And in another vein totally unconnected by anything but alliteration, WB, the Little Funky Monkey and I got blessed by this amazing woman, (click here for the trailer of the film made about her) who is not only known as India's hugging saint, but is also widely respected for her tireless and expansive humanitarian efforts. We waited until 2:30 in the morning for this, but it was well worth it. I've felt much more of a sense of peace since we received darshan, and I love the fact that we got blessed together as a family. WB actually got blessed twice, as he received a hug and a kiss alone, as well as our family hugs and kisses and blessing. He also heard her say "There is no pain" in Spanish while holding us in her embrace, so I say whether or not this is what she actually said, this is our blessing. It was a beautiful gift to us as a family, and a beautiful gift to the pregnancy. Her devotees who kept the line moving are very protective of her, as it certainly takes a lot of energy to hug and kiss thousands upon thousands of people for hours upon hours without taking a break. So they are quite diligent about keeping those going along, and it was almost a bit aggressive to me as they pushed us on to her bosom and pulled us away. This only slightly marred the experience, however, and despite being pretty exhausted from the whole event and waiting until 2:30am, I'm still so very glad we had this opportunity, It brings good energy to the baby and to our little family. (And WB really dug the chanting.)
And now for the long awaited blabbering. We move in 2 weeks. 2 WEEKS PEOPLE! ARE YOU PANICKING? I SURE AS HELL AM! As of this moment, I have officially packed...one crate. Yes, one whole crate. Amazing, I know. This is a cause of great stress in my world, though as a friend of mine said the other day, it will get packed. Whether or not it gets packed how I want it to be packed is another thing, but at the very worst we'll just start randomly throwing shit into boxes and will move that way. It will get done no matter what. And my mother brought up a very good point, that I work best under pressure. Hmmm, 2 weeks to make a major interstate move and a big life change...nah, no pressure there.
Yesterday on the subway a seemingly nice woman gave up her seat for me on the subway, despite the fact that she had an entire apartment's worth of stuff in about 6 enormous bags with her. She said she'd been there; she understood. I thought that was incredibly sweet of her, and we began to talk about pregnancy, and this woman, who has evidently been there before was evidently giving birth to a microscopic organism before, because she guessed that I was 6 months pregnant! 6 months! I felt far too ashamed to tell her I was only half her estimate, so I lied and told her I was 4 months along. Then I got off the subway and cried. I'm definitely showing now, and I'm showing rather early (we're 13 weeks tomorrow), but people...I DO NOT LOOK LIKE I'M 6 MONTHS ALONG! So I'm including some crappy cell phone pictures (which do not accurately reflect the awesome boobage that is going on here), to prove to everyone that I am not that much of a beached whale...yet. (That would be your cue to leave nice comments about how perfect I look for 3 months...)
(Bellies clearly make me happy. And blurry, but I'm not supposed to talk about that in public.)
Oh, I also think I forgot to mention that I cut my very long hair in what was probably a hormonally inspired move wherein I woke up one morning and decided that I could no longer tolerate even one more second of my long wavy hair and that I had to get it cut that instant! Fortunately, WB convinced me to wait a few hours until I could get an appointment at this place in our neighborhood, where I walked up to my fabulous stylist and told him that I was pregnant and needed him to "fix me". After explaining to me that he really had no interest in all that, he got to work on creating what is actually a very adorable cut when my hair is actually, oh say, washed and maybe even combed?
And just for the record, I don't usually wear flowers or other girlie things. This is a borrowed maternity top (albeit one that I picked out - but I picked it out for a friend, not me) and its very comfortable dammit! I am not turning girlie, I'm just pregnant. There's a difference, I promise.
And now, I must go eat. Right this second! When the 6-months-along-looking-belly calls, I must answer. There is no other choice.