Feeding Hansel

I just love you people! I'm so grateful that you  express your opinions in a respectful way and that this blog doesn't have to become another place of hatred and flaming. Instead of covering our ears and humming so we don't have to hear anyone else's opinion, I love that we can both express and listen. Most issues are complicated and most of the time I can see both sides. Book banning, selecting books for public school curriculum, deciding what a room full of teens are or aren't ready for--these are often complicated issues. But you know what isn't? Calling a book like Speak, which deals honestly and non-graphically with rape, pornography. I draw the line there, people! I shout foul! And I bleed for all the survivors out there who have to deal with this attitude in real life. Speak up, girls! We've got your back.

So I'm 36 weeks, a huge milestone. Even if I went into labor tonight (no please) our babes have a great chance of avoiding the NICU. I want those girls. I want them already. They're so quiet inside my belly, so hidden, a jumble of pokey parts that jab me and move around. Mysterious. I want the realness, the babyness, the tangible parts. I want the smells and the skin to kiss and the milk breath and the silky soles of their feet. I want the crying that (hopefully) stops when I hold them and snuggle them and help them feel safe. I want to see the baldness or hairy heads, the eye shapes and marvelous noses, the little lips for me to kiss like flower petals. I want my babies!

But not yet. Maybe in another week. They could use some more fattening up. Like Hansel's witch, I've felt their boniness through my skin and find them too skinny still. Eat more first, my pretties. Here, have some pie.