"This case deserves to be a classic." *

The Queen of Japan narrates the following story:
A young Japanese boy, Sunoco, discovers his father has been killed. He enlists the help of the Queen, who orders Sherlock Holmes to time-travel (from present-day America) to help solve the mystery. Sherlock discovers that Sunoco’s father was murdered by a pig-Latin-speaking Roman centurion who had traveled to Japan for that explicit purpose. The Queen, Sunoco, and Sherlock band together to capture and imprison the centurion. And then Sherlock time-travels back home, and the Queen adopts Sunoco to become the prince.

The End.

Written, directed, and produced by Group #5 (Primo, A, E, and T).
Courtesy of Primo's first grade opera workshop project.

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*Sherlock Holmes, The Adventure of the Priory School

"The Shepherd-boy shouted in an agony of terror: 'Pray, do come and help me; the Wolf is killing the sheep,' but no one paid any heed to his cries..."

Immediately after I posted the last post, the contractions stopped.
(That reminds me of that old joke about the coughing coffin...does anyone know what I am talking about?)

Anyhoo, the contractions eased up, so I am back to merely being grumpy, uncomfortable, and breathless. Exacerbated by the fact that now the public schools are not going to strike, they feel free to declare two-hour delays for just about anything including, it seems, the superintendent's hangnails. Oh, all RIGHT, I know we had an ice storm but when I was in school...let me tell you, uphill both ways, barefoot, in the snow...blah blah blah....

I did something else last night I am now really sorry I did (other than leading my Internet pals down the garden path): I skipped ahead in a book I was mostly enjoying to find out what happened and am pretty sure I ruined reading the rest of the book, since what happened in the book was of course meant to devastate the reader, and I actually didn't much care.

WHAT was I thinking? Now I need to rethink my hospital books again...

Oh! And I may not have a baby yet, but I am the proud owner of a lovely silver Honda Odyssey minivan (the whole process involved much less pushing than childbirth, too). I haven't driven an automatic since I learned to drive eons ago, but I suppose I'll manage. It's wonderful and ROOMY.

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*Aesop, "The Boy Who Cried Wolf"

"Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air, we wawl and cry." *

All that contracting and pressure and ouchies, and so out of breath last night that I couldn’t even sleep, and I am still only 1 cm. SO unfair. But my blood pressure was waaaaaayyy up – because today’s appointment and next week’s appointment had been cancelled – NOT by me – and my chart was missing.

Remember when I told you – did I tell you? – that I told H that he had to remember one thing, that I was strep B positive this pregnancy? And he said, “Well, it’s not as if it’s not in your chart. And how am I supposed to remember that?” And I glared at him and said, “*I* will be in labor. Surely you can remember ONE MEASLY LITTLE THING if I ask you to.” (He looked suitably abashed and mumbled, “Yes, but don’t call me Shirley.”) And there I go this morning, with NO CHART.

No wonder my normally lovely low blood pressure was 140 over 100. But they found the chart and resolved the appointment issue – turns out that the fact of a simple phone call – by me - to suss out the situation at my old doctor’s new practice was enough to cause appointments to be cancelled and charts to be moved, even though I had signed no release forms or cancelled any appointments my own damn self. Jesus Crisis.

When they rechecked my blood pressure before sending me home – no closer to labor than when I’d arrived – it was back to normal. So, I am still contracting, and am still hurting, and can’t breathe, and am very very VERY grumpy, and can’t even think about food, but I am apparently NOT about to have a baby, say, anytime in the next 24 hours. Dammit.

I zipped through The Wednesday Wars last night, though, so must replace that on my hospital stack. I LOVED it. I want to own it, will definitely reread it, and it prompted me to hunt down a copy of The Tempest to reread. I don’t know what happened to my pretty little blue clothbound Yale Shakespeare volume, but I dug out one of my volumes of the teeny red leather Works of Shakespeare – the ones that turn my fingers red, like dyed pistachios do - and started in. (I wasn’t about to lug around my Riverside.) So yeah, I am such a dork that I lay in my doctor’s examining room on my left side, waiting for my blood pressure to decrease, and read Shakespeare.

I thought I had more to say but in the hour since I started writing this post, I have started experiencing what may well be real contractions. So I'll wrap up now and go lie down. And wait for H to return from the car dealership. I called him at work and asked him to bring me a vanilla milkshake, but apparently he got distracted and is bringing me a blue minivan instead.

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*King Lear, Act 4, sc. 6, 179–180

Q: Once I'm in the hospital to deliver, who will see me in that position? *

My dear ones, I got NOTHING. No energy, no creativity, nothing to say to anyone, not even you.

I am sitting around (feeling somewhat akin to Baron Harkonnen), waiting for contractions to begin in earnest. I KNOW my due date is 8 days away, but frankly I am surprised I made it this far. No, I haven’t eaten pineapple or spicy food, had lots of sex (PUH-LEASE, that’s what got me into this mess in the first place), or resorted to nipple stimulation; I am not THAT eager. But I am doing a whole lot of wishing and praying and silent whispering to the fetus to GET. OUT. NOW (not that I don’t love you , baby…).

Public schools had a two-hour delay today – high winds, I guess? Who the hell knows? Not me. And Seg’s back at preschool for the first time in something like a week, still coughing like he’s afflicted by black lung but looking and acting considerably perkier. I am forgoing the usual housework Terzo and I do in the mornings to edit a couple papers before the baby comes. Oh, and, you know, write a post.

I finished the third Sally Lockhart novel yesterday – and in hopes of discovering more about the delicious coupling of Sally and Daniel Goldberg, and reading more adventures involving the delectable Jim, I requested The Tin Princess from the library.

I am about halfway through The Friday Night Knitting Club - reminiscent of Jennifer Chiaverini’s Elm Creek Quilt novels, which is a good thing. As usual in an ensemble piece, there are characters I enjoy and some that drive me batty. Some of the plot is out of left field, but that’s ok, there’s enough going on to distract from the occasional creak and groans of plot maneuvering. A very enjoyable read, so far. And it’s making me want to pick up knitting needles again. Dear Suse tried to teach me how to purl via the Internet and email, but I think I need hands-on instruction. My mother-in-law knits, and rather well, so when she returns from Florida, I will ask her to teach me to purl. Remedial Knitting 101. I don’t really want to do anything too complicated, maybe make a scarf or something. I like the idea of acquiring the womanly arts : )

I am still reading Loving Frank - two things: Frank Lloyd Wright was an egotistical, self-absorbed asshole, no matter how talented, and 2) it took me a while to figure out that it is a fictionalized account of the Taliesin murders, which are horrific. I will finish it but maybe not right now. I happen to know children die, and I am not sure I can cope with children dying right now (remember my idiocy in reading Sophie’s Choice while pregnant with Primo? Yeah, don’t want to repeat that mistake…)

My pile of books to take to the hospital keeps changing. Currently the stack includes The Friday Night Knitting Club, I Love You, Beth Cooper, and The Wednesday Wars. Yes, yes, I have some toiletries packed up, and some yoga pants and sweatshirts, but the books are the important thing, don’t you think? I mean, TWO WHOLE DAYS. Yes, of course, I have to feed the baby and whatnot, but still…one baby is nothing compared to the three I’ve got to wrangle at home. And once I get my epidural, I’ll have hours in which to read until I have to push. Contractions, take me away!

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* A: Authorized personnel only -- doctors, nurses, orderlies, photographers,
florists, cleaning crews, journalists, etc.