83 days left until the due date. Sixty-nine percent of my pregnancy has passed, and there is 31% left to go. Those pregnancy web sites are so very helpful. What am I not appreciating? What should I be savoring? My husband is watching a re-run of CSI, I am grading exams, the kitchen needs to be cleaned… ahh…how great the married life is before one has children. These are the days.
Week 27. I’m feeling a mix of things, in between burps. I burb a lot, and I don’t like it. Bill/Oozy asked me “to work on it” the other day, as my burbs can be quite distinct and disruptive to the flow of a conversation. He knows now that there is really nothing to work on, except his patience.
She kicks a lot. I used to feel the kick on my left side, but today I felt some kicking (punching?) on my right side. She is having her own little season of Dancing With the Stars, or she is upset because her mamma is last place in her Fantasy Football league.
She seems to sleep when I teach during the day. I hope I am not conditioning her to sleep during her own college classes in 20 years.
As far as first-day fiascos go, this one was probably a 5 out of 10. I thought I had arrived in plenty of time to confidently walk in to Monroe 203 for my first day of class as a full-time, full-fledged college professor. Before class, I strolled to the copy center to pick up my syllabi hot of the press and then began the walk down a shaded path to Monroe. Halfway down the bath I felt a little moisture on my hip — I assumed it to be water from the bathroom sink. However, three-fourths of the way down the bath I felt more moisture on my hip. Upon further examination I realized that the water was coming from my large black plastic-like purse. I peaked inside and discovered a pool of water. In it, my lipstick was swimming, my cell phone drowning, and the colorful notecards purchased for a class activity were bobbing up and down. My water bottle with a half-opened top stood upright and swayed as if laughing at what it had accomplished. I casually found an empty picnic table a ways off the trail and emptied my wet belongings as if looking for my car keys. I dumped about a pint of water out of bag.
I made it to class in time, just a little more harried than I would have preferred. The blue, orange and yellow notecards became mush, rainbowish-colored notecards. I still used them. I had the students write their name, their political experience and their prediction for the presidential election on the dry half of the card. They just smiled at the other half.
From a former student of mine:
…has thus far consisted of my husband poking my belly telling our little girl to “wake up” and then telling her “it’s Oozy.” It’s been very sweet. I guess you had to be there.
