Happiness

In America, Bee can make mud pies to her heart's content.

Home

I am sitting on my bed listening to Bee play with my childhood collection of "little people" in the next room. Outside my window, November wind is lashing at the trees. I can hear the rain rattling in the downspout.

Downstairs, my parents are getting ready for work. I could be ten years old again, if it weren't for this baby I am carrying and my sweet daughter who wants me to come and play with her.

It is so good to be home.

3-8-3

Trying to pack 3 suitcases for a 3 month trip while 8 months pregnant is the mental equivalent of trying to teach my 3 year old algebra. And that's all I'm gonna say about that.

Count your blessings instead of sheep . . .

If you have ever watched the movie White Christmas, you know the above song. Oh to live in a Bing Crosby musical--everyone dressed smartly and the girls were girls and the guys were guys and all life's problems were resolved with a song. Unrealistic, I know, but these days, I am liking the idea of an escape from reality.

Fortunately escape I will, Tuesday next. I just have, oh, 17 million little things to do to get ready until then. Plus my office is beginning an outbreak of HN1N flu. So yes, it's time to go away. My dear husband was on the phone with the United airlines tonight to see whether I could change my flight for a day or two earlier, but, no luck.

Tonight I dragged out the suitcases and went digging for some potential post pregnancy jeans and sweaters. I piled up our passports and some American currency. I am making a start at getting everything ready to go. A timid start for sure, but it's better than nothing.

Really though, I need to take myself off to bed, because this Baby Girl I am carrying demands nine hours of sleep per night. Let's hope she keeps it up once she is actually born. And when I go to sleep, I will not count sheep or viruses or suitcases, but instead I will dream about the completely formed human inside me. My constant companion's fingers and eyelashes and lips and toenails. The hairs on her head. Her heart in my body. My blessing.

Her time

Every evening, once I put Miss Bee to bed and maybe, once in a blue moon, help out with the dishes, I settle in on the couch to check my favorite blogs and read the news. It has been, up until recently, my alone time.

However, starting a week or two ago, my constant companion has decided that evenings are a good time for kicks and wiggles. As I rush through the workday and dinnertime routine, I scarcely have time to notice when the baby is awake or asleep in my belly. On the couch though, in the stillness of the evening, my baby daughter dances.

I don't mind the company. I do mind her knees in my ribs.

Time on my side

I just finished kneading the dough for a batch of potato rolls that I am bringing to a soup dinner tonight. Every time I make bread, I think to myself that the act of kneading, in its unhurried repetition, is a good time for some serious thinking.

This has been a magical weekend. Bee's four day fever broke, and my little daughter was able to attend her third birthday party. I stayed awake half the night on Friday wondering if she would be well enough to attend. Thank God, and I mean that literally, that I didn't have to have the dreaded "why you cannot go to your birthday party" conversation.

In addition to the above miracle, my sister came to visit, and she didn't mind that we all had been sick, because she was recovering from a similar cold. So we all spent time together in my cozy living room, were entertained by all of Bee's new toys, and were afforded a rare chance to just take it easy. I do feel bad that my sister had to fly several hours for some relaxation, which probably could have been more easily accomplished in her apartment in Munich, but still, we reveled in her presence.

The stress of last week has curled and crashed like a wave. I feel as though I have almost reached the shore and am simply walking through the tide as it goes out.

We bought our house. It's really ours, as in, we have a mortgage, and keys, and a tree in our front yard that has dropped its leaves everywhere. In our absence, my poor father had to go rake them all, but as he raked he managed to meet all of our neighbors. Nothing like having my Dad, who makes friends wherever her goes, talk us up to the neighborhood. Hopefully new friends await us.

Our next assignment will be a most coveted tour in Washington, D.C. This is dreaded by many people in my profession, but after six years of living overseas, going home to America is just about the nicest thing I can think of. It's home. And my family is there. And my daughter(s) are going to get to live in America and speak English, and go to the park, and play at their grandparents' houses and we will all be fat and spoiled and fine. I think after a few years we'll be itching to see the world again, but not for a while. Not for a good, long, while.

So now I just have one more week + one day (why am I going to work next Monday?) at work. And while I have a number of papers to finish filling out/emails to send/ people to train/ projects to wrap up, I know that it'll all get done. And despite the fact that I have spent the entire summer feeling as though I was irreplaceable, work will carry on just fine without me. New folks have arrived, and once I have gone, I am certain my colleagues will hardly give me a second thought. And that's a good thing.

This week is 33 weeks in my pregnancy. Mentally, every week since March has been hard won. For my little baby who almost didn't stick early on, 8 months is a miracle. I continue to pray that she continues to grow and stays healthy and with me until she has reached full term. Every night, I fall asleep thinking about her tiny fingers, toes, and eyelashes.

So now the rolls are rising and the dryer tumbling clothes and Bee is dreaming and I am going to go do something lazy and enjoy some more of this quiet Sunday. Next week at this time I will be packing my bags to go!