After returning home for four days following our trip down to the coast for the 4th of July, Frank and I loaded up the car again to drive to Brewton for a family reunion. My father grew up in a small town in South Alabama named Bradley (actually, he didn't even grow up IN Bradley, but outside of Bradley, which if you've ever been to Bradley makes that even more scary). Anyway, two of his cousins were gathering in Mobile for a reunion with their entire family and invited us to attend as well. My father's mother is the youngest and only surviving sibling of her eight brothers and sisters, and spending an afternoon with Leon, Enoch and Dad was enlightening.
We're all watching old videos, shot on an 8 mm camcorder, from when my father was a child. I know that these days it's pretty standard for parents to video every moment from their children's childhood. I know beginning at 8 years of age, every major life moment I've experienced has been captured on video. But can you imagine how neat it was to actually WATCH your father as a 10-12 year old, on video? It was really, really neat. This is Leon Timothy, my Dad's first cousin. He lives in Mobile, and was responsible for putting together the amazing videos we watched:
This is my Dad and Enoch. He lives in Texas, and I'm not sure that I'd seen him since I was about 8 or 9 years old. Dad said that when he was born, Enoch was around 8 years old. Apparently Enoch wanted to see Dad after they brought him home from the hospital, so he borrowed his father's (who was appropriately named Frank!) school bus and drove down the road so that he could see Dad in person. Yes, they lived that far out in the "country," as we call it.
At the reunion, I also saw a few old photographs of my Dad and his family together. I've never really thought I looked much like my parents, but I'm fairly certain now that I favor Dad. There's no doubt that I inherited my father's legs. Thanks Dad.
In any event, here is the whole crew, Leon, Enoch, my grandmother Mavis, and Dad.
My grandmother told me right before Frank and I married that she used to have dark hair just like I do. I don't think I realized how close the color was until I saw her on the old videos... So I at least have a good guess about what color "gray" my hair will be when I age. (I've always wanted snow-white hair, I secretly wish to gray early so that I can scare the bejezus out of new associates at the firm once I make partner [evil laugh])--
It was a fantastic reunion. Great food, educational experience, and an opportunity to interact with second and third cousins that I may not have a chance to see again for a long, long time. Although driving down south two weekends in a row wasn't the easiest on the round pregnant lady, I'm glad we did it.
Now to the realizations part....
Back in late April, right before my second trimester began, I was excited to head over to a Pea in the Pod to try out some maternity clothing. In the dressing room, they had these awkward, kind of gross pregnant belly pillows that you could strap on yourself and picture what the clothes would look like once you really were pregnant and showing. My belly had not quite rounded out at that moment, and I giggled when I put the pillow on and tried on the clothes. It was pretty funny. One particular dress that I purchased that day looked absolutely terrible with the pillow in, but looked pretty good without it. I remember thinking to myself, "there's no way that I'll look like that once I start showing, that pillow is ridiculous!" After I'd been in there awhile, the sales lady mentioned trying the pillow, and I told her I had... I remarked to her that it seemed like it was awful big - and she responded, "Well, you'll look like that in about three months...." I disregarded the nasty curse words I wanted to toss her way at that moment (thank you, pregnancy hormones), bought the dress and went about my merry way. I've worn the dress several times, and it seemed to fit ok.
Fast forward to July.... I haven't worn the dress in two to three weeks, and decide this morning to put it on. I'm in a hurry, since I have a deposition and need to get to the office to review documents before it starts, and take a quick glance in the mirror, only to see this staring back at me:
Um... maybe it doesn't look that bad in the picture, but it sure as heck looks exactly like it did with that silly, horrid little pillow in the dressing room at Pea in the Pod. Are you kidding me?!? Clothing can go from "just right" to "too tight" in a span of two weeks? Even Frank commented, "I don't think you'll be able to wear that much longer, dear." Seriously? The addition of a black swing-cardigan sweater called for another wardrobe check from Frank, and elicited a "I don't think you'll be able to wear that sweater much longer, babe" in return. So I've decided that this stage of the pregnancy is just not very fun. I'm not in the home stretch, I'm not just gearing up, I'm just YOUUUGE and sweaty, and swollen, and grumpy. And my maternity clothes are starting not to fit.
I've tried really hard not to complain about being pregnant, honest - I have enjoyed, even loved, being pregnant and am fully appreciative of the fact that Frank and I were blessed with a (fairly) easy road in getting pregnant. But just in case you were wondering, I've decided that Franklin is officially out of room. My stomach feels like it may burst open at any moment, and constantly feels like it's being stretched to the max. I'm not sure if Franklin's shoulder, arm, head, or whatever body part is pressing up on my left rib cage, but it's really starting to hurt. And I knew I never wanted to be fat, but whenever I walk anywhere the fact that my thighs rub together simply grosses me out - so I am definitely not meant to be an overweight person. Really, the feeling makes me want to gag. Someone needs to tell my rear and thighs that they are not pregnant and can stop growing now. And I want some starbucks, really, really bad. And besides the whole thighs-rubbing together thing - whenever I take more than 5 steps in a row, I feel like my bladder is going to explode and I have to run to the bathroom. Did I mention my back hurts? Yeah, it does.
Aren't these supposed to be THIRD TRIMESTER GRIPES??!? I feel jipped. What's supposed to be the "golden trimester" turned out to be the "golden 4 weeks." Bummer. It's going to be a loooonnngg 16 weeks (or so) until he gets here. Until then, I'm off to enjoy my chocolate double-stuffed oreos.
Glider is in, posting pictures of the updated nursery this weekend!
