Week 19...Boy or Girl?

Well, dear readers...in less than 85 hours we will know the sex of our dear baby. I am mostly excited for that, of course. But I am also very excited to see the baby move, for Texan to come to his first doctor's appointment with me, and to hear all about our baby's development. I know that God knows what I need more than I know what I want, so whatever the sex is, I will be thrilled. I pray for a healthy baby, and a clear determination of the gender. Amen.

Currently, presently, at this time, we are experiencing a power outage. Of course, I can't post this until the matter is resolved since our wifi is off, but as I type, it is 1 a.m. and I was awoken by the silence and lack of fan rotation in our room. As I fell asleep around 11:25, I listened to the thunder and watched the lightening flash through my eyelids, and thought drearily, "I hope we don't lose power. I can't live without air conditioning." Yet, here we are. Hopes dashed. It is still 73 degrees in our home, which is precisely where I desire the temperature to stay forever and always, but for how long will this last? How long has the power been out? I do not suspect very long. I have a curse, not yet named by professionals, that disallows me to sleep without the roaring of a fan next to my head. So, naturally, when I noticed my fan was off I jiggled the switch from "ON" to "3" to "2" to "ON" and NOTHING. Then I imagined the face of the man in our Sunday school class who is employed by our local electric company. Then I wondered if I had his number. Then I woke Texan. He could not care less. Thus, here I am.

My recent pregnancy cravings are neither an interesting matter, nor pressing in this emergency situation. But that's why you're reading this, so I'll buck up. This week it has been impossible for me to deny my need for Honey Nut Cheerios. Having, at my disposal, a box of regular Cheerios--which, by their very nature, taste like absolute BOX. So I warmed 2 tablespoons of honey along with a cap-full of vanilla extract and combined the mixture with 2 cups of said Cheerios. The outcome was fantastic, and my taste buds were satisfied. Other than that, I continue to drink copious amounts of chocolate milk. But in a strange new development, I am suddenly aroused to suspicion by my interest in Swiss Miss hot chocolate. As a kid I wriggled in delight as the steaming cup was shoved my way, as I dogged the liquidy gross-ness with my lips allowing inside only the holiest of holy marshmallows. Because that, after all, is all hot chocolate was to me as a child--a vehicle for marshmallows. I never actually finished a glass of hot chocolate as a child, I don't think. But I found myself consuming it rather savagely this week in the evenings after dinner. Now, you lean back in your swivel chair and say, "Cara, you already told us you crave chocolate milk. Isn't this the same thing?" No, you petulant fool. It's quite different.

This has been a top week for fitness. One day, I did 30 minutes of outdoor sweating (sanding a chair in the hot, hot sun) followed by 30 minutes of preggo yoga with Katy. Another day I did a 40-minute cardio workout designed for the sacred vessel woman that wore me out. Then yesterday I rounded out the week with a 90 minute walk-about with my Texan and our hounds.

Woof.

Power outage update: at 2am we heard the power come back on as a transformer blew. (Well, Texan heard it and described it to me.) All I heard was "beep." As I lay there in silence trying, in excellent futility to light my mocha-scented candle, to let its embers comfort me, and its smell enrapture my senses, Texan went back to the breaker box, which is apparently on our front porch. I burned my thumb something fierce trying to light my candle, and just as I got it lit and crossed the room to suck on my sore thumb, GLORY! The power returned. I am so glad I ordered Texan to turn the light switches to the "ON" position so that the power would have a triumphant and dramatic return. It was glorious. Full of glory. I hugged my refrigerator tightly as I listened to its gentle whirring as it cooled my milk ever so skillfully. My tears were not wasted on you, Skim. Yes, dear readers, I cried at the thought of my milk spoiling. And I apologize for calling you petulant fools. It was the heat, and my sports bra is a little too tight. Goodnight.