11/12

Three years ago I wrote a lovely review of the previous year's events.  I'm glad I did, because 2008 was life-changing for Slice and me, and it's fun to look back on that year and what we've done since then.  If I did a quick recap for 2011 it would look something like this:

• Alex moves in downstairs, we remodel the bathroom out of necessity
• Slice gets fired at the worst possible time
• I am diagnosed with hypothyroidism
• We find out I'm pregnant 
• We spend 4 months searching for a golf job, then consider other options
• South Carolina almost becomes our new home
• We are blessed with work opportunities in the meantime: piano students, photo shoots, research job, pumps
• Slice gets hired in the oilfield, we try to adjust to his new work schedule
• A bunch of my friends get pregnant
• I give birth

Things can only get better from here, right?

Some of my plans for 2012 are:

Donate my hair again, before postpartum fallout
Put my kids in the same bedroom
Don't have a baby (I'm liking the sound of 2014?)
Take at least one family vacation besides the annual Arizona trip
Buy a bigger car
Start exercising again

Pretty low bar right there, folks.  What about you?

Perspective

It's 10:00 on Sunday night and Slice has been in bed, asleep, for nearly two hours now.

Tell you what: our marriage would have been a completely different animal if Slice had been working this job (i.e. this schedule) from the start.  I used to be the one begging to go to bed every night, unbelieving when Slice insisted he wasn't tired, bitter about him leaving me to play XBox or repair pumps until the wee morning hours.  So what if I was already asleep?

Now I'm the other one.  This pregnant body doesn't sleep before midnight, and doesn't sleep well before about 4:00 a.m., so it's hard to put myself to bed at any hour, regardless of exhaustion level.
(Which is high.  Ever and always.)

But wait - there's something else I wanted to talk about here.  I've been thinking about it for a week now and tonight's Christmas Devotional reminded me.  Let's see if I can put it together coherently, shall we?

Last Friday Slice and I were in the Salt Lake Valley with hours of time to kill.
Black Friday! Unbelievable sales! Targets and Kohl's everywhere we looked!  Money in our bank accounts for the first time, like, ever!
And the strangest thing happened - neither of us wanted to buy anything.
I stopped in 6 or 7 stores just for fun, came away with a 3-piece outfit for Liam that included a winter coat and jeans, $20.  Done.

You guys.  It was so LIBERATING.

Because I spent months looking and wishing and planning and buying, for my house and my babies.  I spent months feeling the weight of (unemployed) poverty, envying people who could spend money on home decor, pampering, trendy clothes, expensive baby things, organizational supplies (!).  I got irritated by all the "I Want This"  Pinboards and "Amazing Deals!" websites that really just encourage more spending.  I bought a patio set for my backyard because I thought I needed one .... and then we never used it.  Simply put, consumerism was consuming me.

I'm better now.
I finally realized, last weekend, that the only difference in the whole business is my attitude.  I can spend my life coveting and wanting and shopping and spending, or I can let things be things and choose to be grateful for what I have.  It's much easier to see looking back, of course - but I can't believe I wasted all that time and energy making myself unhappy.
I do know, now, that I won't let that happen again.
I can't afford it.

Other fruits

You'd probably have to be from here to understand, but when we moved to the Basin, music was NOT cool.
(Understatement.)
The high school band was really small - but growing! - the orchestra was downright pitiful.  And the choir? Well, I wouldn't have been caught dead in the high school choir.  Me.

You recall that I was part of a show choir of sorts during high school.  Yes I was; it was sponsored by the college, directed (in part) by my mother, and was one of the best experiences of my school career.  Stagelight has a long history of service, entertainment, music education, and, of course, relationship drama in this community.  One time we tried to count up all the marriages born ....
Still, we were not "cool" by any means, and we had to do quite a bit of convincing to get our peers to even come watch our shows.

Imagine the time we had getting boys to actually join!  Like pulling teeth!  Year after year, we begged and pleaded and bribed.  It was a fantastic success when we had twelve boys and twelve girls to make up a group.

Fast forward seven, eight years.

Things is changin' around here, Laurey!  Maybe not with the high school choir (I wouldn't know), but I'll tell you, a grassroots movement has begun.  And I'd like to take the credit.

Mom, Lana and I are directing Center Stage again, and in four rehearsals we have had EIGHTEEN BOYS sign up to be in the group.  Eighteen. male. high school juniors and seniors.  What are we going to do with them all??
For the first time in history we have more boys than girls.
(And many more boys and girls than we expected.)

The best part is, they can actually sing.  Some are beginners, to be sure, but many others are capable of reading and holding a part.  They're learning the music so quickly we might need to add more.
We are literally shaking our heads, wondering what to do with this group.  We've got to decide soon, because our show is scheduled for December 2nd.

Want to come?

the Mother and the Media

I have watched a grand total of three movies in the theater since I became a mother.
(One was True Grit, and although an excellent movie, is not pertinent to this discussion.)

The others both contain central scenes with babies crying in their beds/homes, watching parents/caregivers die/leave them forever.
Hollywood?  Do you have it in for the mothers out there?

I don't know about you, but motherhood has given me a different perspective on everything.  Media included.  I always find resemblances between these darling movie-babies and my own darling baby, and I'm telling you, it is not pretty.  My heart tears in two.  I leave the theater a wreck, and afterward, the baby scenes play themselves over and over in my mind.  I find myself wanting to run into my baby's room, scoop him out of his crib, and hold him forever.  I want him to know that I will NEVER do that to him.

Sigh.

I know they're just stories -although these things DO happen in real life- and eventually the images in my mind will fade.  But darn this mother heart, it can be a pain sometimes.


(P.S. The Help was great.  As we all expected.)

Memory Lane, aka Neola Highway

Memory is funny, isn't it?  Don't you love how a smell or place can take you back to another time?

Saturday evening we took a little family trip to Uintah Canyon.  I swear every five miles up Neola Highway holds a different memory for me.  Neola store: Carolyn and Bree Anne, going to the wrong house for a surprise party ... Burning fires: burning (high school) love ... the point of no cell reception: waiting for a call on our first (and only) married camping trip ... Lake Leaving: our first outing with baby Liam ... the campground: a hundred other trips with friends, family, and even a very ripe fetus .... you get the picture.

It was a lovely evening for memories - and everything else.  The weather was perfect.  We ate oven-baked tinfoil dinners (due to time constraints) and roasted marshmallows.  Slice hacked away at a walking stick while I tended the fire, and Liam had the time of his life digging in the dirt.  These are the times I live for.

Now I'm tempted to go dig up some old pictures to add to this post.

another Delusion of Grandeur put safely to rest

Yesterday I woke up at 5:21.  The baby was crying.
(He just started doing this in the early morning again.  Reason: unknown.)
I waited until 5:45, then got him a bottle, changed his diaper and put him back in bed.  He fell asleep, I didn't.

He woke up again around 6:30.  (WHY?!)
I got him up, turned on the light, sent Slice back to bed, and we played on the floor.  I fed him some breakfast while I caught up on Reader and Facebook; by 7:30 it was clear that he was still tired.  I put him back to bed, showered, picked up the front room and kitchen, ate some cereal, made two jello salads for lunch, and got ready for church.
Slice prepared the primary lesson.

We walked to church, pushing Liam in the stroller.  Along the way Slice made jabs about how nice it would be to have a wife who cooked, cleaned, and did all the housework without a complaint.
(Welcome to my marriage!)
(He really did want a Japanese wife.)

I sang a solo in Sacrament Meeting while the kids tried to remember the words to their Mother's Day songs ... Slice was already out in the hall because Liam was throwing fits.  Then when we got to our Primary class, the kids were all inside, barring the door with their bodies.  There were FOUR of them and we couldn't keep them under control.  So Slice went and got the bishop, who joined us for the rest of the class.  Then they were angels.

Liam was not.  I tried to stay with the class, but he was reaching for light switches and little girls' hair, arching his back, screaming like it's the new fad.  Most of the third hour was spent in the hall.

We went straight to my parents' house for lunch after church.  The food was great - until Liam started up-chucking the ground chicken and the jello.  I stripped him to his diaper until we went home.

At home (after some much-needed naps!), we tried to melt Symphony bars to dip strawberries in, but burned the chocolate in both the double boiler and the microwave.  (Apparently I am needing some tips, Heath.)  Fortunately, the chocolate chips worked perfectly.  Two more outfits for the baby.

We had a delightful monthly family meeting in the evening and a couple more visits, then put Liam to bed.  I wrote in my journal for the first time in six months ... and writing in it just reminded me of everything that's happened in that time.
Sigh.

For my first official Mother's Day, I'd say we're off to a roaring start.

Flames

Last week while in Vernal for the inescapable shopping trip, I ran into the guy who asked me on my first date.
(Homecoming Junior year, four-wheeling day date.  He came from Colorado to take me, so it was kind of a big deal.)
I was pleased to see him there with his fiancee.  Even more pleasing, he's gained a little weight.

That, plus some nostalgic song-listening got me thinking about old flames and such...

The first boy I ever loved was killed in a car accident the day after I got married.

My first date at BYU (who, by the way, I had quite the crush on) is now apostate - and a Texan!

My two prom dates are college roomies.

And Slice's old flame is being relocated.

You can't predict this stuff, you know?  Seriously.

(Anyone have good former-flame stories? Because I love them.)

and I'm thirsty anyway...

I've always been a big hair loser.
Well, fine, not always.  I had thick hair until I was a teenager, and then it mysteriously started falling out.

When I was thirteen or so my mom took me to the doctor to have some tests done. (This is the ONLY doctor visit I had before my marriage, save a few to have warts burned off.  No lie.)  I kept finding bruises without knowing where they came from and I lost hair in such quantities, I was convinced I had leukemia or some life-threatening blood disease.  (Dramatic much?)  The tests, unfortunately, came back normal.

"Your blood vessels are just really close to the skin," the Dr. said, "and you probably don't lose as much hair as you think. It's just long, so you notice it more."

I heard that same thing - "it's long, so you notice it more" - many times over the next decade, when hairdressers noticed it piling up on the comb, or when I mentioned it to other people.  I got it, I got it.  Everyone loses about 100 hairs a day.  And they used to recommend women brush their hair 100 strokes a day, until studies showed that brushing too much makes hair brittle.
Normal, but don't brush too much.
Fast forward.

One thing I loved about pregnancy was that my hair was at least three times the usual thickness, shiny and lovely and growing.  Until the Great Post-Partum Hair Loss, that is.  Still, everyone said it was normal, and that some women even get bald spots.  Mine never got that bad.

So a couple months ago, when my hair started coming out in handfuls every time I showered, blow-dried, or brushed my hair, I didn't worry too much at first.  Blame it on the hormones! Hormones! Hormones!  Surely it's normal! Normal! Normal!

Sorry about that .... anyway.

The hair loss was annoying, but the dizziness was worrying.  And still it took a full-blown UTI* to get me in the clinic to take care of it.  More blood work done; thyroid levels checked.  Sure enough, my thyroid isn't functioning the way it should, (high TSH and low t3, t4,) but we won't know exactly what to do until I get a few more tests done.  Just what we need right now.

Now I know that I'm not crazy.  About the hair loss, at least.

*"Bring on the Rain," or something.  I've had a broken wrist, two different infections requiring antibiotics, and a diagnosis of a lifelong thyroid problem within the past 10 weeks.  And you thought I was joking about funding the hospital!

Just to make me appreciate it

Two things.

One: The other night (morning) I woke up around 3:30, and could not get back to sleep.   Toss, turn, curl up, cuddle, turn again, you know the drill.  The baby fussed a little bit at about 4:30, and although he promptly went back to sleep, I nudged Slice.
"Babe.  I'm worried he might be cold."
"Huh?"
"Well, I've been awake for an hour now, and I haven't heard the heater go on once."
"Uhhh..."
Slice climbed out of bed, and came back to report.

(Slice:)"Did you turn the space heater on in his room?"
"No."
"And I made sure to turn it off after I put him in bed....."
"I never turned it on."
"Hmm. Well, it's been on in there all night, so his room is warm.  But the thermostat says 50, so I better go downstairs and check on it."

He left and came back again, having simply flipped the switch on the furnace and flipping it back on.  The heater turned on, I finally fell asleep, and the baby stayed warm all night.  We still have no idea what happened.....

Two:  Since I am me, and if you are me things never go the way you plan them to,
and since money is needed for eating and living and other such things, (LAME)
-also maybe so I gain a new appreciation for working mothers-
I am (you guessed it!) gaining a new appreciation for working mothers.

It's not that awesome, in case you're wondering.

But since Slice is wonderful and NOT ONLY entertains our son for hours every day,
but also cooks, cleans, does laundry, hangs coat racks, and still offers me footrubs at night if I want them,
I can't really complain.
I love that guy.

(Have I mentioned that?)

All-Seeing Eye

I'm starting to feel like these Overstock ads are the Eye of Sauron.

They're on practically every website I visit, they know my browsing history.  They follow me around and tempt me with warm fuzzy boots, sofa covers, thermal curtains, and more warm fuzzy boots - all on sale, of course.
(Now YOU know my browsing history!)

But no.  I will remain strong.  I will make it to my destination and DROP THE RING IN THE VOLCANO, Sauron.

And by that I mean, I will not be buying anything from Overstock.com anytime soon.

on Secrets and Adulthood

I find it extremely difficult to keep a secret and keep a blog at the same time.

See, I get all consumed with the secret and I want/need to write about it, but obviously I can't here.  Then I have a hard time coming up with anything else to write about (because I'm thinking about the one thing), so the blog suffers.  Among other things.
For example:

Remember that time I was pregnant for three months before I told anybody?  Yeah, that wasn't easy. It would have been impossible, probably, if it hadn't been for the Japan trip that I blabbed about in the meantime.

Remember when my brother was in our living room for two months while he "tried" to get in the military so that he wouldn't go to jail?  That was downright awful.  It put all kinds of stress in my life.  But I didn't feel like I could write about it without my bitterness poisoning this parcel of cyberspace ... so I just didn't write at all.
(And then my other brother got sent home early from Nebraska and, I'm not gonna lie, things with both brothers have just gone downhill since then.)

Also, remember when Slice and I decided to buy a house and had to wait for two months for the whole thing to go through?  That wasn't really a secret.  But I didn't want to write about it because if I did, I would get more excited, and the more excited I get about things the less likely they are to happen ... (it's the pessimist in me) ... so on the blog and in real life, I tried to steer away from the "house" topic.

Point is - when I can't write about something, I have nothing to write about.  Savvy?

In other news, I finally feel like an adult.  I'm doing top-secret research (and writing!) for a book, teaching piano and voice lessons, working to keep my dad's office afloat, and trying to fulfill new church responsibilities (5&6 year old Primary class + Boy Scouts), as well as keep my house semi-presentable.
I am also not doing any of these as well as I should, on account of my two handsome boys.

This means I've made it, right?

Thoughts on Energy Efficiency

Firstly, GOOD NEWS!  The break is not such a bad one, says the Dr., so I don't even need a hard cast on it!  They put me in a splint that I can take off to shower, wash my hands, and eventually exercise my wrist a bit.  This is so good.  It means I can also type, write, and (attempt to) fix my hair over the next six weeks, which we previously thought unlikely.
And now for the rest of this post.

I try to be energy efficient, really I do.  Really, I have tried ever since 5th grade when we did Debate and the Resolution was "Resolved: that the State of Utah establish a program to substantially increase Renewable Energy Use within its borders."  (Yes I remember.)  I was on the Affirmative Side of that debate, so I learned all about how Utah's non-renewable energy resources are DISAPPEARING and by the year 20__ we will have nothing left unless we switch to renewable energy sources like solar, wind, and water power.
I've been scribbling in my margins ever since.

Then I lived in Europe for a while, and then I went to Japan, where not recycling a plastic bottle is pretty much a crime.  You already know I can't stand to waste food, but I also recycle my Walmart plastic bags and use my Green grocery bags every single time I remember to.  (Frankly, it's not that often.)

Now that we are homeowners and have utility bills coming, I've been investing in thermal drapes/curtains for my windows - especially since the previous owner scared us a little with the winter figures he gave having to do with electricity.  I've spent so many hours looking for low prices in decent colors and correct sizes, I might even be an expert by now.  Some of the drapes I've ordered certainly work better than others for blocking light in Liam's bright room, keeping draft out, etc. etc.

As it happens, the ones that work the best are the ones I put up in our bedroom, which is a Problem.  Capital P (and that rhymes with "T" and that stands for "Tool!").

The drapes are so efficient, they block out the morning light, and Slice and I keep staying in bed later and later, because the room is so dark and the (new) bed is comfy, and if Liam is sleeping we can just sleep and sleep and sleep ..............

Slice says we have to take them down now.
But what about the drafts??

I swore I would never, ever, EVER

Thanks, TJMaxx, now I need a whole new wardrobe.

23

I was born on the first day of my dad's last year of law school, twenty-three years ago.  I was the fifth child of what would become twelve.

The older (/wiser) I get, the more I realize just how much my parents had to sacrifice for their children.  Ambitions, living space, new shoes, clean rooms, sleep.  People talk about the "poor years" where a young couple is just finishing up school and may or may not be starting their family, and they go without a lot of things .... I think my parents have been in "poor years" their entire lives.

But the richness!

My son laughed at me for the first time today.  It was the best birthday present ever.

(Replacing all those things in my list ... 'cause I didn't get any of them.)
(Yet.)

What I want for my birthday, according to Google Images

And they all go marching down

One time I ate ants for breakfast.

No wait, let me explain.

Back when I was a college student living off cereal, scrambled eggs and frozen burritos, my roommate had this huge ceramic mug from DI that I loved. It held more than my bowls did, so anytime I could I used it for cereal. And ice cream.

One morning I poured myself a mug of LIFE and sat down on our couch to eat it - without turning on any lights, of course. I was halfway through before I looked down and realized there were little black dots floating all over in my milk. Closer look: ANTS. LOTS of them. GROSS.

Further investigation proved that the ants were in the cereal, not the mug, so I threw away the cereal and poured the mug-contents down the sink. I still have no idea how (or why?) the ants got there. They didn't touch anything else in the apartment cupboards.

From then on, I always turned the lights on to eat my breakfast.

Well, this summer our house is infested with bugs. Ants mostly, but I've killed my fair share of spiders, centipedes, crickets and beetles, too. Just this morning I came across something large and black scuttling across the tile hall into the bathroom. Poor Liam jumped when I screamed, then cried as I tried to pick it up with the dustpan to throw it outside.

(I didn't want to touch it.)

(Or kill it, because it would have crunched and grossed me out even more.)

(But I ended up chopping it in half with the dustpan, so it is now dead anyway.)

So I'm learning some important things, like:

don't go to bed without cleaning and wiping down all kitchen counters,

don't leave dishes anywhere with anything sweet in them,

ants can move very large pieces of food (like almonds) across carpet,

if something itches it is most likely an ant crawling on my skin,

and also, ants really like shrimp.

Did you know that?

Well, now you do.

For the Money $$$

Perfect College Job: BYU Student Employment

Located in the Wilk right across from the Information Desk. So not only do you become the Information Desk when the Informers are gone, but for years afterward when meeting new people you will hear "You look really familiar."
('Course, I could just have one of those faces.)

Details: I lucked out.
Sometime in late July 2005, I pulled into the driveway and my mom came out to meet me. She was crying. "If you go to work, they want you to start August 1st. That's so soon."
My sister had been working in the office for a while and demonstrated such fabulous work skills that they had to be hereditary.... yeah, she pretty much got me the job. I made a trip down to Provo to interview in person, then started work the next week. It was surreal. My friends were still partying it up in Roosevelt before separating for college/missions; I packed the Explorer with my clothes and a few pieces of furniture, and moved into Angie's house in Provo.

The job was good - and it got better as time went on. I learned quickly, my coworkers were wonderful, and we ate better than I have before or since. (Bookstore fudge, potluck lunches, Taco Bell crunch wraps, Sugar N Spice ice cream sandwiches ..... there are definite advantages to working near the WSC food court.) We posted open jobs, laughing at ones like "Cake Donut Froster" (3-7 am??) and "Model" (for art classes, bikini/speedo required). I conducted I-9 audits and kept everyone up-to-date on my family news. When I went on a $5/week grocery budget, Kathleen brought me fresh fruits and veggies from her garden. I talked about Europe and boys and classes and, eventually, my wedding plans.

We had access to all BYU Students' personal information: age & birthday, address & phone number, marital status, class schedule, wages ... ultimate stalking capabilities. Used for work purposes only, of course.

I worked with all kinds of people. Every new student employee at BYU had to come in and fill out paperwork, which is why my face became familiar ... I think. International students were almost always hard to understand, Dress Code violators were sent back to Nancy's office, and one time a lady yelled at me for detaching her Social Security card. Then she came back and yelled at me AGAIN. That lady was crazy.

I got good at: eating, ePAFs, I-9s, working under pressure, OSTs, eating, remembering names, eating.

Other awesomeness: I learned how to make balloon animals. A semi-pro balloon artist came to teach me how to do it, and I ran a booth at Senior Night for two consecutive years. I "practiced" in the office for days beforehand, demonstrated for everyone for weeks after.
Would you like me to make you a monkey?

For the Money $$

High School: L & L Motor Co., Inc.

Details: After applying and interviewing for a library internship which I did not get (it was a horrible interview), I was hired as an “Accountant Clerk” for a local car dealership/repair shop. It was October of my Junior year.

Thus began the most dramatic two years of my life.

I did whatever the Accountant wanted me to do – data entry, titlework, filing, reorganizing files, picking up/mailing out license plates - while we listened to internet radio in a dusty upstairs office with window air conditioners and stuffed ducks on every surface. He didn’t talk much.

Everyone else did, though. And since I was the only female employee (and, I’m pretty sure, the only one unrelated to the rest) out of twenty or so, they teased me about boys and flowers and my little Hyundai. They also told me to bring cookies, which I did a few times, and almost always got a raise shortly afterward.

Why didn’t I take them more often??

To The Boss I was a particular target. After Junior Prom, my third date with the same boy, he decided to start a “fund” for the first boy who’d have enough guts to kiss me. He called it The Pot … then talked about contributing to it every time I was within earshot.

Word gets around in a small town! Within a few months every boy in town had heard about The Pot, and my kissing chances all but disappeared. I knew it was just a joke, so I rolled my eyes and shook my head anytime someone brought it up with me. This went on for another year.

Shortly before I left L&L - and Roosevelt - for college life, I was talking with Bill about The Pot once again, telling him how ridiculous it had been to drag the lie on for soooo long. He promptly pulled me into his office and moved a mug from part of his desk. Behind the mug was a wad of bills. About $150 worth.

At least I got good at 10-key.

For the Money

School is winding down, so everyone wants to know if I will be back in the fall.

The answer? I don't know.

Crazy things are (always!) happening at the golf course, Slice's job and future prospects are shifting quickly and almost constantly. So our plans could be changing very soon.

The things we do for money...

In the meantime I will be regaling you with stories of my past employment. I may or may not have stolen the idea from Fig, who always has the best ideas. (Good for the stealing.)

Early years: Babysitting
Details: DREADED. I hated hated hated it. I was never one of those girls who cooed over the babies in the ward, asking to hold them at church and during activities; No Thanks. I was frequently left in charge at home, however, and told to track my time so my parents could pay me. (I didn’t, and they didn’t.)

I was SO GLAD when I was old enough that I didn't have to worry about getting those phone calls anymore.

(Not that it has ended entirely.)

I got good at: disliking other people's children. Sorry, it's true. I probably don't dislike yours though.

First Steady Job:Paper Route

Details: Just months after relocating to Roosevelt, my family took on the task of delivering the Salt Lake Tribune and Deseret News to 2/3 of the city. EVERY SINGLE DAY. EVEN CHRISTMAS MORNING. This meant waking up at 5:30 on regular days, 5:00 on Saturdays and Sundays so we could stuff, and working hard to get the papers out by 7:00. (I hate stuffing papers.) We did this for a little over a year.

Mom and I were the only ones who had the route truly memorized -this took weeks- so either she or I had to go. Often we did it together. Someone drove, I sat in the back seat and stuffed/folded/threw papers all around town, and we had good bonding times. Unless the driver was Brent or Angie, who were both so grouchy in the mornings that we completed the route in silence.

I got good at: waking up early, finding my way around this place, learning where people lived and what paper they wanted, where. Also folding, rubber-banding and throwing papers from the back seat of a car in seconds. Most especially, measuring the trajectory of the paper from a moving vehicle based on how big it was, how fast we were going and how far I needed to throw it to get to dry pavement. If my calculations were wrong, we had to stop the car, I had to get out and retrieve/move it. At least a minute's delay (and possibly angry words from Brent).

Other awesomeness: I got a checking account. Citizens all over Roosevelt saw my name about every month. Little old ladies left their checks out on trays with paperweights on them.

Taking it Easy

I'll tell you what.
This self-imposed, semi-bedrest lifestyle is presenting problems on all different kinds of levels.Self: I want to do things that normal people do, like walking/jogging or grocery shopping or, hey, making cookies. That sounds fun.
Shoulder Angel 1: But you'll have contractions! And you know that when you stand for even minutes at a time, you get light-headed and weak and sick to your stomach. You hate that heart pounding.
Shoulder Angel 2: You are such a pansy.
SA 1: Am not! It's the baby! I'm protecting the baby!
SA 2: Sure, sure. Who knows if anything you do is even going to matter. You've been contracting for weeks and HELLO, not dilating at all. You're just going to be all geared up for the real labor when it comes. Actually, wouldn't you be in better shape (like, more prepared for childbirth) if you were exercising and stuff?
SA 1: I don't know ... seems like too big of a risk. You REALLY don't want to be shipped out to Salt Lake for early labor/preemie care. Especially since you wanted to work as long as possible before the baby comes!
SA 2: GAH. Fine. Just sit there then.

Three hours later ...

Self: I have to clean my room! Declutter, reorganize, redecorate! This cramped space is driving me crazy! If I just shifted the bed a little, I could replace my nightstand with the bookshelf--
SA 1: --WHAT DID I JUST TELL YOU?
SA 2: Well, the dishes do need to be done. Slice cooked dinner, so you could at least clean up. And while you're at it, why don't you just pick up the bedroom a little? Fold some laundry?
SA 1: Because she'll have to bend over 20 times.
SA 2: Oh, hush. It will make her feel better.

Thirty minutes later ...

Self: (groaning) I don't feel good. I'm gonna lie down now. I'm tired.
SA 1: I told you. Also, you won't be able to sleep no matter how tired you are. No position is comfortable; you know that.
SA 2: Yeah. It's a waste of time, unless you read or write missionary letters or do something productive.
Self: So? I don't feel like doing anything. Not even reading. I just want to lie here and feel my baby move. He's still there, you know, still growing. It makes me feel like it's all worth it.
SA 1 & 2: WELL.