'a couple of kooks hung up on romancing'

Here we are, three years ago today!






Tonight, we'll be in our ever-romantic childbirth class, followed by anniversary cake. Tomorrow night we'll celebrate over dinner at Solera, where our favorite local band, The Owls, will be playing upstairs afterward. Steve planned the evening, and I can't wait!

We sat and talked for a long time this morning over breakfast and coffee. It was happy, hopeful talking, the kind that leaves me feeling that all is right with our little world. We talked about our three years together, our future, our goals for parenthood, our hopes and dreams (to steal an album title from The Owls). We talked so long that we were late for work. But it was worth it.

And on the way into work, I listened to one of my all-time favorite songs — Kooks by David Bowie — which is on one of my all-time favorite albums, Hunky Dory. (Steve is a Bowie fan, too.) I've loved this song for many years, since I first heard it in my sophomore year of college, and I've waited a long time to play it for our future baby. As I listened in the car, I realized that it fits our quirky personalities perfectly, even if we don't actually plan to throw our son's homework on the fire. Here's how it goes:

Will you stay in our lovers' story
If you stay you won't be sorry
'Cause we believe in you
Soon you'll grow so take a chance
With a couple of kooks
Hung up on romancing

We bought a lot of things
to keep you warm and dry
And a funny old crib on which the paint won't dry
I bought you a pair of shoes
A trumpet you can blow
And a book of rules
On what to say to people
when they pick on you
'Cause if you stay with us you're gonna be pretty kookie too

[CHORUS]

And if you ever have to go to school
Remember how they messed up
this old fool
Don't pick fights with the bullies
or the cads
'Cause I'm not much cop at punching other people's dads
And if the homework brings you down
Then we'll throw it on the fire
And take the car downtown

[CHORUS]

And here's one more for my sisters:

meltdown

Suddenly I'm crying, then sobbing as if my heart is being pulled out of my chest. "But I want YOU," I say, clutching his arm, feeling like Anne Shirley at the end of one of those Green Gables stories, except infinitely more pathetic.

I'm sitting in my favorite living room chair, the one that looks vaguely Arts-and-Craftsy with its wooden arms and mission-style slats, except it's a recliner, and at the moment, I am reclined. Just one lamp is on. It's late, and we normally would be reading in bed, except it's harder for me to read in bed now that I'm "big with child." The book in my lap is face down, open to the page I've just read — the one that's been telling me how hard my life is about to become: How maternity leave is going to reduce me to a 24-hour caregiver and maid. How I'm going to resent watching him walk out of the house every morning because I can't. How 84 percent of couples report that having a child causes detriment to their marriage. I should know better than to read these scary books, just like I know better than to watch scary movies. They tend to send me into an emotional tailspin before I have time to think it through clearly. I react before I think. I get overwhelmed.

On the outside, all he hears is a sigh. On the inside, I am melting into a heap of helplessness, like a child. "That's a big sigh," he says, looking up from the couch, where he is reading something technical.

"Listen to this," I say, and I start to read it to him. "It's so scary. I'm just so afraid I won't be competent at this. What if I really do resent you every morning when you leave for work?"

"I'll be there for the first two weeks," he says.

"Yes, and that leaves me alone for five and a half months," I say. "I'm a writer. I'm an editor. I'm not trained in childcare. I never wanted to be a maid. And yet this is going to be my life for six months, if not more. How will I get through this on my own?"

That's when the tears puddle into my eyes, and he sees, and he comes over and sits on the edge of the chair. We've talked about this before, how parenthood will affect our careers, how nice it would be to split parenting roles more evenly, yet how improbable, given the nature of his work. "I wish I could do more to help you," he says. "You know you have friends you can call for support."

But girlfriends don't measure up to my best friend. He's my partner, and suddenly I can't imagine going through this without him every day. He's the one I want changing the nasty diapers with me, thinking up games to play with the baby, figuring out how to soothe the cries. The thought of doing this alone, day after day, petrifies me. That's what I'm feeling in the moment, anyway. It's you I want, I tell him, and I hold onto his arm as if it will keep him from flying away.

I know I'm being clingy, and it makes me feel weak, needy, like one of those helpless housewives who are afraid to drive, incapable of handling anything on my own, even though in reality I've been handling things for years. I remember clingy from the days of bad relationships, when I mixed need up with love, when I thought I could make him want to be with me if I tried hard enough. But this relationship has always been different. I've never had to be afraid of him walking away. I've always stood on both feet with him, felt strong and equal. But I can't stop bawling, and my eyes are blurry with tears, and I reach for his old T-shirt so I can wipe my tears off on it. He takes it off and gives it to me, and he sits there on the arm of the chair, shirtless, an arm wrapped awkwardly around the top of my head. "I hear you," he says. It's all he can say for the moment.

This doesn't happen to me very much, these meltdowns, and when they do, I always feel slightly embarrassed afterward. Childish, insecure. And yes, I judge myself, too. It's to his credit that he treats me with dignity and doesn't make fun of me. He wants to protect me, and sometimes I let him. I think he protects me from the scariest parts of myself, the ones that make me want to curl up into a ball and disappear.

And then he starts to talk, reminding me of how good I am with babies, how I used to take care of my younger brothers and sister, how when we babysat for Maria for the first time, it was me who figured out how to get her to stop crying. And think about how wonderful it's going to be to meet our son. To watch him smile, to see him wave his arms and legs around and laugh, to be there when he first rolls over. It's going to be a miracle. And I know he is right, and he's not going anywhere. Maybe to work, but he'll be home for dinner, and there will be plenty of diapers waiting for him, plenty of bottles to feed, plenty of time for him to bond with his baby boy. Plenty of time for us to have time for each other. Our marriage isn't going to slip away from us.

Pretty soon we go to bed. Before I turn out the light, I open the book again and read a few more pages. I'm hoping the scary parts are over.

"Are you still reading that?" he says from his side of the bed. "Maybe it's not the best thing for you to be reading right now."

He wants to protect me, and sometimes I let him. And sometimes he does.

ode to central air :: haiku

Sweet cool blast of air
You kiss my hot body like
A cold northern lake

i believe ...

This week's Friday Five from the RevGals' blog really makes a person think: Name five things you believe. These don't have to be long statements — short sentences, both serious and frivolous.

1. I believe humans contain the capacity for both great goodness and great evil.

2. I believe in the connection between physical clutter and psychic clutter.

3. I believe there are at least two sides to every story.

4. I believe God is the deepest, most powerful, most accepting love imaginable.

5. I believe pregnant women should be given the benefit of the doubt and allowed to use any bathroom in any place of business that has one, even if it is usually not available to the public. If New York City gets it, why doesn't St. Paul? (Grrr...)

'to feel myself beloved on the earth'

In a burst of housekeeping, I have been going through my Outlook e-mail account at work, deleting as many e-mails as I can in anticipation of maternity leave, even though it's still months away. (Can we say "nesting"?) I found this one I sent to Steve more than a year ago. It touched me deeply at the time because Raymond Carver has been one of my favorite short story writers. I didn't write the preamble. I found it somewhere in the blogosphere; I can't remember where. And of course, the poem is all Carver. I get a lump in my throat whenever I read it.

• • •

"Do you know the story of Raymond Carver's life?  Although it's not a conventionally happy narrative, it's one that I've always found weirdly comforting.  Carver was an alcoholic who once said that he became a writer so he could entertain 'full-time drinking as a serious pursuit.'  For a number of years, the severity of his alcoholism made it impossible for him to write at all.  But in his forties, after a promising career had trailed off into addiction, Carver began to get better.  He stopped drinking, fell in love, began to write again.  His stories during this time reveal his own metamorphosis — instead of ending in painful isolation, they are full of hope and possibility.

"Then, shortly after he got sober, he was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer.  You can see him wrestling with his impending death in his last poems. He married his lover. He rushed to finish his last book of poetry, A New Path to the Waterfall. He tried to get it all in during those last few months, all the living he felt he hadn't done before, all the moments he knew would never come again.

"And then - the last poem he ever wrote, just before he died, titled Late Fragment:

"And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?

I did.

And what did you want?

To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth."

baby's room, phase next

For those who are not around to peek into our nursery and see it in person ... (These photos, for some reason, look a bit lighter and more washed out on my monitor than they really are.)

We have a darling crib skirt and some crib sheets now, and some curtains, so the baby's room feels like it's coming together a little more.



We don't really have one brand name or theme carried through the entire room; we're mix-and-matching with items and colors that seem to go together. (And keep in mind that the furniture is a combination of old and new in a variety of colors! We call this "eclectic.") :) The skirt is in a nursery rhyme pattern (see below), and the sheets are in matching stripes and solids in green, blue and yellow, all from Carousel Designs, which is a nice Web site with affordable — yet great quality — bedding. (Sheets have high thread counts, for example, and elastic all the way around, not just on the corners.) The curtains, which are sheer with little stars, are from Wendy Bellissimo's Starlight pattern at Babies R Us.

Hopefully, we'll find a rug and some wall art at some point — the walls are just begging for decoration. And we'll be moving Steve's old dresser in as soon as we get a new one for our room.

The changing table is currently serving as a holding shelf for screwdrivers, gifts, plastic mattress wrapping, clothing and anything else we choose to throw on it.


Here's the drop skirt ...


... and the curtains. I haven't decided whether to put up valances. They're low on the priority list. (It would involve putting up an extra curtain rod, for one thing.) For now, I think this little Winnie the Pooh hooded after-bath towel looks quite charming up there! It's the first item of clothing we bought for him.


Sometimes I sit in the rocking chair in the lamplight and imagine how it will feel to have our son there, nursing him or watching him sleep. I just can't wait to meet this little guy! I like that the room feels calm, yet the green is cheerful and refreshing. (I read in some articles about nurseries and feng shui that newborns and infants can be overstimulated by having too many bright colors around them all the time, so it's nice to keep the nursery as a sort of sanctuary of calm and keep the bright stuff to toys and things until they're a little older.) It's definitely unisex, and hopefully not too feminine. Of course, our time with this room will be fleeting; once he's 2 or so, we'll look at redecorating in Big Boy colors and furniture. (Or we'll move!)

birthdays, babies and goodbyes

Today is also our niece Maria's birthday. She's the daughter of Steve's brother Bruce and his wife, Anna. She's an adorable, shy little 1-year-old! Apparently, all the kids in that family were blondes when they were little, which makes me wonder what color hair our baby will have.


Here she comes face to face with her very first birthday cake. She loved the ducks!



Also at the birthday party, another adorable new baby in our circle of friends, Isabel, adopted by Dan and Margaret from China in February. She is one of the happiest, good-natured babies I've ever had the pleasure of knowing.




That was today. Yesterday, we said goodbye to our friend Cathy, who is leaving soon for Jakarta, Indonesia, where she'll be teaching special education in an American school.


Steve and I met Cathy five years ago this month on a camping trip. Not just any camping trip — the very camping trip that brought Steve and me together. We (Steve and I) carpooled that weekend to and from Tettagouche State Park in Steve's car, four hours each way, and that's where we got to know each other (better, we say, than most couples know about each other after a month of dating). Bruce and Anna were on the trip, too — Bruce organized it — but they hadn't started going out yet. But enough about the camping trip and back to Cathy ...

Cathy grew up around the world — Japan, Saudi Arabia, Brazil — and her parents are also international teachers, so you could say it's in her blood. Still, we admire her courage in making this big leap. Cathy, we hope you'll stay in touch. Start a blog, won't you? ;-)

It was one of those parties where no one left without having a picture taken with Cathy.


Also at the goodbye party were our mutual friends George and Barb. (No, not the Bushes.) George was also on that legendary camping trip, and he met Barb not long after. And our wedding dates ended up being just five months apart!

happy birthday to my sister susanne

Here we are the day we met up in San Francisco a year ago March, at the Top of the Mark. It was a rainy, rainy day ... but we had a good time! Sue, I hope you're having a wonderful birthday today. And congratulations again on your new job!

friday five on saturday :: wordplay

This one is tough:

Please tell us five words you had to think about really hard before saying them out loud for the first time, or that you discovered you had misapprehended when someone corrected your pronunciation.

Episiotomy — I had to hear this one a few times before I had the courage to try it myself! Now it rolls off my tongue — almost.

Plethora — I was sure it was "PLETH-o-ra," but sometimes I hear it said "pleth-OR-a," and I'm still not positive. I suppose I could look it up in a dictionary, huh?!

Myriad — I learned this word in school to be used as an adjective — as in, "The utensil has myriad uses." Since then, I've heard it used as a noun, as in, "The utensil has a myriad of uses." I'm not sure if one is preferred over the other (or if one is just plain wrong), and I'm also not sure if it should only be used with countable objects. (I suppose a trip to the dictionary could clear that one up, too.) At any rate, it just feels awkward to say. Doesn't "many" suffice in most cases?

Versace — I used to read this name all the time in Vogue et al, but I never had a clue about how to say it out loud. My guesses were along the lines of "ver-SASE" or "VER-sase." When Gianni Versace got shot a few years ago and they said his name on the news, the lightbulb went off: It's Italian. Of COURSE it's "ver-SAH-chi"!

Hermione — Same problem as above, except Harry Potter instead of Vogue. I think a fan site might have put me right, but the movie clinched it.

sweetness

"How are my two favorite people?"

He was already out of the shower, and he leaned over me, kissed the back of my neck, my shoulder, my arm. I was still curled up on my side and half asleep in the bed. I smiled and sighed. Small moments like these I never want to forget.

i see a road trip taking shape

States I've visited are in red - 40 of them. I counted Colorado, Michigan and Georgia, even though I've only been in airports there.


create your own visited states map
or check out these Google Hacks.

Here's Steve's map - 32 states.



create your own visited states map
or check out these Google Hacks.

Here's my world map. According to the Web site, I've been to 7 percent of the world's countries.



create your own visited countries map
or vertaling Duits Nederlands

backyard foliage

I was inspired yesterday to go in the backyard and take a few flower photos, and I'm glad I did because tonight it's raining, and I'm kind of blue, and looking at them cheers me up. Lilacs are in full bloom everywhere you look around the city, but our one tree only has a few clumps. Thus the close-up.


Remember when I wrote about how Steve transplanted some peonies that the heating-and-air guys had to unearth to install our air conditioning condensation unit? (Yes, I'm sure you remember that perfectly!) They're small and a little raggedy, but I think they may survive! This one is just about to bloom.


And here's a bloom from a ladyslipper we planted a couple of years ago. It's really getting big.


I am loving the Nikon D50 I bought, but uploading images onto Blogger is another story. Our dial-up connection only lets me upload small files, and it still takes a long time. Thus ... we're having the DSL conversation. *Gulp.* I'm not sure I'm ready to go there, though. I'm still reeling from the cost of the camera. And the new Mac we bought over the weekend when we found out our laptop's motherboard is beyond repair. *Sigh.* Technology is so pricey.

my inner bitch needs soothing

Oh, Lord, I am tanking today. Do you ever feel like your mood is just spiraling downward and all you want to do is huff and glare and snap at people and not make any attempt to be nice? That is me, today. It's like PMS, but I don't have PMS. I have pregnancy hormones, and maybe they are responsible for this. I do not want to do a single f-ing piece of work. I do not want to be nice to the coworkers who annoy me. I do not want to "look on the bright side" or "think happy thoughts" to try to bring myself above the line. The problem is, people who act like I feel today are not very popular around the office. So I kind of have to keep my mouth shut and try to act like I'm in a halfway decent mood.

Last night at our childbirth class, I was not in a crappy mood. I didn't think I was, anyway, except that sitting on the same chair for two hours, with just a 10-minute break in between, was not fun for my lower back. I actually thought the class was interesting. I felt engaged. I asked questions. I loved that Steve held my hand and rubbed my back and put my feet up on a chair for me. I left feeling optimistic about our hospital and good about the nurse's openness to birth plans and labor alternatives. So how in God's name did he get the vibe that I was in a crappy mood, or at least tired, as he mentioned afterward when I asked him what was wrong? (Because I was getting a vibe from him, too.) Did I really come across that way? Was I snappy? I didn't think so. But hearing him say that did bring me down: How on earth did I come across to him in a way so far from how I was feeling? Were our wires really so crossed? That doesn't usually happen to us, and when it does, it's frustrating. Still, it was behind us by the time we went to bed, and I was in a good mood when I got to work this morning. Or so I thought. So what's up with this real bad mood?

I used to go next door to the Cathedral when I was stressing about things. Sometimes I'd sit in a pew. Other times I'd walk around and look at the architecture, the powerful statues of the Gospel writers, the stained-glass windows, the engraved words: "Truly this is none other than the house of God, the gate of heaven." Other times I'd kneel in front of the Mary statue and stare at her innocent, childlike face and try to figure out what her big appeal is to so many Catholics. I've never had a thing for Mary, although lately I've been thinking about her more, trying to find new ways of imagining her, wondering if being a mother to a son will make me identify more with her. Anyway, being in that big Cathedral when it was empty and quiet calmed me down. I haven't done that for years. Maybe I should go over there today. I used to say a simple prayer while I was there - I'd ask God for grace, peace, courage and wisdom. Sometimes I'd just say those four words, over and over, like a mantra. "Grace. Peace. Courage. Wisdom."

amen to that

While I still have Mother’s Day on my mind ... I was looking at the RevGals' blog (which I found thanks to another friend's blog) and found this post from the weekend.

Sue, one of the RevGals (a group of mostly clergywomen and other vocation-discerning women who do the blog together) writes:

I have some personal issues with the celebration of Mother's Day in churches. It is a greeting card holiday, not a religious one. More important than that, however, is the heartache of the folks in our pews who feel left out of the "aren't Mother's wonderful?" celebration. Not all mothers bring back fond memories, and not all women can become mothers. My policy is that I will not preach on the topic of mothers, but I will add mothers and women into the pastoral prayers.

And then she has a prayer, which includes these lines:

God, we thank you for mothers...for those who would like to be mothers but cannot... for those who have lost children through death or circumstances... for the women in our lives who are like mothers to us... and for a better world for girls to grow up to be mothers if they so choose.

Bless all who gather this day for worship and praise, for we ask it in Jesus' name. Amen.

Amen. As some of the commenters in my Sunday post pointed out, Mother's Day can be painful for many women. Why don't churches get that? Some do, of course. But there are others — and I've been there — that have mothers stand up and be recognized or come forward for roses, the ones who devote an entire homily to motherhood even though it doesn't really tie into the Scripture readings. One woman I know, who has had three miscarriages and one adopted baby taken away because of a legal snafu, says the church community can be a real source of pain when it emphasizes the "gift of children" as "a blessing for good, moral living — the implication being that we must be cursed."

Of course mothers deserve to be celebrated, although Mother's Day sometimes reminds me of Valentine's Day - hyped-up "greeting card holidays," as Sue writes. The thought of jacked-up flower prices and commercials for diamond earrings just makes me cranky. But if there's going to be a day (and I do admit mine felt pretty nice this year), and if churches are going to take part in celebrating it, there are better ways they could do it. For instance: Let's honor all the people who play out the role of mother in our lives - friends, sisters, brothers, mentors and bosses, even total strangers who came along when we needed them. I love my mother, but I also have been incredibly cared for by people who are not related to me. (I'm thinking of you, Jo Ann.) Women (and men) who have no children at all have been known to nurture others and guide them like the best "moms" we know. (And let's not forget that God mothers us incredibly.)

Besides, if we really want to do something meaningful for mothers, I'd think we'd want to raise real issues: How do we make daycare more affordable? How do we go about establishing enforceable standards to make sure it's safe and decent across the board? How do we give more women access to flex time at their jobs so they don't feel stuck with limited options? How do we make it socially acceptable for fathers to take their full allotment of parental leave and flex time, just as mothers do? How do we make sure all women have access to affordable health care? How do we stop the petty bickering between working moms and stay-at-home moms so we can come up with solutions to these problems?

powerful and prophetic

I just have to give a shout-out to this post from the Feminarian. There's so much good stuff here that I can't touch on it all. Just read it, if you're into Christianity, preaching and ritual in any way.

into the home stretch

I am in my 28th week now, which I am pretty sure means I have begun the third trimester! How quickly time has flown through the second trimester, especially compared to the first trimester when we hadn't told many people our news and I was a walking mess of anxiety. Those initial weeks in December and January seemed to drag on endlessly. First trimesters are like that, and for good reason. You're always hedging your happiness with reminders: "It's still early - anything could happen." Steve was good about staying positive. His mantra was (and still is), "The odds are in our favor." That was true for us, thankfully. But friends of ours - she was due just a week after me - lost their baby girl in the 12th week. It was excruciatingly painful, and I know they are still grieving. The night I learned the news, I lay on our bed with Steve, curled up and crying, full of emotions - heartbroken for our friends, angry at God for allowing it to happen, frightened that it could happen to us, guilty in the relief that it had not.

The second trimester saw a lot of my anxiety dissipate. Instead, it was three months of awe and giddyness, of standing in front of the full-length mirror, staring at my new, growing body and watching my "bump" get bigger and bigger. (I remember how, when I was younger, I used to stuff a cushion up my shirt to get an idea of what I might look like pregnant!) It was three months of feeling my body get heavier, my lower back get achier, my walking get slower, my bra size go up two cups. (Woo-hoo!) My new favorite clothes are maternity gauchos and long T-shirts from Old Navy and full-panel jeans from Motherhood Maternity. I've worn the same $29 dress to three weddings and a benefit. In this trimester, we learned that our baby is a boy. We started to call him by the name we've chosen for him (and try to be vigilant about not saying it in front of other people!). We started to feel him kick. We read him stories and play music for him. We've painted his room and started to prepare for his arrival.

The months ahead are going to be busy. We start our six-week childbirth class tomorrow night. We have a parenting class and a breastfeeding class later this summer. We will meet with our doula a couple of times, too. Some family members are throwing us a shower. I'm reading books about motherhood issues and childbirth. I want to know as much as I can going in, even if I forget it all. That's the way I operate - I like research!

And here's my weekly e-mail from BabyCenter.com:

Your baby's growing steadily as he prepares for his grand entrance. This week he weighs almost 2 pounds and measures about 14 1/2 inches from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. He's acting more like a newborn now, opening and closing his eyes, sleeping and waking at regular intervals, and maybe sucking a finger. He may also be hiccupping, which you'll notice as little rhythmic sensations in your belly. You may start to get leg cramps, especially when you're lying in bed at night. Stretching your calf and flexing your foot should bring some relief.

my first mother's day as a mother

It was so nice. And not just because it was Mother's Day, though that was special, too. When I got up, I had a card waiting for me from our unborn son that brought tears to my eyes. (It's the image at the right - a print of a painting by the St. Paul artist Barbara Evan. Steve bought it at the Art Crawl a few weeks ago, unbeknownst to me.) Then we had a fabulous brunch with Steve's sister and brother-in-law and their kids at Hell's Kitchen in downtown Minneapolis. (The food there is delicious. Steve and I split orders of lemon-ricotta pancakes, corned-beef hash with scrambled eggs, a side of bacon and a caramel roll, and we wolfed all of it down with lattes and freshly squeezed orange juice.)

What made the day wonderful was that so many of our family and friends came together to celebrate Stephen's graduation from the MBA program at a party I threw for him this afternoon. As he told me afterward, he's not used to having things be all about him, especially in his big family. And our party was definitely about him. Even though it was also about people checking out the nursery-in-progress and patting my belly, it was mostly about things like Steve's father telling his youngest son how proud he is of him. About his brothers and sisters taking the time from their Mother's Days to come spend the afternoon with us, some of them seeing our house for the first time. About his friends driving all the way up from Rochester to celebrate his accomplishment. It warmed my heart. He deserved to be the center of attention.


It was nice to have a Mother's Day that wasn't bittersweet, as Mother's Day used to be when Steve and I were going through fertility treatments and weren't sure if we ever would have a baby. Like last year. It was one of those holidays I wanted to downplay as much as possible - going shopping and staying out of restaurants and public places where moms and families congregate. I remember how much that sucked. I remember how the priest used to have moms stand up at church, and I would start weeping. I remember, shortly after I'd first moved to Minnesota, going to church with a coworker and her daughter, who had had three miscarriages, and how the daughter sobbed into her mother's shoulder. I imagine how Mother's Day must be for mothers who have lost children. So there is still a tinge of bittersweet, even though I'm pregnant now. And I can't help thinking about the people I know who still grit their teeth to get through the day.

Of course I got to talk to my own mom today, which was special, too - Mother's Day isn't just about being a mother, after all. Having my mother so far away is hard sometimes. I miss her, especially these days, when there's so much to talk about with my pregnancy. So it was nice to have our own chat today. (Even if I did miss part of The West Wing - which was, as I expected, emotional!)

(Edited Monday morning.)

who needs expensive cat toys?

Ingrid loves our bed more than ever, now that I have a Snoogle. By night, it's a body pillow that helps support my knees, hips and tummy when I'm sleeping on my side. By day, its curves are Ingrid's safe space - calm harbor in a sea of bedding.

dream :: the baby is born

My dream last night:

I am holding my newborn baby, and he is adorable. I carry him around with me everywhere, not wanting to let him go. I try to breastfeed him for the first time, and he latches on perfectly! He drinks a little bit, but then he stops and spits it all back up, all over himself and me. It's very messy. I try feeding him again later, and this time my old boss is there, and our publisher, and a priest and a few other people. They're sitting in chairs around a low table, having a meeting, and I am sitting off to the side, breast in full view, trying to feed my son, who keeps letting milk come back out of his mouth. But that is OK because I am happy.

things to do on my friday off

• First and foremost: Wish a happy, happy birthday to Cynthia!!!
• Go for a checkup at the OB. (Done.)
• Get film developed so I can contest a parking ticket (found on my windshield as I was leaving for work last week) by proving to the best of my ability that the two nearest no-parking signs on our street were lying face-down on the curb and there was no way I could have known not to park in front of my own damn house.
• Go downtown to contest said ticket.
• Check out library book (The Thinking Woman's Guide to a Better Birth by Henci Goer).
• Renew checked-out library books.
• Check e-mail and feed Internet addiction by logging onto library computer (where I am right now), as home computer's On button decided to stop working last night.
• Take home computer to repair place and prepare to be without it for a couple of weeks, potentially. *Silent scream*
• Order cake for Steve's little graduation get-together Sunday.
• Pick up cake this afternoon, as I won't be able to get it tomorrow because we'll be gone to a wedding all day.
• Buy food and drinks for GTG.
• Clean house for GTG, as we won't have time to do it Sunday morning because we'll be at Mother's Day brunch with relatives.
• Go for bikini and lip wax.
• Buy kitty litter when Steve gets home because I'm not supposed to carry heavy things.
• Use the remaining 29 minutes on this computer to answer this week's Friday Five:

1. Describe a memorable conference, retreat, workshop or convention you've attended. A few weeks before I moved to Minnesota, I attended a workshop on dreams, held at a church in Jackson, Mississippi. It was really illuminating and helped me resolve some closure issues that I needed to resolve as I took the huge step of packing up my life and moving here.

2. Tell us about a memorable speaker or preacher you've heard. At a conference? (I've heard plenty of memorable speakers through my job, but I'll stick to conferences.) I'll say Mary Higgins Clark, who spoke at a work conference in Chicago a few years ago. I love hearing novelists talk about the writing process. Garrison Keillor was pretty funny, too.

3. Do you attend all of the scheduled events, or play hooky? If the latter,
what do you do with your free time? I admit I play hooky from workshops and speakers that don't interest me. The last out-of-town conference I attended was in Dallas, and I spent a lot of time in my bikini by the hotel pool. (And I noticed I wasn't the only one.) In Chicago, where the conference hotel was right on Michigan Avenue, I had a grand time at the art museum!

4. Do you like having a roommate or would you rather have a room to
yourself? I like having my own room, but I don't mind a roommate if we get along.

5. What's the most exotic location you've conferenced or retreated? I can't think of any place very exotic. Dallas was a place I'd never been before, but I wouldn't call it exotic.

Have good weekends, friends and family!

holy leg cramps, batman

At 2:46 a.m., I woke up with the worst charley horse I have ever had in my life. My left calf muscle was spasming uncontrollably. I moaned or shrieked, and Steve shot straight up in bed in Protector mode.

First he tried to massage it. "Argh. No, no, stop, it's making it worse!" "Sorry."

The thought crossed my mind that this is child's play in comparison to what labor will be like.

Then he told me to flex my foot. Slowly, I stretched my leg out straight and willed my toes toward me. That helped a little bit. Slowly, the killing pain decreased to more of a dull stab. I eased out of bed to stand on it. No worse. I bent my knees a few times.

I hobbled out to the bathroom. Flipped the lightswitch, but it didn't come on. Stupid flourescent light. Why does it take it two seconds to come on during the day but three minutes to come on in the dead of night, if not longer? After peeing in the dark, I hobbled back to bed and gingerly laid my leg on the pillow I keep between my legs to keep my hips level. Closed my eyes.

Then the bathroom light came on, belatedly. I'd forgotten to flip the switch off. Steve got up and turned it off. Came back to bed. "Sorry," he said. "What for?" I said. "For hurting you when I massaged it," he said. "Oh, honey, you didn't know," I said. "Don't worry - you helped me feel better." "Sorry you had to get the light," I added.

An hour later, I turned over in bed, which at six months pregnant is a big production that always wakes me up and sometimes wakes Steve up.

Then it happened again. I felt that twitch, the one that warns that it's about to become a cramp. This time it was in my right calf. Sure enough, there it came, another charley horse. (Why do they call them charley horses, anyway?)

This time, I flexed it right away, before it got as bad as the left leg, and it loosened up quickly. "I need to be getting more calcium," I said out loud.

In the morning, Steve said, "Did you say something about calcium last night?" "Yeah," I said. "I think I read somewhere that calcium deficiency in pregnant women is one reason for leg cramps."

He's been reminding me to drink more milk ever since he read the "pregnancy for men" book that his friend Mark gave him.

Today, those muscles are still sore. I feel them every time I get up to walk around. If I stretch one of my legs the wrong way, it feels like it might seize up again. I think I'm going to get some milk or cottage cheese for the office refrigerator.

ways with words

"If she were fabric she'd be key-lime green gingham silk dupioni."

Isn't that a kick-ass phrase? I wish I wrote like that. It comes from my favorite blogger-I've-never-met, Stephanie Klein, who used it to describe a new friend. (For those who don't know about her, she's a New Yorker sometimes described by the buzz press as "the next Carrie Bradshaw." I've been reading her blog since I saw a New York Times article about her last summer. She's just moved to Austin and has a book based on her blog exploits coming out soon.)

Johanna had a good turn of phrase today, too, in an e-mail when she talked about how she's "drinking Kaopectate like it's vodka." (Get better soon, Jo.) Hmm. If Johanna were fabric, she'd be something bright, free-flowing, outdoorsy, flirty, a little bit out of control, like her curly hair. Something red or orange, maybe a flippy parachute silk, with tiny dots.

I love this idea. Like, last night's doula would be dusky purple silk of some kind. The one we hired would be a softly crisp, creamy cotton, like really good sheets that you can't stop inhaling. What would I be? Maybe a celadon-green linen? Natural, comfortable and sometimes a little rumpled, not too flashy. Or on some days, when I'm feeling passionate and emotional and special, maybe a deep-red cashmere, the kind you have to get in close and touch to recognize.

This post begs for comments ... so I'll put it out there: What fabric are you? Or, if fabricizing yourself is too hard (I think it is!), do somebody else. :)

our doula decision

We met with doula number three tonight, and we really liked her a lot, too. It was a tough call between number one and number three - much tougher than with number two, whom we definitely didn't want to hire.

I could tell this doula would be such a good presence at a birth. She was warm and nice and non-judgmental. She had an open philosophy that resonated with us - that there is no "best" way to do things, that her role is simply to be there with the couple through thick and thin. She wasn't anti-medical-establishment, and she wasn't against drugs. She was simply in favor of knowing all the options in order to make informed decisions. This was in line with the first doula's approach - and in contrast with the second one. What's more, she also had positive things to say about the hospital where we plan to deliver - which was a good reminder that sometimes it's in the eye of the beholder. Since we felt doula number two had a fairly biased viewpoint, maybe it's wise to take her negative comments with a grain of salt.

She showed us the lavender-scented cotton balls and massage tools she uses to help the woman relax. She talked about the visualization techniques she uses - having the woman think of a dolphin riding a wave. She described how she has couples slow-dance during labor, both to ride the wave of a contraction and to connect. (The motions of slow-dancing are apparently conducive to relaxing the hips.) It all sounded nice. Sometimes, she says, she even has them kiss while they dance because kissing relaxes the face, and a relaxed face means a more relaxed cervix. Steve and I joked that I'd probably sock him if he tried to lay one on me at the wrong time. We all laughed ... it was a relaxed visit that way.

In my gut, though, I knew I still wanted to go with doula number one, and Steve said he felt the same way. She's just a better fit. I can't really describe why; it comes from a visceral level. So, after talking it over, comparing the notes from the two visits and the references, and rechecking our gut reactions ("Are you sure?"), we offered the job to doula number one. I feel sad about not being able to hire the one we met tonight - she was a close second, and maybe she can be the backup - but I am sure we made a good decision. (And I am not always a very decisive person!)

dream :: the cooking contest

My dream before I woke up this morning:

I am standing at a long counter with some other people, taking a cooking quiz. It's multiple choice, and whenever I skip over a question, it becomes a blueberry that drops onto the counter, and I am supposed to collect all the blueberries in a paper bag and give them to the teacher to count, and then I can try them again. I have about 20 blueberries.

Meanwhile, the instructor - a middle-aged man - is sampling some of the things we have cooked. He seems to like the herbed bread I have made. But then it's time to take all of our cooked products to the table. My bread - sort of a ciabatta - is in a big warmer, alongside the other students' ciabattas, and it suddenly looks pathetic next to everyone else's. I see big loaves that look professional and delicious - various concoctions of flour and herbs sprinkled on top. But mine is small, and it's still wrapped up in the Schwan's plastic wrapping it came in. (I guess I did not even make mine from scratch.)

Blegh. I woke up feeling down and out of sorts. Steve was up early and off to work before I was out of bed. I don't know why I feel so discombobulated. I think it's a number of things, actually. The dining room table is cluttered with camera boxes and bags and newspapers and magazines and doula notes and other scattered pieces of paper. The house is cluttered in general. When the house is cluttered, my psyche feels cluttered. Steve folded all the laundry last night after I went to bed early, after I spent the whole evening playing with my camera and the computer and not doing any housework. I feel like I haven't been pulling my weight.

It's been one of those weeks where I've been preoccupied by my own "stuff" and feel like I'm not giving my full attention to work, to Steve, to marriage, to housework, to being part of a couple. My mind has been elsewhere. These obsessive streaks I get into are nothing new, and when I was single, it was a wonderful pleasure, but now I have another person in my life who sees how I can retreat into my own little world sometimes, and it makes me look at myself through another set of eyes. He hasn't said anything, but I notice it. I don't want to give anything up - it's a part of who I am - but I don't want to neglect the other parts of my life, either, which are important to me. And once I am a mom, I know I'll have less time to pursue my own "stuff," so I'm going to have to be more intentional, I think, about staying present to what needs to be done in the moment.

That kind of scares me. It's part of my fear of "losing myself." Steve knows this. And he seems committed to doing what he can to protect that part of me - to relieve me for an evening or a Saturday morning so I can go to a ballet class or a bookstore or just take some time for myself. (Just as I will protect his time to go running, etc.) I truly appreciate that he "gets" that need in me. I think he can identify, since he has the same need. But even so, it's going to be an adjustment. I welcome it, of course - I'm totally excited about having this little boy - but this aspect of it makes me a little apprehensive at the same time.

Anyway, I don't know if any of this has anything to do with the dream. I'm just writing stream-of-consciousness now.

Twenty minutes later: I just had a nice conversation with a friend, so I feel more uplifted.

the muse

Rodin had Camille Claudel. Dante had Beatrice. James Joyce had Nora. And I have Ingrid. She is my faithful but sometimes temperamental model when I am in the mood to take pictures around the house. And sometimes she strikes such adorable poses that I just can't resist running for the camera - in this case, a Nikon D50 with my old Nikkor 28-105mm lens. Yes - I went out and got one! *Gulp.* I'm trying it out with the 30-day return policy. So far so good. (And no, she is usually not allowed on the table - not that the sassy girl pays that rule any heed.)

the face of a happy man

After three and a half years of part-time night classes on top of his full-time job, Steve is officially FINISHED with his MBA program!!! He had his last class tonight, turned in his last paper and now has absolutely no more homework, no more study groups, no more papers, no more finals, no more late nights of studying, no more - period. I am so proud of this man!

more pregnant pics

A coworker of mine has loaned me her Nikon D70 for the weekend. Sweet camera. I am one of those people who have clung to film cameras while everyone else has slid into the digital era, partly because I love my Nikon N80 so much. (I am a bit of a Luddite that way. I am proud to say that when my three-year-old Handspring Visor went kaput last summer, I replaced it with the old-fashioned papyrus version - my Filofax - and it was the best decision I could have made. I love being able to write on paper again!)

But as it happens, Nikon's SLR digital cameras allow you to interchange lenses with their film cameras, and that's mighty tempting. They also have great resolution, quick shutter speeds, and the flexibility of manual settings I like with SLRs. On the other hand, they're expensive, especially compared to their equivalent film siblings, so it gives me pause before leaping into anything. I've been looking at the D50, which is a scaled-down, less pricey version of the D70, so we'll see ...

Anyway, because it's fun to try out new cameras, I have more pregnant belly shots to post. (Steve liked using this camera, too - especially the fact that he could see results instantly.) The top I'm wearing really accentuates things - it makes me look like I have a basketball hidden under there! For those keeping track, I am almost 26 weeks pregnant - just a couple of weeks away from the third trimester.

And for those just tuning in, see here and here for earlier belly pics. (I am just amazed at how much I am growing. I look huge in comparison to how I did at the end of March, and I can't imagine how I'm going to look by the time I'm ready to give birth!)

our ireland reunion

I am posting this for the benefit of Kate, our lovely tour guide, who couldn't be there in person for the reunion of our Ireland group Saturday. We had a wonderful time catching up, and the corned beef, cabbage and soda bread Jacqui made for us was fabulous! (And I think all the ladies harbored secret fantasies of taking Jacqui's dressing room home with us.)

This isn't the best picture in terms of composition — but it sums up my best memories of our trip: lots of laughter. That's Colleen, Larry, Leroy and Andrea.


Here are Tish and Jeanne with their gorgeous smiles.


And here's Leroy with his fun-loving smile.


The McCarthys, who (as you may remember) share a name with the family of Blarney Castle fame!


The ladies ... Mary, Tish and Laverne.


Here's Ray with a beautiful painting he made from our trip. (Did he send you a copy, Kate?)


We can't forget Rose and Gene (a.k.a "The Crooner") Sweet!


Here's the ever-delightful Bob (Jeanne's husband) and Marian.


I took this picture of the archbishop as he listened to us sing him Happy Birthday. (He turned 73 on May 2.)


Now he's holding his gift from us — the Waterford crystal bowl.


Here are Colleen and Steve, chatting.


Of course, everyone likes to have a picture taken with the archbishop!