When I was young, one of my treasures was a molded plastic comb in the shape of a seahorse. In my girlish mind, seahorses were at the top of the COOL list along with unicorns, rainbows and holographic stickers. As an adult, the last informative TV program I saw about seahorses left me thinking they were kind of gross.
I’ve been thinking about seahorses lately, but only because the male is the one who bears the offspring. In the middle of my pregnancy with this third child, I glance sidelong at Jason and think…..male pregnancy…..now that would be a good thing. In your best Schwarzenegger accent, think It’s not a tumor.
I know God had a perfect plan in his creation of mankind, but in my human weakness I grasp for total experiential sympathy from the husband. Not that Jason is mocking me, but he looked at me this morning and said with a goofy grin, “Nice overalls.” Smack. Maternity pants are always falling down, needing a constant hitch-up, and when yesterday my thumb mashed through the crotch fabric in my favorite jeans from all the hitching up, this morning I accepted defeat and unearthed the denim overalls from college days. I have also weathered his smirks from rushing to the bathroom for relief from a couple teaspoons of pee.
And the middle-of-the-night angst…a pregnant lady must arise at least once a night to pee. Imagine the agonizing dilemma a simple cold brings. Nasal congestion transforms me into a mouth-breather at night, which completely dries out the oral cavity. Getting a glass of water in the middle of the night guarantees another trip to the bathroom. So I lie awake trying to work up the spit to go back to sleep.
But then there are all the nice things about carrying a baby—a new wardrobe, snacks full of protein, the baby’s kicks and somersaults that are wonderful to feel. Jason has no concept. Because every time you grab his hand for him to feel the baby kick, the baby stops moving, silly thing.
Anywho, in other news, the kids and I took a field trip to Central Farm Supply and picked up a surprise.
The peeping that occurred on the way home was almost too much for the kids to stand. The chicks were placed into a small vented box which was taped shut, and they loudly chirped their confusion. Owen and Helen couldn't wait to get their little hands on those balls of fluff.
The poor chicks wised up to my children after a day. They now run from grabbing hands and don't hesitate to jump from astounding heights to get back to the warmth and safety of the large box in the garage.
And here's one more picture, fresh this morning, proving Owen is not scarred from his fire jammies, although he did protest them loudly last night.
The poor chicks wised up to my children after a day. They now run from grabbing hands and don't hesitate to jump from astounding heights to get back to the warmth and safety of the large box in the garage. 
