Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Six Week Letter

Dear Cleitus,

Cleitus you say? Yep! Your daddy and I have chosen Cleitus as your official name until we are able to see your genitals and decide on a more appropriate name. I don't want to hear any complaints from you Cleitus, because, quite frankly, you've been making your poor mama miserable. And I confess that it is hard for me to associate the constant urge to vomit, exhaustion, unquenchable thirst, and cramps that wake me up in the middle of the night with you, my dear little baby. I feel guilty and sad that I am not SO EXCITED to experience these things. I worry that I'm a wimp or too selfish to see the good in my discomfort.

But despite feeling so discouraged and overwhelmed by the prospect of being in the first trimester for TWO MORE MONTHS, I do know that it WILL get better. For a while, anyway. And then there will be other ailments and pains that may very well pull your hormone-crazy mama into yet another funk. But Cleitus, I just keep telling myself that it will be completely worth it. On the day they place you on my belly and I hear your cries and see your beautiful face all of these annoyances will be far from my mind.

Love always, Mama

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Three Years Ago, Part 3

Back to the mixed CD. Apparently the cat sitter had made it not only to "give me a clue" but to give him an opening. As we finished dessert he said, "oh, before I leave let's just listen to this one song I want you to hear." And I agreed, because I was awfully naive. He puts in the CD and starts playing a song, only it's not the one he wanted me to hear. Rather than skipping ahead, he decides we'll listen to this one too, while sitting on recliners across the room from each other. When the song comes on he suggests that we dance.

(Note: Since we are both swing dancers asking me to dance wasn't that strange of a request)

So we dance. And dance. And dance. Because the song is eight minutes long. Which is pretty long to be swaying with someone in your dark living room, alone, without speaking. And the whole time the heart palpitations and digestive issues the cat sitter gives me are going crazy and I'm wondering if he's gonna make it worth my while. (Ya know, wink wink). And, well, he did.

And that, Internet, was the beginning of a beautiful friendship relationship marriage.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Three Years Ago, Part 2

Now where were we? Ah yes, three years and three weeks ago I decided to call my cat sitter when I knew he would be unable to reach his phone because mysteriously, talking to him wreaked havoc on my digestive system. However, after I returned from my fucking awesome swing dance camp, it occurred to me that I must do something to thank my cat sitter for cat sitting. And, being the well-mannered Southern lady that I am, I thought a home-cooked dinner was the best thanks. I assure you this decision was completely based on etiquette and had nothing at all to do with the exciting heart palpitations the cat sitter's deodorant gave me.

Seeing how the cat sitter was a vegetarian (at the time), I had to do extensive research on some tasty vegetarian meals. The cat sitter, being a Southern gentleman himself knew to offer to bring something and I suggested dessert. On the night we had decided, the cat sitter showed up just on time. I greeted him at the door and then we went back to the kitchen to continue stirring my homemade tomato sauce. The cat sitter showed me the dessert he had brought (yummy cake from Whole Foods) I glanced down and noticed THE CAT SITTER WAS WEARING HIS DRESS SHOES! Black, shiny shoes! For a two-person dinner at home! And then, he pulled something out of a bag. A CD. For me. A CD that he had mixed, for me.

MUSICAL INTERLUDE: "Sometimes when someone has a crush on you, they make you a mixed tape, to give you a clue."

Internet, even though I had not yet seen Avenue Q, I knew the words of this song to be the truth. And I began to be convinced that the physiological symptoms that hounded me when the cat sitter was around were evidence of an emotional THING I had for the cat sitter. I confess that this thought, the thought of a THING had crossed my mind previously. But now I was sure.

Dinner went well. We moved to the living room to watch a movie, during which we intermittently stared at each other, then back to the dining room for dessert. At this point it was at least midnight. And you know what midnight means, right?

It means it's no longer exactly three years ago. So I can stop here, for now, in the name of laziness suspense.

Monday, September 21, 2009

As Free as the Wind Blows

Yesterday I realized that I am going to start making my first big sacrifice as a mommy. No, it isn't cutting down on caffeine or eliminating alcohol (although I did do those things). It's wearing a bra, all the time. Pretty much every day, as soon as I get home from work (or anywhere else for that matter), I take off my bra. My bewbies like to be free, to feel the wind upon their areolas. They're small enough (low end of a C-cup) that a little bit of jostling didn't bother them or me. In fact, I could often get away without a bra even out in public when I wore tops or dresses that restrained and separated the girls a bit.

Until now. While the great boob-splosion of 2009 has not yet occurred, my lovely ladies have been feeling a bit under the weather. And recently it has come to my attention that the tenderness raging pain increases when I am sans-bra.

(As a side note, why isn't there a one-word term for going without a bra like there is for going without panties? Another case of discrimination against women?)

The pain occurs regardless of whether I'm moving or not. And this pain, it is a stretching kind of pain. Like someone is pulling my twins in all sorts of directions they were not meant to go. So now I face the dilemma of either wearing a bra 24/7 or worrying about ending up like one of those women you see in National Geographic whose ta-tas are down to their waists.

So dear titties, I deeply apologize for constantly keeping you locked up in your prison cells. It's for your benefit. Consider it a training session for the agony that is your destiny. You'll forget this temporary discomfort in nine months when a little creature wants to suck on you every few hours.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

The Makings of a Very Awkward Conversation

We told my parents the good news last night. For now, they are the only ones who know (other than the interwebs, of course. I've got my priorities straight!). Since we're big nerds organized, Victor and I have set a schedule of who to tell when. I decided to tell my dad first because I knew that if I told my mama she would make such a ruckus that I would probably never get to tell my dad myself (and I was correct). When I picked up my phone I started to get nervous. I felt like I was calling my daddy to tell him his little girl was no longer a virgin. What would he think? Victor assured me that my dad had most likely already had surmised this detail about me based on the fact that, you know, I had been married for over a year. And not in the 1960's sitcom kind of way either. But my dad's response confirmed my fears.

Me: So, I'm pregnant.
Dad: (long pause) How did THAT happen?

Maybe my mama needs to lend him this book.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

A Love Letter

Mon petit bébé,

I always wondered how I would react the moment I found out that your daddy and I had succeeded in creating you. As I have a slight flair for the dramatic I envisioned jumping up and down, screaming, and all sorts of other emotional displays. But instead I walked into the kitchen, hands trembling, and said quietly to your dad, "I think there are two lines." And there were! Even without needing to squint or tilt the test sideways as I had done in previous months that we were hoping for a miracle, we could see very clearly the evidence of your presence.

Right now you are probably making yourself at home. You may be exhausted after that long trip through my fallopian tubes and desire a place of your own. Well, go right ahead. Mi uterus, su casa little baby. Unpack your boxes, hang some pictures, and get comfy. Make sure to clear the clutter because even though you are only the size of a poppy seed right now, you're going to be closer to the size of a basketball before long. Mommy will make sure you get lots of yummy nutritious food to help you grow that much. If you want something specific, just let me know and I'll have daddy go out and get it for us. (I am really looking forward to this part of being your host!)

Baby, if you ever hear me complaining about feeling sick because you're there, don't worry. Secretly I'll be pleased that I have symptoms that remind me of you. And I promise you, I am so happy to endure whatever may come just for the privilege of having you here.

Love always,

Monday, September 14, 2009

The Best Things are Said With Haiku

I peed in a cup.
Two pink lines-crying, jumping!
Holy crap, I'm knocked up!

Friday, September 11, 2009

The Obligatory Post

I became a patriot on September 13, 2001. The darkness and fear that had descended on our study abroad group two days earlier had been somewhat alleviated by the rigors of coursework and the beauty of Paris. The sadness and shock were still present and were enhanced every time we looked at a newsstand or saw the sign that was placed in so many shop windows. "Nous sommes tous Americains".

We are all Americans. Just like we were all Berliners when that city needed the world the most.

On the 13th a few of us decided to go down to the Champs Elysees where there was a memorial in front of the American Embassy. As we approached the line I noticed an old French man in his World War II hat, sitting on a park bench, weeping. In front of the embassy were hundreds of letters, flowers, and "I Love NY" t-shirts. To many, precious souvenirs of a rare trip across the Atlantic. And then I felt a tap on my shoulder. A little lady, probably around 75 years old, began to speak to me in hesitant English. "America saved us. We.....comment dire 'devoir'?" Devoir, when conjugated, means must. As a noun it implies duty. I assured her I could understand French and she began to tell me how she was young during WWII, how America had defended Western Europe from tyranny. And how she hoped and prayed her country would be able to pay back some of that debt now.

I had never in my life realized that anyone viewed America in this way. Americans in France were fat, obnoxious, and had a strange belief that yelling in English would help the French understand them better. We were a pompous people who insisted the world do it our way. And yet, there was still a memory that we did some good. That our country had sacrificed to help rid the world of the evil of the Third Reich. And though, even then it seemed inevitable that things would change and politicians would disagree and that citizens would protest, for that moment the world remembered.

For the first time I felt overwhelmingly proud to be an American.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

A Fishing Song...

The Phantom of the Uterus
(Dedicated to the lovely fisherwomen of BOTB)

Heartburn, it haunted me
The nausea came
My boobies are so sore
Hormones I blame

All of these symptoms
Taunt womankind
The Phantom of the Uterus is there...
Inside your mind

My temperature today
Was very low
An implantation dip?
Or will I start my flow?
Evaporation lines
Cruelly spellbind
The Phantom of the Uterus is there...
Inside your mind

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Three Years Ago

Three years ago I was in New Hampshire at swing dance camp.

Yes, I said swing dance camp. Go ahead and ridicule me, but it was awesome. Fucking awesome, even (cough cough, Jay Ferris). One of my friends from swing dancing down here in the Midatlantic had volunteered to check in on my cat Alyosha to make sure all his basic needs were being met. I checked my voicemail one afternoon and it was my cat sitter, informing me that Aly had defecated on the rug. I, to be honest, was not surprised, seeing how Aly uses pooping on carpet as his way of showing displeasure with his circumstances. To ensure that my cat sitter didn't back out before I left for my vacation, I had omitted this detail about my devil cat's behavior. The cat sitter wanted to know if he should be concerned and requested that I return his call. But before I did, I was struck with a gut-wrenching feeling.

I had been getting that feeling more and more often, especially when I was around my cat sitter, or even when I thought about him. It felt oddly like those butterflies you get when you have a crush. But no, surely not! I DEFINITELY DID NOT LIKE THE CAT SITTER (like that). I couldn't! He was old! And a dancer! (I never liked dancers!) And he was a vegetarian! And didn't go to church anymore! No, no, maybe I just needed to poop, that would take care of the gut-wrenching feeling.

I decided to call the cat sitter back when I knew he would be out and away from his phone so I could leave a quick message telling him Aly was being his usual self and not get tied up in a conversation.

Ya know, so I could get to the bathroom on time since I obviously was going to need to poop .