pregnant women


A lot of my friends have been announcing pregnancies recently, and I've been asking some of them for photos of themselves when they're "really huge". Contrary to what they may think, I don't make this request because I want to make fun of them, or post the photos anywhere public. I actually think that pregnancy is very cool.
The media may sometimes gently mock pregnant women, portraying them as ungainly creatures who whine about their backs and waddle around looking for pickles. The deep truth, however, is that we all secretly look at pregnant women with a sort of awe. They become a different species from the rest of us for nine months; their skin glows, they look wiser, they exude contentment (when they're not throwing up, that is).
It's why so many of us have an overwhelming urge to touch their stomachs; part of us wants to share a little bit of that "otherworldliness" (and no, this doesn't mean that -I- want to be pregnant :-)).
When my sister was pregnant, I loved to watch her stomach. Jeff did, too...sometimes (when Ruth was feeling particularly patient) my sister would get comfortable on the couch and let Jeff and I gawk at her bulging tummy. The first time I saw something ripple beneath the surface of her skin, I was horrified; it was like a scene from a alien monster movie. When the horror wore off, I was fascinated. Even delighted. If I watched closely enough, I could see the shape of an elbow, a head, a foot. That was my niece/nephew in there!

My friend Michelle is having a "Welcome Back" party for me at her place tomorrow, which should be fun. :-) Today, Jeff and I are hanging out with Bryan Fullerton and his friend Kelly; we're seeing "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon". Looking forward to going to my sister's place for dinner and seeing Sara and Annie!
Gwyneth Paltrow (my harp) is doing well, having made it safely back home! To avoid boring the non-harp people here, I've started up a separate Harp Journal (part of my harpresource.com site).
Today's Blatherpic: Sara, when she was a baby.
