme 'splain.

As I put on my dress this morning, getting ready for church, Wonderman was still reclining half-asleep in bed (he doesn't require nearly as much time to get pretty as I do.  Must be something about being a princess).  Anyways, I pulled my dress down over my head and felt something tickle my leg.  At first I assumed it was simply the tie that hangs down, but it continued too far down my leg to be that.  Then I saw the roach that had apparently been spending quality time IN my dress skuttle down my ankle and across the floor.  Of course I yelped.  And then stood there, expectantly.  I told Wonderman what happened and then pointed, waiting for him to get up and kill the damn bug.  He performed expertly, jumping out of bed, grabbing one of my shoes, and killing the damn bug.  It wasn't until later that I realized how selfish that was.  I am most capable of killing damn bugs.  I've done it my whole life.  I'm not usually super squeamish in relation to crawling things.  However, the roaches really get to me.  And it was IN my dress.  And I'm pregnant (I"m not sure how that relates, but it seems like it works as a good excuse to get what I want in MANY situations.  Don't judge me for taking advantage of that).  Still, I think today the standing and pointing put me on either toddler or diva level.  I prefer diva.

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I haven't been very good at taking (ok, having Wonderman take) pictures of my expanding abdomen.  I just have two:

This is me at two months, before I was showing anything at all.  It shows my pearl, that lovely little rounded spot that makes me a woman, but no baby.  When the picture was taken, I found it a little depressing.  Seeing where I am now, I think I looked quite slender:

This is five months.  I'm actually starting to look like a cute pregnant lady.  Cool. 

From the front, I just look wide, but happy:

Bean spends plenty of time kicking around and making life exciting.  I can't wait to meet her.  I know, I know, she'll come when she's ready.  I'm not ready yet, either.  I do worry a little about how big I'm going to get.  This is already awkward sometimes, and it's just a little belly.  We'll see how it goes.

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This past Sunday, I had one of those Primary moments that you never forget and just hold in your heart, cherishing it forever. 

One of our Sunbeams (an adorable three and a half year old) is always anxious to participate in our group discussions and activities.  She is lucky enough to have her mom as Primary music leader.  She is not blessed with natural reverence.  Her mom was asking for volunteers, emphasizing all along that she was only calling on people who were quiet.  So she promptly starting calling out, with her hand duly raised, "Mom!  I'm being quiet!  I'm being quiet!" 

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I came to the conclusion this evening that if there are too many things going on to describe humorously in one Facebook status, it must be time for a blog post.  Ah, how social technology changes things.

First - it came to my attention today that all the time I spend watching my belly, waiting to see if it will bounce again with Bean's antics, is an entirely new kind of navel-gazing.  I quite like it.  It is definitely difficult to combine with reading, however.  Alas, navel-gazing has always been a consuming endeavor, right?

Second - I most certainly felt like a damsel in distress this evening.  Not long after Wonderman left to attend to his evening studies, I looked across the room to see a dark shadow moving across my cupboard door.  It was not a small shadow, mind you.  I considered that it could be a lizard, which generally doesn't bother me, but those are usually essentially small if they're crawling around walls and cupboards.  Then I, illogically of course, since they can't scurry across doors, thought that perhaps it could be a mouse (we have had rodent issues in the past).  Goodness, for all I knew, the size and speed could very have indicated it was Spiderman himself scurrying across the cupboard door with such speed (I keep wanting to say alacrity, but Dictionary.com says it's something done cheerfully, which I don't want to imagine this shadow doing.  Still, know that speed was absolutely not my first choice with regards to wording).  As I got up and walked a little closer, I could easily see that I wished it was Spiderman.  Instead, it was the largest roach I have ever seen.  I dashed back to the other side of the room (as much as I can dash these days) to grab a shoe which is, as everyone knows, the best weapon against roaches of all kinds.  Upon my quick return, I saw the giant roach somehow get around the edge of the closed door and go into my cupboard (shudder).  This is where the girlish shrieking began.  I gingerly tried to move the pasta packages to see where he was, but my tip-toes were not quite enough to put him in my line of vision.  Then he magically appeared on the wall above the cupboard.  With another shriek (Ok, let's be honest, it wasn't just one more.  They were more or less continuous.), I launched my turquoise plastic flip-flop at the wall, missing him entirely, but landing my shoe on the top of the cupboard.  At this point I had to climb up on the counter to retrieve my shoe, which is no longer as easy as it sounds (it was one of the first times I have felt really pregnant).  Then I just watched him bustle up the wall and onto the ceiling, traversing first one beam and then another.  When I felt he was in a viable position, I lobbed my shoe at him once more.  That time I hit him squarely (yesssss!) and my shoe fell nicely to the floor, but the roach DISAPPEARED.  Now I feel even more creeped out than before.  I don't know where the giant roach is, but he can't be far.  He should be dead.  I really wish that Wonderman were here to take care of these all important issues.  Isn't that in the husband contract somewher?  Disgusting.  Shiver.  (I promise, this could have been a Facebook status, it would simply have been uber-truncated and not nearly as descriptive and fun).

Third - After watching the season finale of Glee, I have decided that Queen should be my soundtrack for labor.  Especially if it can make it all go that fast.  I'm in.  And shouldn't all life decisions be based on Glee, anyway?

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