Socks, babies, yoga, babies.

Of all the colors of socks I could choose to wear (and believe me, I have a lots of different colored socks in my drawer), I prefer gray. I think I wear gray socks more than any other color except white. And really, I think it's the ideal sock color.

I wish someone had gotten a picture of me last Tuesday at my yoga class when I got into this lovely balancing half moon and held it while my yoga teacher exclaimed at it. "You are either a miracle or a freak of nature," she said, "to be doing that at nine months pregnant." I said, "Thanks." It felt great and was my triumph of the day. Or maybe of the week. Or maybe of the pregnancy. I'll take what I can get.

When I was going through some bookshelves a couple of weekends ago, I found Edmund's baby book. It's empty. Blank. Well, ok, it has a couple of his birthday cards tucked into it as well as a lock of his baby hair in a ziploc baggie. That's all. Not a word written or a single photo. This is sad. It is. But I console myself by remembering the journal I kept (and still keep) for him of his baby days and his cuteness. It's something. But now I have a sense of why my own baby book is perhaps a bit emptier than those of some of my siblings. Edmund is number three, you know, but I was number seven. From my perspective, it's a wonder I have a baby book at all.

I posted this picture of my pregnant self on facebook today. Because my sister told me to. I'm round and motherly and all that. But it's still not super easy for me to look at.

Yesterday we heard Edmund singing, "shake shake shake senora." Shake it all the time.

Here he is with his mother on his recent 3rd birthday.

Speaking of Edmund, two days ago, when I walked into Edmund's room to wake him up from his nap (it was 5:30pm already!), I was struck suddenly with the thought that I have only a few more days of Edmund as my baby, my youngest. He was so beautiful sleeping there. That's when children look the best, right? And I couldn't help it. I started to cry and cry. Of course he woke up and was baffled in his bleariness about why mom was stroking his hair and bawling. But he is good at comforting hugs and pats and "mom, I love you"s. I couldn't stop crying for a long time. Once I start, you know. Edmund has his difficult moments, but he has been an extremely good youngest to have as part of my life.

Sucking his thumb and sleeping on his boppy pillow. Add 3 years and a buzz lightyear cape.

What else is on my mind? Well, just the persistent thought that my life is a whole lot better than I know it is. After all, I have five pairs of gray socks, and I'm wearing my favorite right now.