[a.k.a That Time Debbie Suddenly Was Grateful That Sugarplum Wasn't Cooperating With the Just Getting-Her-Little-Self-Out-Here-IMMEDIATELY Plan]
Until this past weekend, I'd been feeling really relaxed about Sugarplum taking her time joining us on the Outside. Christmas is coming. I have lots to keep me busy. But then, my brain broke (or something like that). Twenty-four hour days suddenly have room for what feels like three hundred seventy-eight hours. I'm ready to be done waiting, wondering what will happen, dreading the pain of getting her from in to out. And simultaneously I've had a sinking feeling that she's terribly comfy and snug and has no plans to exit anytime soon. (It doesn't help that Tadhg's typical response when I ask him when he thinks the baby will come is a thoughtful, "Mmmm....six months.")
I knew there was supposed to be a snowstorm last night. Seven to twelve inches or something paltry like that--not enough to keep me from wanting to go into labor anyway. C'mon now. We have snow tires.
But then we woke up at 5 AM to bedroom windows that looked like this (you can't see it clearly, but the whole lower half of the window is obscured by snow on the roof):
And kitchen doors that showed me this:
And after dawn, a world that looked like this:
(That lovely little slope in the photo below? That's our ride to the hospital.)
Due date a day away or not, it's amazing how nearly three feet of snow can change an expectant mother's perspective.
When our boys woke up, they were a bit flabbergasted. Tadhg immediately had Plans. Pippin was sober and a bit distrustful of all that white stuff.
They peered tried to peer out all the windows.
After breakfast, all my manly men ventured outside.
After some initial exploration of the barren wilderness, the real work began.
Rundy is such a good daddy. He works with them. He plays with them. Then he brings them in and makes snow ice cream with them. Tadhg knows he has a good thing and put it simply when Rundy stepped outside. "I love my dada."
Snow ice cream was enjoyed by all, then free entertainment arrived in the form of our Snowplow Elf neighbor with his trusty tractor. He plowed us out as the boys watched, agape (but not so agape that they couldn't multitask and keep eating ice cream).
So really, now that our driveway is plowed and our van is no longer a lovely, gently sloping hill of snow and a Crazy Person has driven by in a normal car to prove that our roads are, after a fashion, driveable... I'm starting to feel antsy again.
Well, Sugarplum Baby could arrive any day now and I'm just sitting down to scrawl out my first catch-up post. (If she comes as late as I fatalistically suspect she might, there's a slim possibility I could get all 7 MONTHS of catch-up done before she arrives...).
Back in May, our little Mr. Pip turned one. I can't separate who he is now 7 months later from who he was then, but in any case he is a delight to us. When he was an infant, over and over again the word that came to mind for him was simply and wholly sweet. Now, though he's still sweet, his personality has morphed more than I ever thought a baby's could and the words that come to mind when I think of him are clown, goofball, ham, etc. He is amusingly clumsy, frighteningly unaware of physical consequences for bodily choices, enraptured by an audience for his jokes, and such a jolly little chum. Full of sincere politeness, he consistently says "you're welcome" instead of "thank you." He is obsessed with balls and cars and music and our foam alphabet puzzle. He is only JUST starting to mature (a bit) out of his need to have both hands filled with toys, food, what-have-you (it's second nature to split a cracker in half now so he has something to fill each hand). One of my fondest visual memories is Pippin wandering around under our apple trees all through the late summer foraging until he could come tromping down the hill with a bitemark-covered apple in each hand. He loves Tadhg profoundly (and becomes profoundly indignant because of him). He is sensitive to all manner of injustice and is theatrical about expressing himself when wronged.
Most of all, he is a good, good gift from our Father, and the sparing of his life is just as much a miracle now as it was the moment after he was cut out of my womb hale and hearty and ready to be alive.
PS - Thanks to Caleb and Cadie for almost all the photos! I was too busy fussbudgeting my way around during the party to take any myself during the party proper.
PPS - It's strange posting photos of Pip so late; he's changed so much since and looks so much more grown-up than in these photos. And he has HAIR now! Wonders never cease.
(The photo below is mere documentation of what happens to my fridge anytime certain Purdy relatives come to my house for birthday parties or otherwise. This example is quite tame.)
Because our boys have so many aunts and uncles, parties are limited to just-family now because just-family fills up all the nooks and crannies of our house.
Both before the party officially began and again after cake and presents, a whole posse of partygoers headed out into the wild.
