Garden metaphors and more waiting

J and I watched the second Hobbit movie last night.  To tell the truth, I wasn’t very impressed by it and started to fall asleep at the end.  But that’s okay… One of my favorite things to do is to check out a movie, curl up on the couch with J and Ziggy, and fall asleep while the movie plays.

I made it to another doctor appointment yesterday.  I have one more scheduled for next week Friday, which is the day before my official due date, and I’m kind of expecting that I’ll be making a trip to the hospital before then.  But of course, my May 5 / May 6 predictions for delivery were wrong.  Who knows what’s going to happen.  At yesterday’s appointment, Dr. K said the baby’s head seemed to be well-engaged in my pelvis.  That’s a great sign that child birth is approaching, but it apparently doesn’t mean much in terms of timing.  JC could come tomorrow, or in two weeks.

I’ve planted some seeds out in my garden:  bush beans, radishes, parsnips, carrots, sweet basil, and fernleaf dill.  Nothing has sprouted yet, but it has only been a few days.  All the same, I find myself checking the garden patch daily, looking for little green shoots.  It may not be rocket science, growing plants, but when I put a handful of miniscule crumbs into the ground, crumbs my seed packets assure me are vegetables, I have a hard time imagining their transformation into leafy green things I can be proud of having assisted along.  In that sense gardening isn’t a bad metaphor for pregnancy: You go along for months and months after the pee stick and the doctor have told you you’re pregnant, knowing that there’s something growing in there but unable to see what’s going on, and you sort of have to take it on faith that something is going on.  Something that will result in an actual little person coming out of you in the course of a year.  By now in my pregnancy I have no doubt that there is a little person inside me, and I’m ready for him to come out now.  As for my garden?  At least the tomato plants I seeded indoors have sprouted.  They are spread out along one side of my kitchen, growing in an assortment of plastic pots and milk container bases under the attention of a small desk lamp.  I stare at them every day, too, to see if they are getting bigger.  I’m really pleased that they look happy and healthy so far.  In the past I’ve mainly grown hardy things like aloe vera and spider plants, which don’t care if you forget to water them for ages or leave them to wilt in a dim, poorly climate-controlled living space.

 

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