Tweet, Tweet

When I was 10, I was in a children's theater production of "Snow White." After auditions, everyone got their parts. And after all the real parts were handed out, the 8 of us who were left were told we would be the "animals" in the forest. The other 8 children in this group were like 5 years old, and all my friends my age were cast as dwarfs and magic mirrors and witches. I went to the bathroom, probably to cry. Apparently while I was gone, some assistant director was letting the 5 year olds choose which animal they would be. When I walked in, she said something like, "And Jill, you'll be a bird?" I didn't grasp that this was a question, and so I said, "Ok, whatever."

Next thing I know it is a few months later, and I am dressed as a GIANT blue bird who stood at least a foot taller than the squirrels and moles and bears in the forest. I had one line. I said, "Hurry, let us go get the dwarfs." I knew in my heart this whole experience was mortifying, but, of course, that notion was solidified for me after the performance when my bother and sister constantly taunted me with the phrase, "Tweet, Tweet." I think they meant it lovingly, and as time went on, that phrase grew to represent my talent for working hard or something like that. In future theater programs, my family would buy ads that said things like, "Tweet, Tweet! You've come a long way. We love you."

So, today this story crossed by mind because I was sitting in the bathroom while Quinn used the potty, and I felt my entire body shake. It was coming from my belly. For a moment I got so excited. For I moment I felt like a bird. "It's shaking! It is almost time to hatch!" For a moment I wished I was the the big, fat blue bird from when I was 10. Tweet, Tweet. This baby is coming. But it doesn't work that way of course. The baby moving is not a contraction. Even when it feels like she is trying to break through your belly button, it does not mean she is any closely to breaking loose.

A shaking egg sure beats waiting in great anticipation for a bunch of pain to start. Most of the time we are trained to avoid pain. There are only three times in my life when I have wished for some serious pain:

1) Everyday in Junior High so I could get out of P.E.
2) Waiting every month to feel nauseous as a sign that I was pregnant.
3) Waiting for contractions to come and beat me to death.

These pains I welcome with pleasure.

When I am this pregnant, I get some funny signs that I want the pain to come. In the night, I get this phenomenon where I "go into labor." Not sure if I am sleeping and actually not feeling anything or if I am feeling something and dreaming that it hurts or keeps happening. With Quinn, I would wake up in the night thinking that I had been awake for the last hour feeling major contractions. I would grab the phone to see the time, and then wait for the next major pain to come because I was sure it was about time to go to the hospital. It would never come, and I would get so mad.

This started with McKenna a few nights ago. Again, I would rather just feel my egg shake, then fly away to go get my little bird some food, and then come back to the nest to find her saying, "Are you my mother?"

But, of course, for this to work I'd have to be a bird, and I have been there -- done that. Tweet, Tweet.

I'll just keep waiting for the pain.

Plus, my sister hate birds. (And Canadians ... and Twins.)