Paging Pee Wee Lee...

We're waiting for you, little one. This is not a desperate plea - just a warm entreaty for you to come and join us.

You've been a twinkle in our eye for so long now. We've watched your roundhouse kicks and felt your violent hiccups. Now, we can see you mooning us as your wee little rump roves back and forth along the top hemisphere of Mama's belly.

We've got the names picked out, our CPR skills polished, and every night we tell you how much we love you and how excited we are to take care of you.

We also have very, very bad singing voices as you've noticed and we suspect this may indeed be the reason for your delayed entrance.

But I also wanted to show you that we've prepared in other ways for you, too.

So, first, here's 'da crib:
crib

Some feathered friends:
plume

If you're a girl, you'll appreciate this closet...

closet

full of clothes!
closet

Speaking of drawers, we've got some clean ones for ya:

cloth diapers

Even Mr. Frogman is eager for your arrival, and for your first bathtime.
mr. frogman

I even baked...you like Funfetti, don't you?
funfetti

Well, whatever your plans may be, we'll leave the light on for ya....
light

Juno, see also: "What kind of a girl"

Saturday night - when I was not otherwise predisposed to snarking at the punks next to me in the theatre who insisted that "Whatchoo talkin' 'bout Willis?" came from a show called "Webster" from the '70s - I was busy allowing the movie "Juno" to inch its way into my Top Ten Favorite Movies of All Time.

If you've ever been sixteen, or pregnant, or both, you must see this movie.

It's very wise in a way that films about adolescence only sometimes succeed. Juno, played by the brilliant Ellen Page, is spectacularly snide, clever, and self-assured. She has a plan, always, it seems. She probably even planned to wear her cherry underoos when she goes to pop Paulie Bleaker's cherry. But then there is a moment when she confesses to her father and stepmother that she's pregnant, and her father says, "I thought you were the kind of girl who would have known when to say when."

And then Juno says, hesitantly, "I don't really know what kind of girl I am."

Here we begin to realize that she is not so wise. She does not always have a plan. She is sixteen, she is pregnant. She is very confused.

There's a courage in her concession. I don't really know what kind of a girl I am.

When I was sixteen, I was very busy overachieving and not eating and covering my notebooks with aphorisms and "Proud to be a virgin" buttons. I thought I knew what kind of girl I was. I thought I had a plan, always. Now, I realize that I was a chickenbone. I was the wilted pickle on Juno's hamburger phone. I didn't know what kind of girl I was and this was evidenced in how I treated those around me, and how I treated myself. I should note that one of my old neighbors told her kids that Juno reminded her of me. And I can only hope it was because she once knew me in high school when I dressed androgynously and wore a perma-ponytail, and not because I was someone who always seemed to have a plan. Because that would just be too painful to know.

I've been thinking about "Juno" for a few days now, and I've watched every interview with "Juno" screenwriter Diablo Cody on youtube, and I've listened to a few tracks from the soundtrack eleventy four times a piece, and when I am not otherwise sobbing from all the beautiful scenes these rewinds trigger, I am thinking that I hope Ellen Page wins the Oscar. I think she's the kind of girl who should win.

ellen page
Photo from Oscars.com

Candles, Shadows

I feel compelled to post just to assure the adoring fanbase that I've not yet received my package from the stork, although I'm sensing his imminence with each Braxton Hicks contraction that seems to compress my pelvic floor, like an elevator car descending down the hatch.

***

This morning I cried runny faucet tears during my commute for twenty straight minutes. The culprit: Classic Disney, volume 2, track 13. Go 'head. You try thinking about your unborn child and telling him/her "I'll be your candle on the water/'Till ev'ry wave is warm and bright" and you try not to get a little Paula Abdul verclempt. Just as I typed that lyric, I started getting misty eyes again. Just like I did at lunch when I went out and, stoopit hor-motional one forgot to change the track, and another leak was sprung.

***

Aside from my face becoming a freak map of mascara tributaries, my cheeks are so puffy. My hands look cartooney. My once sinewy ankles look like the legs of an old woman who refuses to wear sensible shoes and puts on wrinkley stockings and too-tight heels just to go to the grocery store.

As my friend Renda noted, I am but a shadow of my former self.

pregnant silhouette

***

I'll be your candle on the water
This flame inside of me will grow
Keep holding on you'll make it
Here's my hand so take it
Look for me reaching out to show
As sure as rivers flow
I'll never let you go
I'll never let you go
I'll never let you go...