The conspicuous creature within

You hear about it all the time. Women, or rather more often girls, who apparently had no idea they were pregnant until OOPS! A baby falls out of their vagina into the toilet.

Tragedy and awfulness of that scenario aside, how is that possible? I just don't get it. I suppose if you had irregular periods, were overweight and were relatively symptom-free, I could understand it to a certain point. But come 7 months, how could you not suspect something?

Even if I were in the deepest darkest throes of denial, there would be no ignoring the sensations in my belly. Sensations that are not anything like gas. Sensations that feel like...how can I put this...a small yet mighty human is vigorously beating me from the inside.

Granted I am a reasonably slim person, but we can see this kid moving around in there from the outside. Elbows and knees and feet scooting across the surface of my belly. Kicks strong enough to send the remote control tumbling to the floor. And the interminable hiccups. How does a person in denial explain THOSE away?

Speaking of denial, Sadie, being just shy of 3, is in and out of it all the time. Pregnancy is a huge concept for her to grasp, as is anything that takes longer than two sleeps. At this point, in her mind, pregnant mommy is the status quo, and there is no reason to believe that will ever change. The idea that there is a baby in there is like a silly game to her. She claims to be gestating two of her own (though the number has gone as high as eleventeen), and her latest theory is that my baby is also gestating two of his own babies. I'm like this giant live nesting Matyroshka doll.

Every once in a while, though, Sadie has moments of stone-cold sober clarity. The other morning, she was being her usual silly morning self, jumping around on the bed, barking orders at us, singing loudly. Roni Cheese (her carefully chosen name for her baby brother) was responding vigorously to all the commotion, and I told her to come and say good morning to him. She dutifully crouched down, shouted "GOOD MORNING RONI CHEESE" into my navel, laid her head on my belly, and was swiftly booted in the head.

She sat bolt-upright, with a panicked oh-my-God-there's-really-something-in-there look on her face, pleadingly looked in my eyes and said "NO! You're MY MOMMY!!!!"

Sadie picks a tree.

The day started as all snowy wintery days should, with a Tim Horton's hot chocolate, and a cheese croissant.

We had explained to Sadie that we were going to the tree farm to pick a Christmas tree.

"To see animals?" she said.

"No, it's not that kind of farm. It's a farm full of Christmas trees."

"I want a big BIG Christmas tree."

"OK Sadie we'll see what we can find."

So we get to the farm, and we tell Sadie to pick a tree.

"Hmmmmmm."

"This one?"

Sadie bent down and tried to yank the tree out of the ground. When we told her 'pick' a tree, she thought we meant 'pick' a tree, like one would pick a strawberry or blueberry.

Daddy found the perfect tree. Sadie watched him cut it down with a 'big knife'.

Here is the tree at home, all decorated, after two time-outs, two broken ornaments, and a whole lot of detangling, thanks to Sadie's overzealous 'helping'.

And here is the view from our street, including our driveway, shovelled courtesy of Sadie (daddy helped and was told "Good job daddy" and given a high-five for his efforts).