Paint, Courts, Life, and Death

Last night we finished painting the “nursery” … except for one small thing. And, before I get yelled at … yes, I realize that some people say pregnant women shouldn’t be around paint. But I did my independent research and decided that the risks with latex paint are practically nonexistent, especially in a well-ventilated room, so I went ahead and did it anyway. It only took two evenings, fortunately (it’s a small room). I started the project by myself on Monday night while Kevin was at his choral rehearsal. When Kevin got home at around 10:30, I was covered in paint. It was in my hair, on my nose, on my arms and legs, clothes, and even under my bare feet. Kevin scratched his head, in complete puzzlement at how I could manage to make such a mess. What can I say? For me, painting is a total-body experience.
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Today Kevin is down in L.A. because his boss is arguing, before the California Supreme Court, that the California Coastal Commission is unconstitutional. This is a landmark case and Kev’s firm has already won at both the trial and appellate court levels. It should be interesting to see what happens … If the Commission is ruled unconstitutional, all of its decisions, since its inception, will be null and void. And that would have incredible repercussions in this state with seemingly endless miles of coastline.
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Yesterday I was nearly killed (no joke or exaggeration) as I walked several blocks downtown from my office to my car. The signal for my crosswalk had turned green and I began to walk across the street. A taxi-van driver, planning to make a left turn across my path, was daydreaming (or something?) and the car behind him honked for him to wake up and move on. He then hit the gas to make his left turn, without first looking to see if any pedestrians were crossing (i.e., yours truly). You know how you’ve seen those movies (e.g., Home Alone, Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood, etc.) where a car has come within inches of a pedestrian before suddenly screeching to a halt? Well, that was me yesterday. When I saw the van coming my direction, my panicked instinct was to move backwards rather than keep on moving toward the curb. I think I probably ran backwards about four feet when the van finally stopped about two feet from where I stood. It’s a good thing a) the driver finally saw me and b) I had moved backward a few feet. What’s most comforting is that God protected me (and the baby) yesterday. He is good!

On the street corner where my death almost occurred is a little sidewalk café where several persons were drinking their afternoon coffee. During the whole episode, as my life flashed before my eyes, I could hear several people screaming. Obviously, they had seen what they thought would be the demise of a hapless, pregnant woman. After the incident was over, the taxi-driver rolled his eyes and drove on (never stopped) and I continued walking to my car. By the time I reached the curb by the café, the shock of it all had vanished and, because of the released tension (and definitely the hormones), I began to involuntarily shake with sobs. Although I hoped no one at the café saw me crying, I knew it was inevitable. This big gruff guy, smoking a cigarette, tried to console me by retorting, “Those d--- crazy taxi drivers!” Even though it wasn’t the most graceful thing to say, I’m sure he did his best and I really appreciated his kind attempt to calm and cheer me.
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Lastly, I learned yesterday that “fetus” means “little one” in Latin. It’s ironic that pro-abortionists won’t use the phrase “abort a baby” but insist on the phrase “abort a fetus,” which essentially means to kill a little one. Wow.

In the same genre, but concerning fetal movement, thus far I’ve been feeling these punching, kick-boxing moves that the baby loves to wage against the sides of my uterus. Over the past week, however, I’ve started to feel these deliberate "rolling" motions when I put my hand to my abdomen. Maybe I’m just being optimistic and simplistic, but it feels like my baby is “playing” with my hand and responding to my touch. And even if s/he isn’t, it’s nice to dream … Like Kevin says, I have the ability to convince myself of anything I want to believe in.