offline for a little bit

I’m off to a conference tomorrow until Sunday, not sure how much internet access or blogging time I’ll have. Good luck to everyone cycling right now – can’t wait to get back and catch up on all the news!

Quietly smiling

13 weeks today.

Blog You Very Much

I can’t figure out how to get the little logo to appear here, but following JJ’s idea I’m paying tribute to my inspirations for IF blogging.

1) Tara, who created my first blog, and has been there for me through this whole journey (since I told her we were TTC) and

2) Manuela of the Thin Pink Line – she’s gone underground, but hers was the first IF blog that got me hooked, and from there it spread. I’ll never match her level of raw emotion and outrage but I thought she was really brave and that inspired me.

Two things

1. My in-laws stopped by for brunch today on their way back South; MIL asked me, apropos of nothing, “so are you going to have a natural birth?”

I said “I have noooo idea.” (Thinking: Geez, woman, that’s a long ways away – don’t count your proverbial chickens!)

“I mean,” she went on, “is T. going to be there with you, helping you breathe and telling you what to do?”

“He’d better not be telling me what to do!” I said, for a laugh. She went on then to reminisce about her own experiences of childbirth etc.

I have to figure out how to deflect these questions. I really don’t feel comfortable discussing the matter with her, particularly in front of my FIL. My plan from here on out is to turn it around: “What do you think, based on your own experiences?” and prepare to hear many a gory tale. I’m much better at listening than disclosure. Plus, people like being asked for their opinion.

2. Today I went shopping and bought 4 pairs of pants and 4 tops. I totally scored at the thrift store, I’m so happy! Nice warm pants to wear that aren’t sweats! Yay! Most of the stuff is too big at this point but I’m looking forward to wearing it after New Year’s. Assuming all goes well until then.

Grandparents-to-be

I love national holidays. You can sleep until noon, and still get so much work done! Not that I’m a workaholic*, I’m just behind.

My in-laws were here yesterday; the first thing my MIL said as she came in the door was “how’s my grandbaby doing?” It’s amusing now, but I suspect it’s going to get old quickly. One advantage of being among the last of your friends to spawn is that you hear all these stories and cautionary tales ahead of time. So the proprietory nature of the comment came as no surprise. I didn’t really know how to answer so I just thrust the latest u/s pictures at her.

The last thing she said as they headed out the door was “take good care of my grandbaby!” while patting my belly (which I HATE – but I didn’t have the heart to tell her that she was actually patting my guts, as the uterus is a lot lower down at this point …) Um… ok! I was planning to smoke crack all weekend, but since it’s your grandbaby, I guess I won’t, after all.

Actually, I really do get it. I haven’t been reading kinship studies up the wazoo all semester for nothing. A grandchild is not only an acquisition, it also causes a change in status for the nascent grandparents – but one that is bestowed upon them, rather than one they can achieve for themselves. Therefore, they find it all the more necessary to verbalize the claim in order to reinforce it since it is otherwise somewhat immaterial.

It’s a little annoying. Suddenly I’m just the passive vessel for the family spawn. And really, though, I am thankful for that, too.

*As my sister is fond of asking, what the heck is “workahol”? (If an alcaholic is someone addicted to alcohol, then a workaholic must be addicted to workahol…)

Second ultrasound, and all is well!

The purpose was, of course, genetic screening, but my secret purpose was a sneak peek for reassurance. All the measurements look good at this point; I know they’re inconclusive, but it was enough for me right now to see little arms waving and little legs kicking, a tiny profile, movement, and heartbeat. I’m beginning to feel safe enough to maybe do a little shopping this weekend. And, after Thanksgiving, freely to tell anyone who might care!

Catharsis

I just spent an hour listening to and watching Tori Amos clips on Youtube and crying, instead of reading for class like I should be. But it felt really good.

I’ve been thinking about my late BIL more often than usual recently, and crying every time I do. I wasn’t sure why until I realized that this time of year evokes the last few times I saw him alive. In October ’04, I went to Maine to see my 3-week-old niece; in November the 3 of them stayed with us overnight on their way to Florida, and in December they came back for Christmas. He died in March.

“Parasol” – Tori Amos

“When I come to terms, to terms with this / My world will change for me / I haven’t moved since the call came / Since the call came I haven’t moved / I stare at the wall knowing on the other side / The storm that waits for me

“Then the Seated Woman with a Parasol / May be the only one you can’t betray / If I’m the Seated Woman with a Parasol / I will be safe in my frame

…

“I have no need for a sea view / For a sea view I have no need / I have my little pleasures / This wall being one of these”

This is the song that, for me, always evokes the day he died. My sister called me shortly afterwards and I was there the next day. Nothing has been the same since then, for her or her daughter, obviously, but for our whole family as well. I told someone recently that this event was the last nail in the coffin of my faith (somewhat melodramatic, but not too far off – that was certainly when I gave up on the idea that I’d ever feel close to or trust God again). It seems kind of lame to twist this into being all about ME ME ME but it did affect me, and mine is the only story I’m really entitled to tell here anyway.

T. Rocks!

Today I slept in, was grumpy, spent all afternoon and evening catching up on work that was due a week ago. Punctuated by a long, wonderful nap during which I dreamed that Prof. H. returned my paper with glowing comments and accolades (mmmm…).

T. vacuumed the whole apartment (even the corners! Of the ceiling!), washed dishes, went grocery shopping, cooked, fed me, and even did some of his own academic work. Wow!

I contributed by dusting the bookshelves.

I’m ready for bed now.

Gloom

For the past ten days, I’ve been working with T. on a side project – a consulting gig for an international development agency. It’s been hellish. I’m behind in all my schoolwork, exhausted, and highly ambivalent about the project itself. Actually I think this is what that dream was all about but I’ll explain later. The only bright side is they’re paying us really well… so T. says “put on your fishnets and do what the client wants.”

It just makes me extremely grumpy.

Off to the library to try to catch up with myself…

Strangest Dream EVER

I was in church with Terry, and we sat down about halfway towards the front on the right-hand side. It didn’t look like my idea of “church,” but I knew that was what we were there for. It was an amphitheater, with steeply inclined concrete steps instead of benches or pews to sit on. They were very uncomfortable. As we were settling in I saw Viggo Mortensen – made eye contact, nodded hello – I thought, “I guess he remembers me from the film.”

When the service started, it involved a tall thin man with white hair showing us how to make hand-made paper.* I actually went up front to see from close-up. He was making a range of kinds of paper, from fine to coarse, and articulating some analogy to spirituality. All the paper had inclusions of different kinds, mostly pressed flowers. The colors were in a range of lavender, lilac, and blue-gray. He dropped one piece and I helped him pick it up carefully (seems like it was still damp).

So then I went back to sit with Terry again, and there were piles and piles of pillows and cushions all over the seats, little puffy ones – white and mint green. Terry was drinking a beer, and I saw people walking in with bottles of all sizes, and growlers even. Everyone had beer. Someone said it was something they were doing to keep people coming to church. The atmosphere was very much like a sports event.

So then this dramatic spectacle of a musical number started, complete with oversized sunglasses swinging from the ceiling (spectacle, get it?). We got a little fed up and left.

Outside, there were skeletons everywhere. It was really gross and kind of upsetting. There was one that we were particularly responsible for, as well as a collection of bones. All the skeletons had bits of clothing and desiccated flesh still on them. At first I only saw them lying in black plastic bags sort of heaped around the doorway to the church, which seemed to be an enormous building – like a parking garage – partly underground. Then I saw rows and rows of skeletons all along the roof, all the way around. They were everywhere I looked. Terry and I had to do something with our skeleton but I’m not sure what – take care of it, in some way. I felt quite upset.

What could it possibly MEAN??? Skeletons and beer in church??? Interpretations coming soon…

*Which is one of my hobbies in real life.