Thursday, October 13, 2005

National Treasure & Aroma Therapy

My sister is in her thirty eighth hour of occasional labor. Yeah. Really. This is her fourth child so it ain’t her first rodeo and should have been easier than birthin’ a greased pig. But it ain’t. At forty one years old, she got saddle sore on this trail ride a little sooner than expected and doctors ordered her critter to arrive early. But the stubborn little buckaroo seems content where he is and is raising a fuss by making it somewhat risky for them to take him by force. So they’re having a regular Mexican standoff, my new nephew and the doctors. Poor mite. There’s no way he can win this rebellion.

As his aunt and matriarch in our family corral, I already wish I could give him advice. I’d tell the little fella to get a good running start and practice the head first belly dive that he will eventually need to master anyway if he’s ever to follow his brothers and cousins down that giant water slide which coincidentally enough, is named the Black Hole. And, there’s also that Slip ‘n Slide in the back yard to prepare for.

What this standoff means to me is that for the past two days, my house has not had the usual four to one ratio of testosterone to estrogen. Instead, until my newest nephew sleeps on the uber-adorable cowboy baby blanket I made for him, my home has a ratio of twelve rancid feet, six sonic belchers, and sixty toxicly pullable fingers to one hyper-discriminating nose cowering behind a plastic sheeted door sealed with duct tape. Yeah, I got teenage nephews staying with me until their baby brother is born and in addition to my own three sons, well.. my house smells like gym socks.

The thirteenth grandchild will be born on the thirteenth of hope. Can’t wait to meet the li’l bugger. We’ve howdied but we ain’t shook yet. His name is Riley and he will break the tie of six boys to six girls among my and my siblings’ kids. My eleven year old son is tickled purple by the name choice. Riley is a character in his latest over-watched and over-mimicked DVD, "National Treasure".

Anyway, here we are, two and half days after an ambulance took my sister to the hospital for frightfully low blood pressure and anemia that required four pints of blood, the baby still isn’t here.

"Well" remarked my eleven year old this morning, "it’s taking longer for Riley to get born than it did for them to find the treasure."

"How do you figure that?" I asked, "It took generations for them to locate that treasure. Even if you add in the thirty eight weeks of carrying the baby, it doesn't work. Locating the treasure took hundreds of years."

"Yeah" he said, "but the movie only took an hour and a half!"

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