Joshua is sitting on the toilet, and has been for a little bit now. He's got his little green matchbox car - you know, the one that's been dropped into the toilet once already (I'll spare you the story about getting it out; mostly it involves me standing there looking at it and chastising Tim to "come on, just get it, it's only water and a little potty" but not actually doing anything to retrieve said car myself) - and is driving it around himself on the toilet seat. He slowly backs it up and moves it behind him "beep, beep, beep" and stops and looks up at Tim. "Car getting gas," he says."Really, Joshua, does that car need to fill up?"
"Uh-huh," only it sounds more like an exaggerated and musical "uh-huuuuuuh."
"Joshua, where is that gas coming from?" A brave question for Tim to ask, but he just can't help himself.
"From Joshua . . . Joshua have stinky gas."
Isn't it funny how these little ones think?
I had another checkup this week with the OB, and actually arrived a little early. (Unheard of in our family, when we can't ever seem to leave the house at the right time.) I decided to use the time wisely and pre-register at the hospital, and take a little tour of labor and delivery . . . I cannot wait until it's time to have this baby. When Joshua was born we were in the delivery room, and as soon as he made his debut they shuffled us off to a recovery room (which we'd have had to share if somebody else had been there, too). It was a big and sterile hospital, and there wasn't actually anything attractive about it. I know, I know, it's a hospital, and it serves its purpose. But on my tour I was all but blown away . . . delivery and recovery all in one room, so that you don't have to pack up and move half an hour after the most painful experience of your life . . . hard wood floors . . . beautiful drapes, chairs, etc. . . . a TV with on-demand movies and computer/internet access. Oh, and it gets better - after delivery I'll get an hour massage from a registered massage therapist there at the hospital, and later in the evening they bring a steak dinner for Tim and me, while they take care of the baby (optional, of course) in the nursery! Are you kidding me? It's like a mini-vacation; of course, I have to remember that I'll also be waddling pathetically everywhere I go, with an ice-pack monster of a maxi pad glued to that weird mesh underwear they give you, nursing constantly from what will have turned into rock hard swollen breasts of gravel . . . too much information? I'll remember that next time!
But the way I'm feeling right now is that I need to concentrate so hard, and hold on to this special, precious time with Joshua, where it's just him and me. Where I can hold him in my lap, and push his hair back from his forehead, and whisper quietly in his ear about how much we love him, and how we always will. I feel like I can't get enough of him, and that I need to fill up every part of myself with how wonderful and dear he is, before I have to share him . . . and before I have to share myself . . . with another little one.
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