2005-04-04 - 1:26 p.m.
Remember what I said about groundhogs?
I take it back. The reprieve is granted for another year. Two days after I posted that last bit the good weather came rolling in. Nice warm sunshine and good wind, perfect for flying kites. The trees are blossoming madly, like they’re apologizing for something. So now I’m singing “Poisoning Pigeons in the Park” in the halls at work and drawing all sorts of odd stares. Gotta keep folks off-balance, ya know.
With the coming of spring, a man’s thoughts turn to… no Geoffrey, not pilgrimages. Not the Final Four, either, in spite of the fact that I can’t go anywhere downtown without seeing some mook in hazard orange. No, in this case my thoughts are turning to house renovations and furniture repair. The house renovations carry special urgency this year, particularly when it comes to the Professor’s room. She’s becoming a big girl, and it’s time for her to move to a big girl’s bed. We have the bed; we need to take out the carpet the cats have ruined and lay new stuff. Essentially, we need to turn the room from a place where she keeps her clothes and toys to a place where she lives. It’ll be a challenge; she’s so used to sleeping in the room with us, and the times we’ve tried to move her she’s screamed her head off.
There’s another reason to get her moved as well; we’re going to need the crib space.
Yep, the Professor will soon have an evil sidekick.
J’s about three months along now. She’s reacting very differently from last time; no sign of morning sickness, but she’s got no energy and a ravenous appetite. Some of her friends are teasing her that this one’s a boy. We’re just hoping it’s healthy, and we don’t repeat what happened to the Professor. A boy would be nice, just to balance everything out. Another girl wouldn’t disappoint me either. J doesn’t want to know ahead of time; I do. J wants to maintain some of the mystery, especially since we’ll have another C-section. I want to know what’s coming, at least gender-wise. No telling as far as personality. I just keep remembering Bill Cosby’s riff on his kids: the oldest never gave them any trouble, the next one they nicknamed Beelzebub, and the third came out with a cigarette in one hand, a martini in the other, and asking, “All right, who’s in charge here?”
This time around we're not so anxious. Hopeful, but patient, ready for whatever comes.
Praise God from Whom all Blessings flow...
