This is the birthday of my late maternal grandmother, and also of my mother's oldest sister.
This is also the prescribed date for the New Jeruselem to come to Farmington, Maine, at dawn, according to the prophecy of a Quaker acquaintance, Licia Keunning. If you look in the news, it is a date for a lot of Satanic hanky panky too. Am I concerned? Well, we aren't supposed to know the day or hour...and I don't have much regard for Satan worshippers, so I'm not holding my breath. If it comes, it comes.
I prefer to think of it as a birthday. Without the added "meaningfulness" of the year, it was usually a date of celebration and togetherness for my family.
Today, I am up with terrible indigestion, at 4 a.m.. My first thought...will I have my baby today? Then, that'd be cool if it were on my grandma's and aunt's birthday. Then, is it dawn in Farmington yet?
The past few weeks have been filled with nesting instinct sorts of stuff, and getting the kids off to their dad's in Phoenix stuff, and end-of-the schoolyear nuttiness stuff. Since Saturday, for 2 days it has been quiet. But the number of things to do has not slowed down. I have been off of work for about 2 weeks now due to premature labor. My midwife and my pediatrician are gone this week on vacation, so I'm supposed to try and hold off one more week before having this baby. I'm getting daring though. Yesterday I did more than I've done for some time. It started with a trip to Walmart for baby things we didn't get in the shower; lunch at Eatin' Park with my husband after a blood sugar of 69; shopping at Krogers; and then home to laundry, a walk around the yard to look at all I have not been doing...and prune-lopping some first year blackberry canes, and brushing the dogs. I just can't squat the way I used to. Amazingly, I did not go into labor.
I have been waking up at nights talking to the OB (who would deliver if I went into labor while my midwife is gone) telling him he is going to have a bag of pitocin shoved up you know where; and worrying about the temperature in Phoenix. I have a vague paranoia about my ex-husband's teenage Satan worship combined with the significance of this day, and my children being there, but I'm pretty sure at this late date of his life there is nothing to worry about. Pregnancy hormones....and what they do to one's mind.
Last night I saw my abdomen in the mirror, sideways in the bedroom. I'm used to seeing it from above, or straight on. That particular view was incredibly pendulous, and I fell over in shock (on the bed). My husband is beginning to be shocked also. I'm 41. I can't do this much longer. I'll die. The baby has got to come out soon. I don't know if I can wait another week until the midwife comes back. Tomorrow, I may go on a long walk and see what that gets going. When do the raspberries get ripe anyway? If only I could get back to sleep; if only the acid reflux of a pancake flat stomach pushed up into the esophogus would just subside for a few hours. What gets contractions started best is working on the orthopedic unit lifting confused old women into chairs, and going clothes shopping with my daughter. Sometimes my husband's driving will do the trick.
8th grade graduation is over. The prom is over. The kids actually got their laundry done and suitcases packed, and got off on the plane on time, and arrived safely. Lamaze class is over. I have my suitcase mostly packed, and baby clothes washed and put away, sleeping places organized, changing table put together, car seat nearly ready (waiting for a clean car). I have been sewing projects I cut out 10 years ago, and only have a few left to go. The garden is growing a nice patch of burdock right now, and my tomato starts are still sitting on my picnic table, waterlogged from the recent rains, but still good. The chickens are pooping on the back porch daily for want of a better coop. Maybe working on the chicken coop will get my labor started next week.
It is June 6, 2006, close to dawn. I'm nowhere near Maine. So I suppose I'll have to live with it.
