Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)

Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.

This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.

Friday, May 07, 2004

Well, here we are again.

It's getting close to the time when the foreman pulls the bird's tail and Fred slides down the brontosaurus tail and hops in his car. You know, they seemed to be pretty advanced for cavepeople, what with all sorts of the normal sorts of conveniences like telephones and Ann-Margrock, but I never could figure out why they didn't save their feet a little bit of wear and tear and hook up an animal to the front of their big tree trunk and stone cars. Oh, sure, it might look a little Amish, but still, they could have done better than just running along. I mean, why even have a car if you have to do that?!

Where was I?

OH YEAH, it's nearly time to go face the weekend. Tonight, soccer game at 7 for Middle Girl, then tomorrow morning we have Oldest having a solo and ensemble competition at 8 bleeding 30 a.m. up the road at Clay-Chalkville High, and Baby Girl has a soccer game at 9, and Boy has pictures at 11 and a game sometime after that, and there's the usual batch of housework that must be ignored, and then Sunday is Mother's Day, and I think we might even get to go see my mom!

Speaking of Motherhood, and Middle Girl, and in conjunction with the earlier post about baby names, and in particular, Jordana's comment that I seemed to leave the impression I am less than thrilled to talk about the beauty of new life, I have decided to go ahead and tell you one of my heartwarming stories of the miracle of birth.

Rebecca is actually the first of our kids I had any help in producing--as I have mentioned in my Valentine's Day posts for the past couple of years, Ashley was part of the family when I married into it. Anyway, after the normal nine months of waiting and watching Rebecca run laps around the inside of Reba's abdomen, it got to be time for the Big Event. We had gone to eat at the Shoney's in Eastwood to eat at the all-you-can-eat seafood buffet, and about halfway through, Reba was obviously in no small amount of discomfort.

We still ate our fill, though, before heading to the hospital.

About six hours later, Little Rebecca entered the world, a screaming, red, 8 pound-13 ounce picture of robust, vigorous vitality. She was pretty as a peach, even if she looked exactly like me. Lots of pictures, lots of oohs and aahs from the staff, and then possibly the proudest moment of the entire ordeal. The nurse came in from the nursery, and passing by the plastic washtub containing everything else that was NOT Rebecca, she looked down and exclaimed in barely disguised awe, "God, would you look at the size of that placenta!"

Kinda gets you right here, doesn't it?

Anyway, that's about it for today--all of you stay safe and Lord willing I'll see you Monday.

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