38 1/2 weeks...

Every Thursday morning Jon takes Zephyr to the gym for toddler time. There, they hang on parallel bars, walk on balance beams, chase on trampolines, and jump into the foam pit. Here, it is my sacred hour. The one hour a week I can count on to be home, alone, responsible to no one else. If you call between 11-12 am on a Thursday, I won't answer. (Unless you're Kamy. Then I'll answer and growl, "it's my one hour a week to myself!" to which she'll reply "bye." That's the way it is between us.)

What is it I usually do during this time? At first, I would do things that needed to get done, but were much faster when I was alone. Vacuum the furniture, put away laundry, unload the dishwasher. While listening to the Indigo Girls. That was my special indulgence. Then I got pregnant, and the time was consumed with eating ice cream and surfing the Internet. While listening to the Indigo Girls. Now, the baby is taking up so much space that if I eat ice cream, I have no room left for anything nutritious. Plus, we're out of ice cream. So today I'm blogging. Sans the Indigo Girls. I can't listen to words and think up my own at the same time.

I should add that Jon does try to give me extra time to myself when he can. One day last week he took Zephyr to Lowe's. When he came home I moaned that I had wasted the time eating trail mix and, um, listening to the Indigo Girls, instead of checking items off my to-do list. He said, "I just give you the time, I don't care how you spend it." Do you see why I'll never leave this man?

I honestly can't quite believe how close we are to the end of this pregnancy. I can reflect back to August, my fifth month, when I received what I have mentally dubbed "the worst haircut of my life." (Note: don't get a new hairstyle while pregnant. Additional note: don't get your hair cut when pregnant by another pregnant woman.) It was for a good cause- I donated 10 inches to locks of love. But I did not love my locks. My one consolation was that by the time the baby came, I was fairly certain I'd have enough to throw back into a ponytail- my comfort zone style. A few days ago, this came to fruition. Truth be told, it's a dinky, oddly placed ponytail, but from the front, I feel like I look like "me" again.

Another oddity of this pregnancy is that I started reaching for my make-up bag far more frequently than ever before. This began in August, right after above-mentioned hair disaster, which is probably no coincidence. Immediately, I started wearing tinted moisturizer and eyebrow pencil on a daily basis- glam that I had previously reserved for special events, like photos and weddings. In September I added blush to the regime. In October, mascara. Wow, this was really pushing the envelope. (One day I came home from playgroup. "I think a bug flew into your eyelashes," Jon squinted at me. "Or maybe it's a clump.") I was a little nervous about what November might hold. Eye shadow? Yikes. Way out of my skill set. As it turns out, the closer I get to d-day, the more I enjoy sitting. Putting on makeup requires extra time standing at the mirror. We're back to pretty much bare face. Unless I think pictures will be involved.

Another sign that the end is in sight is my closet of diminishing returns. I am down to five pairs of pants that fit, three pairs that I actually enjoy wearing (all black, cotton, and stretchy). I do still have quite an array of acceptable shirts, but many of them are black, and I'm not really sure if black on black is acceptable as daytime park-and-grocery-store-wear. Not that anyone is looking. I have to laugh when I give myself the nod of approval after donning my "flattering" outfit. As if such a thing exists at 8 1/2 months pregnant. 28 extra pounds doesn't go very far when you're 5'2".

The final sign that labor is near is that I have changed my necklace. I now wear the goddess necklace that Jon made me when I was pregnant with Zephyr. I wore it all through labor and birth; it's right there in the pictures of the first time I nursed my newborn. It wasn't planned. I just found myself digging it out after our homevisit with our birthteam. I feel like I'm putting it out there that I'm ready. Let's get the party started.

I guess. In the meantime, I'm trying to be aware of the little things that I know I've started taking for granted. Sleeping through the night (except for the six times I get up to pee.) Flossing and washing my face at night. Showering without keeping an ear out for a hungry baby. Leaving small objects on the floor.

All of these things dim in comparison with the one little thing I'm savoring most: giving undivided attention to Zephyr. Each time I hold him during a nap, I think 'this might be the last time.' I drink him in, sniffing his head as we snuggle up on the couch to read stacks of books. We dance and sing and play the organ. We chat continuously in the car. He "helps" me cook dinner and return library books. He is 2 1/2, and can be quite demanding. But mostly he's my little buddy, and I enjoy being his mommy, there to meet his needs. I'm not sure how it's all going to work. But he's already been sharing my lap with his baby sister for some time now. We'll figure it out.

They will be home in about 15 minutes. Just enough time to unload the dishwasher. While listening to the Indigo Girls.