Captain’s Log, July 75th, 2018; Pregnancy No. 394, week 18:
We are experiencing summer within summer, and although today has been pleasant, the past few months in general have been long and hot and seemingly just as humid as a typical Pensacola July day, except without the beach.
I am simultaneously melting and ballooning in the heat.
The babies are awesome as of my regular doctor’s appointment yesterday. Still there, still alive and kickin’. We shall soon find out if we are having boys or girls or a boy and a girl. (My gut tells me we are having at least one girl.)
I took it upon myself today to clean out the attic after an arrangement was made with Merrick to temporarily store Christmas decorations in his closet. The transferring of said decorations to said closet should have been easy enough; however, upon further inspection of his room I discovered a massive trash collection no human should ever be exposed to. It was the stoff of nightmares and I went full “The Berenstain Bears and The Messy Room” on him, uncovering one fresh hell after another: stashes of broken sticks, disassembled trophies, acid-soaked batteries in acid-soaked remote controls that seemed to have no purpose in particular; gum wrappers, granola bar wrappers, tissues, loose beads of every shape and size–all of it, forcibly crammed into every crevice of every thing that had crevices…it was as if some kind of super-rat had been breeding and hoarding garbage treasures behind and underneath every piece of furniture. I don’t think I would’ve been more disturbed had I discovered a hidden cape of human skin.
I can still feel my pulse in my ears from the anxiety attack I had over this mess.
Three hours and four bags of trash later, I had a clean attic and a clean ten-year-old boy’s room. Please, prospective future daughters-in-law, know this: I am trying. I am trying for you. Heaven forbid you wind up with a husband who can’t fit a bicycle into your 3-car-garage much less a vehicle because it’s full to the brim with miscellaneous junk, and inhabited by rodents of unusual size. I am trying.
About the attic: we have a small hallway that leads to a 6ft X 8ft room we call “the attic”, and that room leads to the “real” attic, the one with exposed framing and insulation and plywood gingerly placed atop beams; our plan for the time being is to put Lucy’s crib in the 6×8 room so that she can sleep peacefully by herself for a while longer. The rest of her belongings will go in Arbor’s ginormous closet since they will eventually share a room. It’s not much different from those years we stuck babies in our master bedroom closet, just to separate kids at night, and this will allow us to put the twins in the ex-Lucy’s room/ex-art studio downstairs, closer to us.
Mia is playing softball like I’ve never seen softball be played except for maybe the NFL, if the NFL was softball and populated by 14-17 year old girls. Ball is NO JOKE in Oklahoma. No joke at all, and I am still adjusting to that.
And also I am wondering if I will set Arbor marching down that road next year or if she might be more well-suited to a different sport, like mixed martial arts for example, or competitive screaming.
In this picture Arbor is scream-singing (in Merrick’s newly-cleaned room) and Lucy is blowing raspberries–a fun new talent of hers that usually results in me being covered in whole milk spit.