Life is one big spiral

Isn't that a beautiful cord? They don't all come out like that. Some are lumpy and bumpy and then some like this one, come out all swirly like a machine-made lollipop.
I love this pic, with the cord and then the purple, wrinkly, new-new baby feet to the right. This is a client of mine from the Spring. She just sent me a bunch of great birth photos to put on my website.

The class I taught went fairly well. I hope. While I was talking, I felt I talked fast. It was a combination of friends that I know and then some newer birth junkies who seemed quiet and shy. My apprentice came over today and said she thought it went really well, but then again, she would say that! No, actually she'd probably tell me if I sucked. :)
It felt good to be sharing information. When I was apprenticing (and even a year or two before) I read, and re-read anatomy books over and over again. For a while there it seemed I had a block in my brain that would prevent me from remembering the bones of the pelvis, the stupid pelvimitry measurements, and what hand motions to do next while performing a vaginal exam. Hopefully talking it all out (and in class 3 actually feeling them!) with a fake pelvis, some stories, and having everyone try it themselves on the plastic pelvis will make things a little easier for them to learn and remember.

Other than this...
I'm coming up to two women due this month.
S will be starting school in a month. E might be going to some kind of preschool in the fall, maybe.
It's hotter than hell these last few days and the next few coming. Around 97 with crazy humidity.
Poor G. His work called him at 3am to tell him they'd be starting work at 5:30am instead of 7am to try to beat the heat. He didn't go to bed until 10:30pm, so he was beat. Imagine working on a 2 mile square of blacktop; getting in and out of stinky new cars that have been sitting for days in the sun (maybe 125 degrees inside), driving them quickly onto extremely hot, metal trains, and then chaining them down. Finish that, jump down and get into the next line of hot, stuffy cars.
I hope that I can make enough money in the next few years that he can quit that place. Even if it's only to work some crappy office job. Not that he'd work an office job. Who knows? He should be a florist.
A florist with health benefits.

Then again, we saw Sicko a few weeks ago and were so down afterwards that we went to the bar for a beer to talk about moving to Canada or England so that our kids will have health benefits when they're older.

Okay, I should go to bed. I have a morning prenatal tomorrow and I have to take my kids to a friend's place across town because my mom isn't home this week.
I'm sure it will be a hectic, running late type of drive. We're out of the habit of fast mornings out the door.
Soon enough, we'll be doing it again. Every morning. Eating cereal as we watch Curious George on PBS. Me swearing to myself in the kitchen as I spill coffee on my shirt and hate myself for not making lunch the night before. E will be bed-head galore and plopped into his car seat in his pajamas while I yell at S for the 5th time to drag a brush through her hair.
Then we'll get in the car and listen to square, old Dick Purtan on 104.3 because the Volvo doesn't have a CD player anymore and we only want music in the morning. Dick Purtan tells corny jokes but he at least plays music. Everyone else talks, and me and the kids have no patience for that as we drive down Packard on weekday mornings.