So, this weekend pretty much sucked rocks. I honestly spent the majority of the time crying or trying not to cry for no real reason other than hormones. I mean, I wasn't THRILLED with the idea of turning 35 and haven't been for quite some time but it really didn't warrant the sobbing. Or the moodiness. Or the general gloom and doom that I was projecting.
I was snuffled my way through church service on Sunday and while the sermon put me in a better frame of mind, I was still all moody and melancholy. We were standing in the Narthex afterwards, talking with some friends as well as Paul's parents and their friends. Last Sunday, I wore a maternity dress to church for the first time and the thing about maternity clothes is that you look very pregnant. Coupled with dinner after church service, I thought pretty much everyone knew I was pregnant.
Several of Paul's parents' neighbors also attend our church and they've known Paul since he was just a twinkle in his mom's eye. One of the women, Mrs. R., is honestly one of the sweetest, gentlest people I know and I think she genuinely sees only the good in people. When others tell me stories of a mischievous younger Paul, Mrs. R. will talk about what a cuddly baby he was or how he was always smiling as a little guy (probably because he was up to no good). And she always, always gives us a hug and a kiss on the cheek when we see her. Yesterday, after we greeted Mrs. R., Paul asked if she had yet heard the news and motioned in the direction of the bump. She didn't know. I told her it was going to be another Paul and tears came to her eyes. She told us that this news just made her day. Another round of hugs and kisses and
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