Baby Banter #7, 8 and 9

From a woman at a local church after a Jimmy DeYoung lecture:
Are you having TRIPLETS?!

Yes. Yes, I am. Very small triplets. If you add all their sizes together, they add up to be about the size of one normal 32-week baby (at the present, about 4 pounds and 19 inches long).


Beloved pastor after the Jimmy DeYoung lecture:
She’s pregnant!

Don't even play. You knew that already!


From Jimmy DeYoung after the Jimmy DeYoung lecture:
Hey, Mama!

Suddenly, I’ve become everybody’s mama, even Jimmy DeYoung’s! Funny, we don’t resemble each other at all. I’m missing the receding fro and the great broadcast voice.

Baby Banter #6

From my dear husband after I made a joke about unloading a watermelon from his vehicle (something I knew I would not be allowed to lift):

"You can't do that! You already have one!"

It might not have looked it, I'm pretty sure that watermelon was bigger than my watermelon! And it was very tasty.

Don't be a stuck in the mud

“Dead Sea peril: sinkholes swallow up the unwary”

That was a headline today. Unbeknownst to Yahoo! News, that is not news to me. The Dead Sea is one big sinkhole. My time stuck there was more like 5 minutes than 14 hours, but I got stuck nonetheless. Fortunately, my brave rescuer (Gunter) was close by to drag out my salty, miry self.

Stuck is about the only thing you can get at the Dead Sea. If you’re looking to learn about Biblical history, floating or mud that burns your skin, the Dead Sea is a neat place.




If you’re looking for a gorgeous ocean and a nice spa, try Destin, Florida.

Thoughts on the drive home

Don't text while driving, especially on winding country roads. That means you, huge shiny pickup truck crossing over into my lane!

You know you're from the country when a bad smell comes through your vents and you can immediately identify what kind of livestock generated said smell.

If I tilt my steering wheel as far up as it can go, maybe the airbag will hit me in the face if it were to go off instead of in the abdomen. I guess you know you're getting more mom-like when you'd prefer being hit in the face by a huge sack of air at a gazillion miles per hour.

Country roads can be so beautiful. I should stop and take a picture one of these days. I have pulled over on the side of this road before, and 2 cars stopped to check on me before 3 minutes had passed.

I'm blessed to have air conditioning, even though it doesn't seem to do much good on the way home. The car gets cool on the morning commute, but the AC is no match for the Alabama afternoon sun.

Sometimes, it takes longer to pull out at an intersection with only three cars puttering down the road than it would take in a big city.

Queen for a few more days

I’ve spent the past few nights at Mama and Daddy’s house because Gunter left me.

Wait, that doesn’t sound right.

What I mean is, he left home to take the youth on a beach retreat, so I’m vacationing at the parents’ house this week. Gunter recanted after what happened a few weeks ago and told me that I could stay at home by myself if I wanted to, but I figured it would ease a few minds if I had more supervision.

What everybody forgets, though, is that I was never alone. Bailey was there the whole time. I think she knows karate.

Staying with Mom and Dad takes me back to my last few days of college and the year before Gunter and I got married. I was doing about the same thing I am this week -- driving the same route to work, talking to Gunter on the phone each night and being treated like a queen. I think my queen status might have even been upped this week because it’s only for a few days and because I’m carrying around a large ball of grandbaby.

Mom even stole the dirty clothes out of my room.

I’m pretty sure that, soon enough, Bailey will think Grandmama and Grandaddy’s house is the happiest place on Earth when she is treated like a queen here, just as I thought my grandparents’ house was better ‘n Disney World. I’ve heard from others that my queenly days at this residence are numbered according to the arrival of the next generation of spoiled-rotten grandbabies.

We'll see. Maybe they'll at least still like me here.

Baby Banter #4 and 5

From a nursing student at a community college in Opp yesterday:

"You're so little! When I was pregnant with mine, my belly was twice that size!"

From the Winn Dixie deli lady today:

"August?! You look like you're about to have her."

On the contrary, according to my doctor, I'm measuring right on schedule. That's what Blue Cross pays them for, so I think I'll stick with the professional opinion.

Baby Banter #1, 2 and 3

Because I get so many baby comments a day, I thought it would be fun to share some of them on the blog. Keep in mind that I am NOT offended by these comments, so I hope you won’t be either.

I’ll start the series with a top 3 of the week from a lovable cutup at church. These sound mean, but you’d just have to know him (and some of you know him well).

“How’s my favorite blimp?”

“Hey, Slim.”

“There she is, protruding navel and all.”

I think “Hey, Slim” made me laugh the most. I never know what to say back.

Lip service

I don’t wear lipstick. I can’t stand most lipsticks I’ve tried, mostly for the taste and the dry paint feeling. But, since last Saturday was such a special occasion – my little brother’s wedding – I figured I’d better invest in some. I didn’t think lip gloss was up to the challenge of the gazillion pictures bridesmaids pose for on wedding days.

So Thursday after my doctor’s appointment, I scooted over to the Clinique counter at the mall. I would normally just get something at Walmart, but I needed someone to pick me out a color a high-quality product.

I don’t wear lipstick, so I’m not accustomed to buying it, either.

I described the dress color to the Clinique lady, and she proceeded to pull lipstick tubes from one of those sample boards. And I, not EVEN thinking, picked up the first tube and smeared it all over my lips. I then noticed her rubbing each tube on her hand to test the color. Of course, it didn’t occur to me to do that. For some reason, rubbing countless hand germs on my mouth seemed like such a better idea.

At that point, I started rubbing lipstick on the back of my hand, too, hoping she didn’t notice my goof or the sparkly new shade on my face that simply was not there before.

I ended up buying that very color – waterviolet. It looked really good on the tissue I vigorously rubbed it on immediately after walking away from the counter.

And that was just one brain lapse for the day. A couple of hours later, I arrived home to remember that I left my car in Dothan. But that’s another story.

Okay, I get it.

I'm co-teaching kindergarten VBS this week (with my friend who is expecting at the end of July). Judging by the way my hips felt this morning, I'm going to have to go easy on the dancing.

28 weeks

Dear Bailey,

We had a checkup yesterday, and you (or, I) measured at 28 weeks, right on schedule. Your heartbeat was not hard to find, and it sounded strong. The doctor said all that grunting and time it takes for me to get out of bed is normal.

I can feel and see you rolling around in there now. You do a lot more pushing than you do kicking these days. That’s not new to you, but it’s new to me. You’re most active during the day, and you tend to settle down at night, just like your mama.

Because your daddy and I are in two different cities during the day, he hasn’t felt you when you’re really active, but you amazed him the other night. When he would push against my stomach a little, you would tap back.

Apparently, you’re long enough to stretch from one side to the other. I think you just discovered this yesterday afternoon, because I could feel you bumping both sides at once. You seemed to be enjoying it, and you bounced that way for about 20 minutes.

One morning last week, I woke up with the hiccups – probably the first time that’s ever happened. I was surprised to feel you hiccuping between each of my hiccups. Did I sip that water too fast? Did the alarm clock scare us that bad?

It seems as though you’re taking after your daddy in at least two areas – you tend to get excited when you hear music, and you love sweets. The sugar addiction has just hit me within the last week or so, and I’m thinking it must have something to do with you. Why else would I order a chocolate milkshake instead of a fruit slush? Why would I think that leftover Walmart doughnut was the best snack ever? Why would I gaze longingly at the M&Ms when I go to grab some trail mix? It’s not like me at all. I hope we get over it soon.

Keep growing. I’ll try to slip you some vegetables this afternoon. Love you already.

Life as a delinquent

I got this in my e-mail today. Can you believe that Facebook called me out like that?

They even included a link to the login page, in case I had forgotten.

Sorry, Facebook! I really do appreciate your constantly letting me know what other people in the world are doing, as well as letting them in on my life, but I've just had more pressing things to do lately than peruse you. Sorry, online buddies! My not logging on to Facebook does not mean you are not important to me.

It reminded me of the time during my senior year of college when a journalism professor called my cell phone to tell me that my classmates were wondering if I was coming back to class. He didn't have an attendance policy, and I was completing all my assignments by deadline. I just thought my time would be better spent getting something beneficial done that day (such as driving to a nearby city to cover a story for The Alabama Baptist newspaper) than having the online notes read to me.

By the way, let this be no bad reflection on Troy (State, at the time) University. This was the only journalism class I didn't enjoy.

Anyway, the call was my professor's nice way of saying, "Technically, you don't have to be here, but it would be nice if you would grace us with your presence every once in a while."

Sometimes, you just gotta pick and choose. That day, $100 in my pocket ranked above an hour of note-reading, no matter how well known was the weatherman reading them.

But the next class day, I showed up with just a hint of chagrin.

I'll clean up my mess soon, Facebook. You've shamed me into it.

Home alone

I passed a major milestone last weekend. At 25 years of age, I stayed home alone overnight for the first time.


That may come as a surprise to many of you brave, independent types, but I’ve never really had much of an occasion to stay by myself. I lived with Mom and Dad until I left for college, where I inhabited a dorm for all 4 years, surrounded by people. Then, I moved home for almost a year until Gunter and I got married. Since then, he’s probably only been gone overnight a couple of times, and I took advantage of those occasions by staying with my parents or my Aunt Pam and Dear Grandmother. To my credit, however, I have stayed in a hotel alone…but just like the dorm, I was still pretty much surrounded by people up and down the hallway.

So last weekend as Gunter left to be in a friend’s wedding in Orlando, I decided that I was grown and that I really just wanted to stay in my own house. Nobody protested…much.

The first night was great. I slept like a log. I expected that I would get scared at some point, but I never did. What I DID get was lazy. I surprised me. I thought that if I had the house to myself, I would get so much done, but it was quite the opposite. Suddenly, with nobody around, all I wanted to do was lie on the couch and eat junk – which I did for quite a while.

The second night alone was a bit more eventful. I spent early evening “helping decorate” for my brother’s wedding shower. Afterwards, the Bailey bunch went to eat at my beloved Chicken Shack, where we ended up staying for about 2 hours due to lack of waitresses. I got home a little later than I’d planned, but no big deal. I’m grown, right? So grown that my dad waited around after an event at the church so he could walk me in and check my house for intruders before I locked up for the night.

I had already talked with Gunter on the phone, so I nonchalantly crawled into bed about 11 and started to doze. That is, until the search party arrived at my door.

“Did I actually hear knocking, or was I just dreaming? There it is again. Should I go to the door? Maybe I should take a weapon. I hear knocking AND my name. It must be safe.”

Scooted out of the bed (no easy task these days), threw on a robe and opened the door to find my daddy standing there. My first thought – “Who’s dead?” Mom peeked out from behind him. “Gunter…” he said, and my heart stopped for a split second before he finished, “has been trying to get up with you for 3 hours.” (Even though it was more like 2.) They had called, too, and I had not received a single ring or a message on the ol’ trusty cell phone.

Gunter was a tad upset but glad to hear that I was, in fact, okay. Apparently, I had missed one important tidbit of information from our earlier conversation – that he would call me back after the wedding was over, or that I would call him. Nope, I didn’t catch that at all.

Next came the declaration that I would never stay by myself again…ever. Ever.

Didn’t sleep quite as good that night as I did the night before. But I did stay the rest of the night by myself, with Daddy’s (fully functioning) phone on my nightstand.

By the way, if you’ve tried to call me in the past few days and wonder why I haven’t called back, it’s probably because I never got your message. Perhaps your call never even came through. Took the phone by Alltel yesterday, and apparently, it’s been dropped one too many times. The rep could tell by looking inside the back. Beware of clumsiness rough phone treatment – it could have serious consequences.