five years today

Today is my husband's five year anniversary of his ordination.
He just caught me posting this, "Oh Jenny, don't do that!" he says, horrified to see his own face on my blog. He tells me, "That is just too chatty!" But what is a blog for, anyway, if not to chat?

Natalie Joy

Natalie Joy, born November 27th, 2006.
Read more here.

Photo © Chris Bartlett, 2006

Always Winter, Never Christmas

It is bleak and cold outside, the hours of light short and weak. All this seems a good match for my current state of mind. I'm just a few days past due, and yet I suddenly feel as if the pregnancy has been going on forever.

Funny—I have this faint memory of a few weeks ago, back when I was euphoric, and I was telling people that every day felt like Christmas Eve because of the anticipation. And yet every morning that Natalie didn't come I was still happy because I had a little bit more time to work and relax. That was a great feeling. Now, in my own body, I feel as if I'm lugging the weight of the world around. I've been having contractions for days, but they don't seem to be doing much, except for wearing me out. I guess I've entered the "Always Winter, Never Christmas" phase of the pregnancy.

It amazes me how different pregnancy looks from the outside—I remember seeing very pregnant women and how clear it was that they were soon to deliver. And yet, I could never have imagined the chasm of doubt and fear that they could be experiencing. Or how impossible it could feel.

Last Advent, when our friend Jarrod was dying of cancer, he quoted Paul Westerberg in his online journal, who wrote, "Miracles always happen when they have to." Jarrod wrote about how Advent is full of expectations—and demands. The darkening days only seem to add to the intensity of our jumbled felt and real needs. "As it builds up, we realize that we will not be satisfied in a waiting room of sorts," Jarrod wrote, "So we get up and actively long, yearn and crave, pretending that we we're actually doing something to bring the miracle about."

Like Jarrod, I can't will my miracle into existence. I feel the tug of her, though, as she struggles to find her way out. I try to be patient, because I know she has never done this before and it is dark and cramped in there. And I try to remember, as Jarrod did, that miracles happen when they have to.

Image provided by freefoto.com.

Argument #5764398

From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I felt that our bed situation needed some serious reconsideration. It was my theory that I deserved about 2/3 of the bed, because I was now two in one. John pointed out that the baby was quite small at the time, no larger than a grain of rice, actually, so my calculations might need to be reworked. But, I said, "I'm sleeping for two!"

Well, the bed situation hasn't improved too much, especially because of something I mentioned in my last post--each time I get up during the night, my dear hubby rolls to the center of the bed and falls into a deep sleep. When I return, it takes some serious coaxing to get him back to his proper location.

When we were in Michigan this summer, I managed to get poison Ivy. That first night after my diagnosis I woke in the middle of the night thinking, "Wow, I'm having my best night sleep in ages, poison ivy and all!" I looked over at John and in the moonlight I could see that he was clutching the edge of the bed, trying to stay as far away as possible. Even after I discovered that poison ivy rarely spreads from person to person, I liked to admonish him each night with, "Poison ivy is a HIGHLY contagious disease."

After the rash cleared up, I lost my best weapon. A few weeks ago, I came back to bed and found John in the dead center of the bed. Only this time, as a special bonus, not only was he sleeping in that forbidden region, but he was also talking in his sleep. I couldn't manage to wake him to get him to move over. I kept insisting, he kept hedging. He complained about the cold, I complained about the heat. I asked him, no begged him, to move over. And then he said, "Aw just put it in the archives as argument #5764398."