Cracklin' Rose, You're a Store-bought Woman.

I'm sick of summer. It really is true that if you leave the weather you're accustomed to, it only takes a couple of years to completely de-acclimate and re-acclimate to the new place. I'm certainly more cold-weather hearty than I ever thought I'd be, and I am much less hot-weather-ready than I used to be. Although to be honest, I've never liked the heat of August, regardless of where I lived. August in a record-breaking summer while 8 months pregnant is miserable. I told SNG that if we do this again, we're only going to "try" in July, August, or September, so I won't have to be pregnant (or at least, late in the term) during the hot months. If the pasta won't stick to the fridge* during that time, then it'll have to wait another year.

(* this refers to the old standard for testing done-ness of pasta by taking out a strand and throwing it at the fridge. More reliable than tasting it and certainly more fun.)

When we first moved here, and in fact for the first 4 summers we were here, I thought we were in summertime heaven. I still think it's a lot nicer than NOLA or Texas, since NC does occasionally get a week or 2 in the summer where the temperatures don't exceed the low 80s. But this year has just been uncomfortable.

Tomorrow I'm flying up to Boston, where the news says that the heat wave has broken. Yay! Not like it matters though, since I stay in a hotel at one end of a big shopping mall/ office building complex with skyways and the office is at another end of the shopping mall/ office building complex. Regardless of the weather, I'll be in climate-controlled 76 degrees. Yay again!

Tomorrow is also my 33 week appointment at the doctor. Last time I went in, they were well pleased because IHPE was head-down and in the chute, in an advantageous position for being born. Since she likes to do the Safety Dance and Hand Jive, my bladder was getting pretty well pummeled for the last 4 weeks, but it was still nice to know that if I spontaneously went into labor, say, NOW that everthing would still come out OK.

Over the weekend, while I was dancing to some catchy tune (Cracklin' Rose by Neil Diamond, with apologies to ANYONE with half-decent taste in music and even bigger apologies to my mom for having just said that), IHPE got really wiggly. Dancing, of course. But it felt suspiciously like a "flip." And today, her head is in my right-side rib cage. OH NO! Breech! And she's about big enough that it was probably a Herculean effort to make that flip and I don't know that we can expect her to flip back the right way again. So I guess tomorrow I'll ask the doctor whether we need to pencil in an appointment for a c-section just in case her days as a dancing acrobat are over.

SNG will probably say that she was flipping to try to hide from that song. He was hiding under the furniture but you can't NOT sing and dance to that song. However awful it may be. (sorry, mom)