One time, (I hope I'm not repeating myself here) I asked my Superstar Husband if he thought Kid A was... okay.
"Why?" he wanted to know.
"Well, he's always doing something with his hands. Fiddling. He flicks his fingers against his jaw, or he does that funny little scratching motion on his forehead, and he's constantly kicking. Do you think that's normal?"
"I'm just, you know, worried that he's anxious or something," I said. And then I laughed, because it was such a ridiculous, "Me" thing to say.
"Rae, he's just like me. Think about it. Do you notice a similarity?"
And suddenly the light switched on. Chinua's leg jiggling, the pacing, the rubbing together of the socks, the drumming tabla beats on the table when we're waiting for our food to come at a restaurant, the poking at my face and collarbone and elbows when he's noticing me... Kid A is exactly like his father.
I remember once, at the beach on the Gulf of Mexico. Kid A was only 1. I was sitting in the sand and looked up to see little Kid A holding a handful of sand, completely lost in the act of letting it slowly trickle down in a stream to the sand below. Directly behind him, with the exact same expression on his face, was his dad, holding a hand full of sand, watching it trickle, lost in it.
They have minds that are constantly working. And with their constantly working minds are bodies that are always moving.
I stopped worrying, after that conversation.
But today, while I didn't start worrying again, I realized that I may be in for many long years of annoying actions while thinking. Because today was the introduction of the tuneless whistle.
The tuneless whistle is Kid A's new skill. The tuneless whistle has only one note. The tuneless whistle stops for no one, for nothing, and since I recognize the tuneless whistle as a developing skill, and don't want to squash it, I allowed it to go on for perhaps 32 hours today, with one exception. No tuneless whistling when we are sitting at the table eating together. Make that two exceptions. No tuneless whistling in MY EAR. All right.
Tonight I am missing out on a very special party, a medieval dinner that we were all invited to. Not only am I missing out on the eats, I am missing out on my husband as the jester, in full jester costume. Juggling, doing card tricks, whatever whatever, I'm used to the Super Talents around here, but the costume!
However, what I need more than seeing my husband in a Jester costume (I know, what could I need more than that?) is rest. I've been feeling like something the rats dragged out of their little holes. Something rotten that used to be shaped like an apple. Something. Just not like me. And we pregnant moms of three take our rest where we can.
By the way, from the last post, I don't want you to get the idea that I had no first trimester symptoms. There were those lovely days of running back and forth from the toilet eighteen times in an hour. And the sea sick symptoms when I was no where near the ocean, moaning about my messy house while feeling unable to leave the couch. Eating veerrrry slowly. A Christmas spent trying not to smell anything. Or see anything.
I just didn't know we were so close to the end of it. Hooray! Here's to feeling BETTER!
(By the way, in case you didn't get it from the flickr account owner info, I totally would never want to take credit for this shot- it's my Superstar Husband's.)