It feels good to know that one’s child is bought and paid for. Until today there was one bill from my delivery that I was waiting for… and waiting for… and waiting for. I don’t like the feeling of being indebted to anyone especially when it means that the anesthesiologist owns stock in my little girl. So, yay!, she’s all mine!
It strikes me as funny- the word “delivery”. To be delivered. Who decided to call it that? I have been delivered. It reminds me of Matthew 6:13: deliver us from evil. Or it reminds me of pizza: deliver us some evil (carbohydrates and lots o’ cheese). Is it a big sigh of relief to be delivered from the burden of huffing and puffing for forty-five minutes to climb the stairs; or to be delivered from feeling one’s stomach growling inside of the throat were it ended up after the growing baby shoved up it there; to be delivered from an overactive sense of smell? I like being pregnant. Perhaps someone who feels deathly ill for the whole nine months would be better able to understand the implications of the word. :::shrug::: I just think it’s funny because, really, one hasn’t been delivered from something at all, but delivered unto something: motherhood.
My son asked to listen to Christmas music this morning. It must be genetic. I must have passed along the genes for my holiday passion. People who have been jaded really just have a hard time grasping why I am so keen on this time of year. I get so excited I could just throw up. Honestly, I do. The decorating, the twinkling lights, the “baby it’s cold outside” snuggling! OH YAY! Just thinking about it makes me feel some nausea coming on! I think the part of the holidays that really takes top prize is that for two whole days (Thanksgiving and Christmas) everyone stops the rush, rush, rush and just spends time together. (Of course, ironically, there is a lot of rush, rush, rushing that leads up to it).
So be warned: there will be a lot of mushy, sweet, and drippy holiday talk coming from me over the next couple of months. After that don’t be surprised if I get a little cranky. Once Christmas is over the wintertime just becomes cold and yucky; no more twinkling lights and gingerbread men- just dead trees.
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