Archive for June, 2012


Courtesy Cakewrecks, but really, my friend Erin took this picture.

That’s right! We’re having a gril!

Perhaps you were wondering about the gril. When we found out Philomena was on her way, my mother went to a bakery to pick out a cake for the baby shower, at which time the sex of the baby would be revealed via cake. It was, I should point out, a delicious cake. Unfortunately, the person in charge of decorating lacked a certain facility in the English language. Lovely Erin noticed first and broke out her mad photographer skills and sent it in to Cakewrecks. So, when we found out that Baby Cubbedge 2.0 was a girl, I knew how I’d announce the news.

Yesterday we went to the birth center. I love this place. You know it’s awesome when the local Amish Mennonite population goes there. The ultrasound was beautiful. At one point her little face came into view and we oohed and ahhed. Her little fingers were visible and all present and correct. She looks healthy. She has Philomena’s nose and my grandmother’s instep. Her due date might be pushed towards November-it depends on the measurements plus the calculated due date.

I really didn’t think I was nervous about the ultrasound. I was wrong. The night before I didn’t sleep too well. I was worried something was wrong with the baby. All the “what-ifs” of pregnancy surged around, preventing anything liek decent sleep. But, God is good, all the time, and He sent me a little reassurance. I had a dream about her. I had gone to bed thinking the baby was probably a boy. Many, many friends and family members were convinced it was a boy. I really didn’t know. Well, in my dream, there she was in all her girly glory. Now, I genuinely didn’t care if it was a boy or a girl. “Congratulations, it’s a child,” was what I was hoping for. I just wanted to find out because I’m incredibly impatient and wanted to a) stop calling my child “it” and b) decide whether to get a bow tie or something pink and ruffly. Lo and behold, my dream was right. She was a girl, no doubt about it. She was healthy. We’d love this baby, no matter what, but golly it’s good to know everything is all right. 




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This blog has been a source of frustration to me lately. While I love the idea of writing, the reality of my life is such that I frequently lack time, brainpower and motivation to dig deeply and produce anything more than the equivalent of a Facebook status update. I was wondering what to do with it, what direction to go in, what I was actually interested in after all when it hit me: I’m interested in producing the tiny occupant of my belly, in enjoying being pregnant for the first time in far too long, and in various other mumsy type things. The outside world, while certainly on my radar, is at the moment, ceasing to fascinate. So, for the foreseeable future, I’ll just write about the stuff that is going on in my life and what I think about it. Boring? Probably, but it’s what I’ve got at the moment. Besides, I have friends and relatives who would like a look-in on life with Philomena and Baby Cubbedge 2.0.

So here is a typical pregnancy post. Enjoy!

Yesterday we decided to go a different mass. We’ve been to this mass before. It’s at a good parish in the suburbs. Some friends go there and there are doughnuts afterwards. I was absolutely certain mass began at 10:30. We left at 10:27, resigning ourselves to being late and probably forced to sit in the cry room. I should mention that the two cups of tea I had already had were doing nothing to get rid of the fogginess, and I was teetering dangerously on the fine-edged sword of capable. But, I was fairly cheerful(ish) as we drove along, thinking we’ll get a terrific homily, stop in the adoration chapel and have donuts in addition to Jesus.So we get to the parking lot and there is no one there. I waddled in to the vestibule to grab a bulletin and lo and behold, I read that mass was at 11:30. Not 10:30. I felt betrayed. Philomena would whine. I didn’t know if I could handle a whine. Bravely suppressing a sniffle I waddled back to the car and told Will, suggesting that maybe I needed a cup of coffee. He responded by flooring it in the direction of Sonic.

Meanwhile, from the back all we could hear were the plaintive whines of Philomena, who, having noticed Mommy’s increasing irritability at nothing, decided to amp up the volume. She’s funny like that. I became quieter and quieter, knowing that if I spoke, I would go from Irritable, Watch Yourself Mommy to Big Bad Mommy. So we corrected the whining and pulled in to Sonic.

‘I’m a little hormonal today, honey.” I said to Will.

“Yes, dear,” he replied and then ordered coffee and juice. Sometimes that is the best response.

The carhop came out, bearing our liquid sanity on a tray. She was cheerful and blond, and then proceeded to morph into Southern Mother Teresa.

“Hi, ya’ll. Here’s the juice for the little one. My goodness, what a beautiful hat, sweetheart! Here’s your drink, sir, ‘and a straw. Now, here’s the coffee. How much cream do you want? Three? I knew it was three. Sugar? Let me just tell you, the coffee is really strong today, so here’s a little extra for you. And we didn’t have any stir sticks, so I brought you out an extra straw. Have a blessed Sunday!”

I started to cry. For real. Not just a few wispy tears. I was snuffling, tears were flowing freely, and I said “That was the nicest thing anyone outside my family has done for me all week! She’s so nice! She gave me extra cream! I think maybe I’m a little hormonal!”

Will wisely gave me a little hug and said “Drink your coffee. Maybe you’d like to write to Sonic and thank them?”

I nodded yes. Because the Sonic lady was the best person in the world.

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