All week, in addition to waiting for my husband to bring the camera home so I could post a photo of the coop (still waiting!), I have been thinking of posting. I have felt like I did back in 1998, when I was in the first weeks of our first pregnancy, unable to contact any old friends or correspond on a routine basis until it was time to tell "the news".
We are awaiting the arrival of 25 newborn chicks - yes, an overabundance - Banties, a straight mixed-breed run (hens and roosters, since Banty newborns are too small to determine gender), meaning that the roosters will have to go live out their dotage with my in-laws (who love chickens also). They should come late Tuesday or early Wednesday. I hope it doesn't sound cruel that I hope to end up with 2-3 chickens per child; we tried chickens (with 3 pullets) last fall but they all died or escaped our care soon after. But ask me again, in August, if 25 was too many and I promise to answer honestly.
For now, that's all. I have a brooder bulb, thermometer, cage, and pine chips ready in the garage. I'm tired, and recovering from what must have been at least bronchitis, but with a feeling in my stomach that might be like a chick, pecking to get out of its egg. It's butterflies, but somehow, that isn't the right taxon tonight.