As I was cleaning up the guest room this morning, I happened to notice our neighbors out lounging in their back yard. We haven't officially met them yet, but I'm sure they're lovely. We've noticed there's a mother, father and two little ones, but we're not yet sure of their names. We haven't yet invited them over for dinner, because I'm not sure what I should cook. I'm pretty sure they won't have us over for burgers or steaks any time soon, though. They just don't seem like the type.

Anyhow, I pulled out the camera and snapped a few photos.

We're officially in the homestretch. And it just occurred to me what an appropriate word that is to describe the last few weeks of pregnancy. Every day I'm convinced I've stretched this belly as far as it's willing to go. Then I look in the mirror and realize I'm wrong. You know it's stuck out pretty far when I have to get Brian to tell me what the scale reads. Another pound? I would have sworn I sweated out at least two pounds in my sleep last night! And another three just walking up the stairs.

Ah, well, the joys of pregnancy are there to remind men that we are the stronger sex when it comes to the pain and discomfort threshold. And that we simply let them think they're stronger in order to stroke their egos.

Take, for instance, my husband's "injury" last week. I got a call from Brian after one of his flights saying that he was on his way to the emergency room. "Don't worry, though," he said reassuringly. He was just going there because the flight doc was closed for the afternoon. When I asked him what had happened he explained that he was certain he either broke or sprained his knee on the jumpseat in the jet. And just how does one break one's knee on a jumpseat in a tiny cockpit? By briskly walking by it.

I did my best to stifle my laughter as he relayed the dilemma he now faces with his upcoming fitness test. I asked him to call me when he left the emergency room to put my mind at ease (wink, wink). About 30 minutes later, I received the news that Brian fortunately had NOT broken or even sprained his knee. No, the doctor was confident that it was a bruise and that some over-the-counter Ibuprofen would do the trick. They wrapped it up for him and sent him on his way. Too bad they were all out of Bob the Builder bandages and sugar-free suckers.

I couldn't help but tease him a little (okay, a lot) as he did his best to convince me that the doctor said "It COULD have been a chipped bone!" When he'd had enough of my mock-sympathy, he pointed to my enormous belly and screamed, "I HOPE IT HURTS WHEN IT COMES OUT!"

Oh, you'd better watch out, father-to-be. Because I'm pretty sure that labor room has LOTS of chairs. And I know I'm strong enough to throw them!

I'd like to take a break from my blogs about politics and impending parenthood in order to give you a brief glimpse into the life of a military pilot - from his wife's perspective.

Reunited after Brian's first deployment (June 2009)It's rare that I blog about Brian or his career because, to be perfectly honest, I'm not exactly sure whether or not something I say here will later come back to bite him in the butt. I envision some commander down the line saying, "Well, we wanted to promote you, but we read about your shenanigans on your blog and decided against it." Poor guy already has no privacy whatsoever. If he so much as breaks wind in his sleep, I have to call my family to tell them how hilarious it was.

And speaking of sleep, there is something very interesting you may not know about military pilots. In extreme circumstances, where there is a definite need, they will occasionally take a prescription sleep-inducing medication to help with difficult schedule changes. For example, Brian may have to work normal 7 to 4 hours on Monday and then come in for a flight at 11 p.m. on Tuesday where he'll fly until 2 p.m. on Wednesday. Then, he would resume a "normal" schedule for Thursday. It's impossible to acclimate your body in time, so the flight doctors do give prescription sleep aids when they are necessary. Again, this is only in rare cases and under a doctor's supervision. Just want to make that exceedingly clear.

I have had the pleasure of witnessing a few of these occasions where Brian has needed one of these sleepy pills in order to get adequate rest for a long flight. I can tell you a few things I've learned about them so far:  1) they're best if taken under supervision or while the individual is already in bed and 2) they're all the hilarity of drunkenness without the guilt or nasty hangover.

On one occasion Brian waited WAY too long to go to bed after taking his sleepy pill. He was helping me move things around the house, and he was completely falling all over himself. I finally convinced him to go to bed and escorted him up the stairs. I got him into the bed, tucked the covers around him, and he looked at me and said, "I'm so glad you're tucking me in...and not anyone else who works here." I couldn't resist. I had to keep it going. I asked, "Who else works here?" He just opened his eyes and chuckled, "I said something funny, didn't I?" It was classic. I then managed to get him to tell me all the adorable reasons he loves me before he faded into la-la land.

Since I enjoyed that conversation so much, I decided I would participate again last night when Brian had another middle-of-the-night flight. He went to bed around 3 p.m., and I was there beside him to enjoy the show. Here is a glimpse into our conversation:

K: What's your favorite meal?

B: Ooh! That's a hard one! How many courses can it be?

K: Let's put it this way, if you were on death row, what you you request as your final meal?

B: (No hesitation whatsoever) Steak and barbecue sauce. And spaghetti...because it's a different course. Oh, and I would have calamari. And fried cheese sticks. And French fries. And mild buffalo wings.

K: Is that all?

B: For dessert, I would have cheesecake.

K: Plain cheesecake?

B: Only if I had some milk to drink with it.

K: Or would you want Oreo or Butterfinger cheesecake?

B: Ooh! I'd have plain cheesecake, a Butterfinger, and a bowl of cookies and cream ice cream.

K: Well, if death row wouldn't kill you, that last meal probably would.

B: Ha ha! Okay, what would you choose as your final meal?

K: (Long pause) ...

B: Hurry up!

K: Why?

B: The guards are coming!

K: What guards?

B: The prison guards! You have to decide.

K: Oh, I get it. Because I said this was our final meal on death row, right?

B: Yeah! You better decide fast. You don't know these people!

K: Why...are they mean?

B: I don't know these people either! But you better hurry!

The hilarity ensued for another twenty minutes or so before I had to let him get some rest. The poor guy had already fallen asleep half a dozen times in the middle of our conversation. Before I left he went on and on about how much he loves me, how he thinks I'll be a great mom, how I'm a perfect wife, etc. It's a little bit sad how much I enjoy his loopy, drug-induced sentiments.

So, there you have it. I don't get to see or know what Brian does in his secret, middle-of-the-night missions (nor do I really want to), but I do get to enjoy the hours leading up to it. I'm willing to bet it's far more entertaining from my perspective. At least for those brief moments I don't have to think about the war, politics, or the great responsibilities we all have to protect and defend our freedom. I'll leave those enormous cares for another time. For those brief moments, I am completely consumed with gratitude as I consider my (semi-unconscious) hero and our amazing 11 years together, our little Chiefy sound asleep under the bed, and this precious life squirming around inside of me. That's a pilot's life for me.