Friday was the summer solstice, and your papa outdid himself this week. First, there was the oscillating fan he brought home for the bedroom, to cool me down some while I sleep. (I'm overheating these days and walking about the house in various degrees of undress. When your Great-Grandma Polly was pregnant with Grandpa Bob in an Oklahoma summer, she was naked much of the time, or so goes the tale. I believe it as I'm nearly there myself.) On Sunday, your papa dug a pit in the back yard and cooked us up a beef brisket from Queen B Farm over a wood fire, which he dressed with a BBQ sauce he mixed himself. I do just fine in the kitchen with the one pot/one pan meals, but your Papa, we decided this weekend, is the special occasion cook--all gourmet weekend and holiday meals will be at his hand, and you and I are are ever lucky for it (as I'm sure you're aware by the time you're reading this). How I managed to find a such good-looking man who can cook and keeps me laughing, I don't know.
You're getting big. Gigantic, actually. According to the midwife, your head is already nestled down in my pelvis (and it better stay there, bub), but you've got this one foot consistently wedged into my side, and the other jammed up against my diaphragm making breathing something of a labor. Sometimes I'll feel you moving in two opposite places at once in my belly, each thump so far from the other, and think, how is that even possible? You must be one froggy-legged babe, one strong, tall glass of milk already. I may be complaining a little these days, but it's an affectionate complaint--a bragging complaint, even. If you weren't making trouble for me, I'd wonder if you were mine at all.
We fell asleep, your Papa and me, and missed the super moon. I think we're conserving sleep these days, getting as much of it as we can, before your arrival. The next super moon will happen in August 2014, and you'll be a year old. I can hardly imagine it.
Love always, Mama
|A shirtless Wolfman tending to dinner.|
|Spinach salad with all sorts of goodies.|
|Brisket and mashed potatoes courtesy of Chef Wolfman, pretzel roll courtesy of the grocery bakery.|
|I was giggling so hard, I could barely take these photos of Thorn, who obviously melted in the heat.|