First, I am still pregnant. Not that I shouldn't be, but I am. With sporadic contractions, I have noticed that the position of this baby appears less than ideal. I really hope it moves. I tried my own hand at an external version of sorts today with a little luck...for about four minutes. I am beginning to think I will carry this baby right up to my due date. Is that ok? Absolutely. Does it make me happy? Not entirely.
Next, I start work four weeks from today. Perhaps that decision was a little ambitious, but I am so excited about it that I care very little. I cannot wait to have a job. A great job. A great job that I have dreamed of having for years. Me=extremely fortunate.
Finally, and completely unrelated, Adam and I really need to start using each other's first names. I mean it. We found out we were expecting Baby Patrick exactly six months into our marriage, so we really have grown together as parents the last several years, and spent a relatively short period of time as just a couple. Perhaps it is that reason that we refer to each other as some derivative of "mom" and "dad". For example, I called Adam from the grocery store last night to see if he preferred item A over item B, and the conversation started like this:
Adam: Hello, Mother.
Catie: Hi, Father. We seriously have to stop doing this.
Adam: I know, Mama.
There is no end in sight. We are not our parents, we are our grandparents. And while it's wonderful to be such a solid team, there is little romance to be had when you call each other by the same names as you would the people who raised you. Truth.
The family. We are a little band of characters trudging through life, sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another's desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that binds us all together.
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