I’ve been avoiding blogging much about my pregnancy because frankly, I’m tired.  I’ve been tired for 8+ months now.  I’m not normally a person who likes unsolicited advice.  In fact, I would say I hate it, and now that I am with child and exhausted, I hate it even more.  A pregnant lady (or a new mom) can’t make a comment about how she’s feeling or what she’s thinking without 80 well-meaning ladies piping in with their feedback.  I could probably make a grouchy list of all the comments that make me nuts, but top of the list might be anything related to sleep.  I know folks mean well, but “sleep while you can, because you won’t sleep later” doesn’t make me feel any better when I’m already getting up at 1am, 4am, and 6am to go to the bathroom.  I got four and a half straight hours of sleep the other night, and I felt like I’d been reborn.  The lack of sleep has already started, but without the reward of an actual child to help make up for it, so all I want when I complain is sympathy, not commands to sleep more.

That’s not what I wanted to write about.  I just wanted to explain my absense.  And if you’re one of those people who has commanded me to sleep, or stand on my head to cure my heartburn, or whatever, please know this is not directed at you.  It is not directed at any one person, but rather the collective universe of females (and sometimes males) that don’t always know to keep their mouth shut.

If you are one of the people who has said I look great in all the pregnancy pics on facebook, you win my undying love and affection.

I watch the Today show nearly every morning.  When I was a little girl my dad would watch the Today show while he was getting ready for work, so it’s been the soundtrack that starts my day for as long as I can remember.  This morning Train was doing a concert in their concert series, and I watched it because this was one of the few bands that has performed this summer that I actually recognize (read: I’m old and listen to too much NPR).

The last song of the morning was one picked by viewers, and naturally it was “Drops of Jupiter”. Why wouldn’t it be?  I remember the first time I heard this song, standing behind the RA desk at WMU (Women’s Missionary Union Memorial Dormitory).  It came on the radio and I turned it up, making everyone else be quiet and listen with me.  I immediately went out and bought the album, and spent the rest of the year singing the song loudly in the hallway with my residents.  Or alone in my room.  Whatever.

The song began this morning, and naturally I remembered all the words.  Bentley was sitting on the couch beside me, looking up curiously, and I grabbed his floppy ears and started to serenade him.  Somewhere before the start of the first chorus I started to tear up…and I still have no idea why.  I was thinking about several things at the time: remembering college and how much I loved those four years, thinking how my unborn child could hear my voice at this moment, and that maybe when he arrives I’d sing him this song to put him to sleep.  Maybe I was thinking about how I’d woken up three times last night and according to the lady who rang me up at Trader Joe’s the other day I’d never sleep again once I became a mother, but whatever the reason, I started to cry.  I tried to stop, to keep singing, but I just couldn’t do it.

Then lead singer Pat Monahan took off his shirt to reveal a white man-tank, which looked ridiculous on its own, but was amplified by the skinny white jeans, high top shoes, and crazy homeless man hair he’s taken to sporting over the last few years.

I couldn’t look at the man and continue to be emotional.  That stopped the tears.