Advice from a Pirate

I think Andrew has been nesting. Of course he's had a lot on his plate which has pushed other to-do's to the back burner, but his excessive productivity this weekend makes me smile to think of it as his own Daddy-version of nesting. When one of my sister-in-laws was younger she called being ambitious, "am-bi-trom-bus". It's a common family word I needed to learn, which I now love and use often. This weekend, Andrew and I were very ambitrombus. He busied himself with outdoor projects while I was busy inside.

When evening time came around on Saturday and after we'd had a simple supper sitting outside in the backyard, Andrew told me he was taking me somewhere. He loves secrets but relented enough to guarantee self-conscious me that I didn't need to change out of my grubby attire. You may call me vain if you wish, but I couldn't help being concerned with my appearance in order to maintain some sense of dignity. I don't care if we live in hick-ville and that I might blend in.

I admire how guys can ignore what other people think, but I have a harder time not caring. Maybe it's because I'm a woman. Or that I'm nine months pregnant and don't feel very attractive. Oh yes, or maybe I was concerned because my hair was throw in a messy pony tail, my swollen feet where stuffed into my most comfortable flip flops, and I was wearing black maternity shorts, with a too-short grab-bag type t-shirt that says "Labor Day, How hard can it be?". It was a cheap giveaway shirt thrown in with other maternity purchases and when I washed it, the bottom hem shrunk excessively. I looked like a fat kid whose belly sticks out below his shirt. Very classy.

"So honey, we're going somewhere?"

On the understanding I wouldn't be seen, we jumped into the truck. Okay, so it was more of a heave on my part to climb in, but regardless, we were on our way to some undisclosed location. After a short drive, my hunk-a-burnin-love had decided to take me to "The Malt Shop" for a treat. Aww. Isn't he sweet?! How on earth did he know that a small chocolate malt would be the perfect remedy to my aches and pains? haha

In case you noticed the title of this post and are wondering how I'm going to work a pirate into the story...here ya go.

When we pulled up to the Malt Shop drive-thru we couldn't help but notice from a car or two away that the lady at the window had some kind of band-aid over her nose, AND a black eye patch. Maybe she'd been in some terrible accident? Or had recently undergone cosmetic surgery? I don't know, but the word "pirate" did come out of someone's mouth before we got to the window. As we pulled up, the lady took our order, noticed my enormous belly and said the following in her best Texas drawl:

"Oh wow, do you know what you're havin'? Do you have a name? I know what you should name her....Charlton! That's my name. What's your last name? Here, I'll write her whole name down for you. Now isn't that perfect?! Kinda like Charlton Heston from the 10 Commandments, except he's dead now so folks don't really associate that name with him anymore. You cain't say it isn't original!"

She handed us the paper she'd written the name on along with our malts and continued to talk. She informed Andrew that he will be amazed with my abilities during delivery. She mentioned a colorful word or two I might happen to say to him during labor, but assured him I wouldn't mean it. Turning to me, she gave the following advice:
"Honey, I've had 4 babies natural. Just know right now that you're gonna have super-human powers when it comes to pushin' that baby out. You'll be great. The pain of childbirth is the easiest pain to get over, and the easiest pain to forget once you've got that baby in your arms."

She drew breath, wished me "Happy pushing!" and we were on our way back home.

As odd as the friendly malt shop pirate lady was, I really doubt I could have received better advice at this time. I look at my enormous belly and wonder what it'll be like to deliver a 7-8 pound baby, but also know that God made women's bodies to labor. He has equipped us with exactly what we need through all seasons of life, and this is no exception. Tomorrow is the due date, but I'm not holding my breath for anything to happen on schedule. When the day does come (which will be soon), I'll take comfort in knowing God has prepared me for this, and I just might do well to take to heart the words of the pirate lady from the malt shop.