Kick Push Kick Push Kick Push ... Coast

Title sound a little familiar but you can't put your finger on it? Oh, you know the song.

I think almost nonstop about our little baby, so to have purposefully few and far between social networking blurbs about her seems a little standoffish. So, here's one for free: I love baby kicks. Love them.

Emmy is able to hear noises outside the womb now, and she kicks the minute that Anthony gets up out of bed (4:45 a.m., ladies and gentlemen). She kicks when he reads a chapter of the Bible to her before bed at night. She kicks when I eat and when I'm hungry. She kicks when I am cooking dinner. She kicks when I'm checking the mail. This baby can move.

I take physical movement for granted. For instance, when a disabled person shuffles past you, or wheels themself into the room with you, do you avert your eyes? Is this action conscious or subconscious? Do we feel hesitant to look, in case we are mistaken for staring, or is it because we feel ashamed to have what they do not?

That said, I feel like every movement inside of me is a miracle. It's as visceral as a kid in a hoodie at a Jay-Z show feeling the beat. I am determined to not take this movement for granted.

It's showtime!

If I lived closer to my parents, I would be raiding their VHS home movie collection right now.
Here is a sample of what might be in it:

1. Two-contestant pageants, each with a "sponsor". Yes, my sister Holly and I would split the two younger sisters, dress them up, teach them a talent and ask them questions about the world. All over the microphone hooked up to the boombox and a Christmas lights runway.

2. A scary movie about what happened one time when Mom and Dad left us alone at the house... I'm pretty sure the girls killed me in that one, but who knows?

3. Birthday parties where we sing the Happy Birthday song as slow as possible, but not on purpose. It took Anthony's attendance and musical ear to let us know that something was definitely off with the tempo.

Annnnnddddd.....

4. A Fourth of July musical celebration, complete with a marching band (me on clarinet and Holly on trumpet), flag girl (Rebecca) and drum major (Cassandra). Oh boy. It was ambitious.

What got me thinking about my love for puttin' on a show is that I have been offered a loaner oboe (eeeee!!!!!) and the chance to get back into community musical performance, and I am very tempted to at least try. It's been five years since I touched an oboe and I have no doubt that I would have to rebuild all of my facial muscles to get back to the playing point, but it's an exciting proposition. There is just something about playing music with a group.

P.S. I met Anthony in high school through marching band. He was a total Nazi about it and I thought he was cute.