The most comfortable dress, given my belly and the weather, wins.
|Last Sunday, revisited.|
Sweater: Obviously maternity, but I left it in the car and can't check...
Black Sandals (not pictured): Marshall's purchase, super comfy
|Same dress, sans sweater, Saturday.|
I went to Mass alone for Mother's Day. The kids' final CCD class and rehearsal for next week's Children's Mass fell too crazy-early for me to deal with after two days of non-stop-on-my-feet-ness, so my husband drove them to an earlier Mass (8:15). Thus, they could indulge in all of the goodies they wanted at their class parties afterwards, and I could stay home with my feet up, put the prescribed cold compresses/cream/ spa gloves on my rash-riddled hands, and then take a 90-minute nap.
Best and most needed Mother's Day Gift, ever.
The girls came home and presented me with the roses they'd gotten on their way out of church. Since I am too big & burned out to rummage around for one of our nice bud vases, I used a Bud vase of another sort. Because this is how I roll these days. And I look forward to a post-delivery brew, you know... to aid in let-down and all of that. (The Mama's know what I mean. If you have to ask, you don;t want want to know. Or Google it. Just sayin'.)
|This works for me.|
There was also an awesome blog that showed up in my FB newsfeed earlier today (I'd thought it was Calah but I don't see it in her blog), and I am kicking myself for not sharing the post, because I want to revisit it again and now I can't find it. This particular mother blogger was having her "most difficult pregnancy;"the title had something to do with Contemplating the Incarnation on My Kitchen Floor. Hence, my google search for said topic is yielding flooring adverts. Help! Anyone? Because I have shed more crazy-anxious-sad-weird tears in this pregnancy than during any other, and so I totally relate to this woman's experience.
Furthermore, my husband needs to know he is not alone in having to shoulder the cross of his ever-weepy wife. For instance, last night I wept before falling asleep. Emre, startled and concerned, asked me what was wrong, if I was OK, why was I crying... And as I paused in the darkness, trying to find words to express my sadness and fear in that moment, what came out was, "I am afraid of 'failing at labor.'"
What does that even mean?! I dunno. Wait and ask me to explain when that feeling sweeps over me again. Its been about five hours; I'm thus overdue for another crying jag, so you should get the opportunity soon.
Here I am at week 36, huge in the belly, feeling all those fun full-term-now physical sensations that our Creator wisely wired up for us to get us to actually look forward to what lies ahead to get that baby out and in our arms. (Again, in sensitivity, I shall leave it at that.) Emotionally I have never been this anxious/fearful/uptight about the start of labor. I have read that its in the realm of normal to feel this way, which is a relief. (And why I'd like to rediscover that blog post!)
All that said, I'd best stop here and
I've also digressed way off topic. Mea culpa! Check back with Fine Linen and Purple to get yourself back on the fashion-minded track.