The Wiggles

Some days I feel like our whole house is one big wiggle. Each morning at 6:30 my four year old worms his way into our bed and shoves his little feet under my pregnant belly. Then he wiggles and shifts and wiggles and shifts by my side, rolling up the sheets with his limbs and assuring that I can’t get back to sleep. His wiggling body is only separated by an inch or so of skin, fat and muscle holding in the other wiggle – my 36 week old baby girl. She contorts and twists and kicks and hiccups until, no matter how I try, I can’t ignore all the wiggling and I finally succumb to getting up.

Once I’ve wiggled out of bed (you know this third trimester maneuver – roll to one side, drop the feet to the floor and wiggle off of the mattress) I wiggle into my clothes and then walk down the hall to the kitchen. Even my walk these days looks more like a wiggle as each step bounces my enormous belly and causes me to sway my hips from side to side.

We breakfast, clean it up and then proceed with our wiggly day. My two children flank me on the couch and wiggle as we read picture books. We all wiggle up into our seats when we load into the mini-van to head off to preschool or the store. I wiggle down to the floor to play cars or trains or Duplos with them. Even our mealtimes are wiggly – which often results in preposterous amounts of food ending up all over our kitchen floor. At the end of the day I lie next to each child and tuck them in while they toss and wiggle until their breathing gets heavy and they finally lie still. Ahh, at last. Stillness.

In the case of our family, the phrase “get your wiggles out” seems rather presumptuous. Our life is one big wiggle. And for now, I am ok with it.