Life is a Banquet

Watched Pot Musings

38 Weeks
Originally uploaded by wavybrains.

I went to the Oregon State Fair with Freak on Tuesday, and I have to say, I appreciated the anonymity of the Fair. In my large purple mumu (yes, seriously, and if you're a Flickr contact, you too can see the mumu and our Fair pictures, and I've got a ton of new public photos as well if you click the picture), no one knew how pregnant I was, and I was free from phone calls inquiring about the state of the cervix.

Now, the Fair is not really designed for 9 month pregnant women, but Freak had free tickets. Plus, how cool would a labor story be that started, "In the middle of the grandstand . . . " Obviously, not cool enough for Beta, because I'm still here to write this. So, I spent a fair amount of time sitting and knitting, and trying to guess the due dates of other pregnant women who walked by.

And eating Fair food, which might explain why I now look like a rocket has been strapped to my front. A rocket that has no intention of launching anytime soon, much to the consternation of both prospective grandparents.

On Monday, three boxes arrived from Freak's mother--a virtual shower from the midwest. I've been a cranky, cranky wench all week, but presents! and homemade cuteness managed to push aside the storm clouds for a bit. She sent a ton of stuff, including a handmade Latch Hook rug, but my favorite was an elegant black diaper bag filled with goodies: pacifiers, to-go sippy cups and snack cups, outfits, etc. I'm totally stealing that idea for the next baby gift I need--unpacking the bag was a lot of fun.

I had fun arranging all of her presents, and the presents from my shower here in town in the Beta space (pictures on Flickr), and assembling the crib from my grandmother. The crib deserves it's own post, but it is far and away the most elegant piece of furniture we own.

And the Fair was fun too. It's just that I seem to have lost my sense of humor somewhere around last Wednesday, and it's hard to truly appreciate all the neat things around me, even though they are numerous. I'm blinded by my own impatience right now. And Freak's. And all our family. And I picture another 2 or 3 weeks of this . . . . And, yeah, I'm cranky.

But blessed. Truly, amazingly, blessed. Too bad I'm more interested in biting heads than giving thanks.

Male Pattern Blindness

Attention Pharmaceutical Companies: You're overlooking a common condition that affects millions of American men and their long-suffering spouses! This is the untapped market opportunity you've been waiting for--a disease that afflicts men (easy drug approval!) but affects women enough that they'll drag them in for a prescription (Male medical phobia overcome!). And when you launch this wonder drug, I'm going to be first in line.

Until that blessed day arrives, I'm going to help raise awareness of this dreaded condition. Male Pattern Blindness has a slow onset.  Some mothers report seeing early signs in sons who lose treasured items, permission slips, homework, and younger siblings with alarming regularity. But, it is not until marriage that the condition truly manifests. The early symptoms arrive during courtship, but most women ignore these signs. "How cute that he respects my privacy," the besotted heroine swoons when her hero asks where she keeps the towels, knives, peanut butter, and remote control.  Riding the monkey-sex phase high, she eagerly fetches the requested item. Little does she know that she's paving the way for Male Pattern Blindness run amok.

Given free reign to infest the brain of the hapless male, Male Pattern Blindness begins to show its most troubling symptom: Inability to find one's own items. The male may misplace his keys the second he passes through the door. Cell phone hunting replaces those hours of snuggling on the couch. In today's modern household, the male usually has his own dresser, closet, and workspace. Yet, men afflicted with Male Pattern Blindness suffer from a paradox: they wish absolute control over the items in said space (Woe to ye who throws out the t-shirt from 1987 or who culls the back issues of Science Digest) yet they cannot keep up with their own organizational scheme.

Thus, the woman of the house moves from finder-of-the-keys to walking blackberry. "Where's my work shirt?" can no longer be answered with a simple, "Same place it always is."  Male Pattern Blindness has ravaged the male brain until he no longer has any knowledge of such a place. In fact, he will deny that such a place ever existed. As the disease progresses,  "In the cabinet"  is heard by the Male Pattern Blindness brain as "X#@!  Blah! !@#$!"

Many women give up at this point. They stop requesting items or they enroll in Air Traffic control school. "Now turn 45 degrees to the left. Your other left. Stop. Bend down. Approach the target item. A little further now, then move in for the landing." Other women try to stem the course of the disease. They label drawers. They buy expensive key finder gadgets. They affix sticky notes to everything that moves. They single handedly keep the Container Store in business.

But, even these women are no match for Male Pattern Blindness. New symptoms emerge: illiteracy-- the male can no longer read labels or directions, spatial distortion--the male no longer recognizes common items or receipticles, tiny-sightedness--the male's field of vision is limited to items measured in pixels, and finally, total blindness.

The cunning nature of the disease means that total blindness usually does not emerge until the marriage is well established, and offspring are arriving. But, once it occurs, total Male Pattern Blindess is swift and irreversible. The male will look directly at the item he seeks and not recognize it. Case in point: Male is sent to attic for box. Male returns 15 seconds later unable to find said box. Female gives surgically precise directions. Male returns 3 minutes later: "I looked everywhere." Female hauls herself up to attic. Box is literally first thing she sees. It is so close to the stairs that one would have to step over it or push it aside to enter the attic and look elsewhere.

Incidents like this occur millions of times each day in American homes. Peanut butter, dog medicine, tools, bread, socks, shoes--all rendered invisible to the male eye. Countless female hours are wasted pointing out the obvious and hunting down items which are not missing. Think of work American wives could accomplish if they weren't spending so much time combating male pattern blindness. One wonders how many marriages are lost to Male Pattern Blindness. How many arguments start: "But it's right there!"  How many women are right now secretly shacking up with the organizational consultant down the street?  How many women fantasize about that stranger buying four kinds of labels and a package of sharpies?

I shudder to think about the inevitable progression of the disease. Men wandering around helpless, women unable to communicate with them, themselves rendered invisible by the disease.

Please do your part and spread awareness about this terrible disease. Together we can find a cure. Or some really good drugs. I'd settle for some really good drugs most days.

Are All Readers Closet Writers?

I've been reading a ton lately. This is because a) I'm still pregnant, b) it's still hot, and c) I have little energy for anything productive. See a) and b). Even "nesting" requires more energy than I'm interested in expending at the moment. And reading has an advantage over TV in that I don't have to find the remote, and I don't have to feel guilty for being too sluggish to knit. Yes. It has come to that. I am now too cranky for my art. So I read.

And, since there's nothing worse than a 9 month pregnant woman moaning about her good fortune (And truly, I do give thanks, even as it takes a forklift to help me roll over in the night and whole excavation crew to rouse me from bed), let's talk about the books instead.

I've been fortunate in my selections, and I've read a ton of great books lately. Whenever I close a truly well done novel, I'm struck by the same mix of satisfaction and bittersweet longing.  "I want this story to keep going" quickly gives way to my insecurities. "I want to have written that book." "I'll never be a able to write like that." "Why can't my words flow like that?" "I wonder what she/he had to go through to polish that?"

Last night, as I finished Christie Ridgway's The Care and Feeding of Unmarried Men, I wondered do all book lovers grow up to feel this way? I've had author envy for as long as I can remember. Forget Anne, I wanted to be L.M. Montgomery crafting her universe. Ann M. Margret and Gordon Korman were rock stars to me--relatively young and prolific. Do not ask me how I went from designing my own construction paper books to law school. I'm pretty sure an exorcism was involved. 

So I don't know what it would be like to finish a book and simply be . . .content.  How strange it must be to crave the story without simultaneously craving the life of the creator.  Do such rarefied beings actually exist? I'm not sure.  The most prolific readers I know are also writers. Even the readers who've never put pen to paper, usually confess when prodded that "writer" would be their dream job.  Even the most dedicated readers see reading as a vacation---no one aspires to being a professional reader.  Although, I've got to confess, being a well-known book reviewer would be my personal idea of heaven.

Even right now, when I'm plagued by doubts so numerous that they outnumber my growing assortment of stretch marks, when I want to FORGET how much I want to be published, the yearning still sneaks in with every book I read. It's worse than dieting. I study every book I finish, wanting to find the "magic formula," yet I know that there is only one: talent, perseverance, and luck.  It's the literary equivalent of diet and exercise--you can do a lot with just one, but long term success requires the whole equation. Darn it.

Enough with my navel gazing (it's in pretty sorry shape right now anyway, I should step away from the microscope before I scare someone). Do you know readers who don't want to be writers? Do you think that the two automatically go hand and hand? Do you know writers who really don't read? Finally, assuming that Groundhog Day: The Pregnant Edition continues indefinitely, got any good book recommendations? Other ways to pass the time? 

Maxium Ride III Blog Tour

Not all YA is for girls.  I know, I find this hard to believe myself, since I write girl books, and well, I *am* a girl. Consequently, most of the YA books I read are written by girls for girls. When people ask me for a book recommendation for a tween or teen girl, I have a list. But, when they ask me about boys, I struggle. Harry Potter, sure, Gordon Korman, and Dave Barry & Carl Hiassen's YA offerings . . . and my brain gets fuzzy. So, I was very interested to see what James Patterson offers the YA world. Thanks to Mother Talk, I got my chance with Maximum Ride III: Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports. This is the third  installment in Patterson's Maximum Ride series of YA fantasy books and does indeed fill a gap in the YA market.

I've read a few of Patterson's adult books, and I'm not a fan. At all. But, I frequently recommend him to my male students who almost universally love him. My girlness is a hindrance to my ever being able to understand the male mind, let alone target the male audience. But, apparently, I also don't understand all girls either--there's a ton of girls who love the Maximum Ride series.

They love Maximum Ride, Patterson's tough girl heroine, and her flock of genetically enhanced bird kids. The bird kids are on the run from some really evil corporate/adult/lab types. Think Pretender but with wings. In fact, I kept having flashbacks to that series while reading the book, because the similarities are fairly striking. And, like the Pretender, there are all sorts of logic gaps and story holes. The "rules" for the Bird Kid universe bend when the plot asks them to, which while very polite is a pet peeve of mine. Need money? They've got money. Need them to be broke? Just wait five pages. Another pet peeve? The book bounces between multiple third person POV's and Max's first person POV. This kept jarring me out of the story.

However, the book is faced paced enough that an engaged reader (or perhaps one who has read the first two books) can forgive the lapses. And, I have to keep reminding myself that I'm not the target audience. This books fills a need in YA literature--books for kids who play violent games, watch action movies, and talk/think in sound bites. Jaded though they may be, these kids (and their parents) need books. I'd recommend this series to parents looking to pacify blood-thirsty tween boys who will relish all the battle scenes.  In fact, I could see it working well on a car trip as an audio book or read-aloud.

But, if you either are a girl or have a girl who likes her books pink and fluffy, you're probably going to have a really tough time getting into this book. Patterson simply doesn't do the emotional lives of his female protagonists (or his male ones for that matter). If you've read Patterson's adult works and been alarmed at his slightly misogynistic bent, I'm happy to report that he handles Max much more deftly.  However, when he makes an effort to add "romance" or familial angst to the action, the scenes crackle like dry cardboard. Max might as well be a robotic android--she and the other kids don't seem to have more emotional depth than some of the robotic creatures they fight.

Patterson also doesn't do detail, hence the plot holes. But, his propensity for three  page chapters works really well as a YA.  The other kids in the flock--Fang, Izzy, Gassy, Nudge, and Angel--tended to blend together. Perhaps over the course of the first two books, they emerge as more distinct characters, but I never got a clear picture of what Max looked like, mannerisms, etc, let alone any of the supporting cast. I did like the fact that Fang has a blog, but I agree with others who have noted that the blog feels forced and like an afterthought in the plot. Fang's entries don't feel true to his narrative voice at all and seem very adult-authored. But, both the blog and the website for the book are great destinations for kids and keep them thinking about the characters.

YA shelves are filled with pink books though, so these are very minor quibbles. And *I* certainly have no trouble finding things to read. What the genre lacks is action books that don't star magical beings, and fast-paced books that appeal to a sophisticated YA audience w/o resorting to sex/drugs/bad language/criminal behavior. This book delivers on both accounts. This is an ideal book to appeal to non-readers. All of my nit-picks about plot/details/emotions really don't matter in the grand scheme of things. This series has the potential to lure kids away from their games and movies, and that's a really neat thing. I hope to see more intelligent YA books that appeal to the gamer generation. If violence is a concern, I might mention that when recommending Maximum Ride,  but it will definitely go on my list for tween boys.   

Now, what do you think? Is there a difference between "girl books" and "boy books"? Should good YA appeal equally to both genders? If you've read the book, do think its geared more for boys? What other recommendations do you have of books that appeal to tween boys?

Force of Nature Arrives!

While I was happy to be one of a zillion reading Harry Potter last month, I'm actually WAY more excited about the package that arrived today. Suzanne Brockmann's latest, Force of Nature is out in stores this week, but thanks to a virtual book signing on her website, I got my copy today! Don't worry I won't be sharing any spoilers. I'm just excited. She's one of the very few authors whom I can re-read the same book over and over and over again.

And with perfect timing, the virtual book signing included her booklet on Deep POV. Thanks to a dear friend on the MWVRWA blog, I realized that my WIP is suffering from a voice problem which is causing all the editing nightmares right now. So I'm going to devour it--perhaps even before I read Force of Nature.

Besides Harry, what books are you giddy over this summer? Any upcoming releases that have you watching the mailbox?

36 weeks

36 weeks
Originally uploaded by wavybrains.

I have other stuff to blog about . . . I think. My brain has two settings right now: Beta and everything else. Unfortunately, it seems locked in "Beta" 98% of the time. I MUST force myself to find more balance . . .

But until then, here's my new haircut. I love that it's shorter, but I think it would like more styling than I'm currently capable of. Of course, even on my best days, the average teenage boy spends more time on his hair and uses more product than me.

If you're interested in such matters, today's appointment was well. Blood sugar/pressure remaining good. Beta is head down, and she could actually feel its head when she checked the cervix. I'm 50% effaced and 1 cm dilated . . .which means exactly nothing. I could deliver anytime between tonight and October and still be "normal." Still though, I'm thrilled with progress of any sort right now, especially if it means all the Braxton Hicks are doing something.

Braxton and his friend Hicks could make a boat load of cash if they sold themselves on the black market to harried students and tired truck drivers. Anyone who needs to forgo sleep for long periods of time could benefit. If you'd like a free sample, just see me any evening between 8 p.m. and 3:30 a.m.--I've got plenty to spare.

Of to go dream of more interesting post fodder.

No Pictures

Happy Monkey Size
Originally uploaded by wavybrains.

I've got no pictures of the things I NEED pictures of, so please enjoy Hugo Happy Monkey here (knitted by me on ridiculously tiny needles) and click if you'd like to see the dinosaurs that Freak made (they rock, but they didn't require tiny needles, so they don't get star billing). Both Freak and I have had more fun with the toy making than with more mundane things like cooking. Or work. Kid will be be poor and eat much pizza, but it will be happy.

Speaking of work, I'd love to give you a writing related post, but that would require that I be doing more than beating my head into a bloody pulp with editing. And that the editing not be paralyzing my brain. Or maybe that's just the pregnancy. Regardless, I'd like my brain back please. NOW.

My lack of brain power resulted in my getting my hair chopped on Thursday. I NEED a picture of this, and I keep thinking it looks cute, but then I walk by a mirror, and the mirror keeps mocking me. Apparently, it's only cute if you don't actually look at it. And I'm happy to have it short again. Long is great in theory, but it just doesn't work for me. As soon as my hair hits my shoulders I have two defaults: hanging limp and screwed up on top of my head. It does, however, have the advantage of photographing better than short.

I also wanted to regal you with pictures of my belly casting session with my doula, but in addition to lacking power, my brain decided to run low on blood and oxygen too. Freak assures me that 4 years ago when I had wonky blood sugar and had to go to the ER, I did indeed pass out, but I don't remember this. Today was far scarier than most blood sugar episodes--I was standing up and she was putting the plaster tape on, and it seemed like she was talking from a tunnel. And the tunnel kept getting longer, and everything moved in slow motion. And then my vision started to blur. I had to sit down in a hurry, and the cast came off the second it was hard enough. I'm glad she and Freak were there, because it was really scary.

So, no belly casting pictures. The finished belly does look pretty awesome, and I'll try to get some up. I'm still struggling with a lower level of dizzy though--nothing nearly so bad--but my blood sugar and blood pressure are both okay now. (Yes, I'll call the OB if it continues or gets really bad again).

PSA: I cannot recommend my doula highly enough. Every pregnant woman should have a doula, and judging by what she was telling me about post-partum, you might actually need a doula then MORE. Post-partum doulas can also help with adoptions. Get thee a doula. Just knowing that Freak and I won't be alone has helped me to feel at peace with labor and whatever it throws at us. And, like the rest of third-trimester pregnant blogosphere, I'm okay if that labor is soon.

Those of you playing guess-the-beta, you might be interested to know that the doula guesses GIRL. I'm still feeling the boy vibes, but I would be beyond thrilled with a girl. The majority of guesses agree with the doula though. I can't wait to see what the real answer is.

35 Weeks

35 Weeks
Originally uploaded by wavybrains.

This for ABV who reminded me to get over my vanity and take another belly shot. Others up on Flickr. I really don't think I look that much bigger than 31.5 weeks, but I certainly feel it. When I'm sitting, I still don't look *that* pregnant. I suppose I should be thanking my lucky stars that the universe didn't send me a Naomi Watts' mondo bump special. But, honestly, as uncomfortable as I am, I love looking this pregnant.

I had to get blood drawn yesterday, and the tech said, "Tell me it's all worth it." My heart caught in my throat. She's not just a tech--she's a fellow PCOS sufferer, and she's endured a series of miscarriages. YES. Yes, this is totally worth it. I can't lose sight of how incredibly lucky I am, how many women with PCOS never get to be this huge and uncomfortable despite wanting it so desperately. I feel obligated to the women in the trenches to treat this experience like the rare gift it is.

The whole Endo office treated me like a celebrity--the 10% success story. They made me promise to bring in Beta at my next appointment in October. My god. I might actually have a BABY to bring in to my next blood letting and hormone review. YES. It will be worth it. It is worth it right now.

Just to be here, trying to find something to wear for a belly shot, trying not to giggle when Beta thumps me while the timer ticks, comparing photos over the last 9 (!!!!) months--It's worth it.

Make Room for Beta!

Beta Corner
Originally uploaded by wavybrains.

As promised in my last post, I did take some pictures of our progress getting ready for Beta (click the picture for the full set, and to see the details with notes). As I uploaded the pictures, I realized that I'm really proud of what we've done. I bring you the $60 nursery.

Doing a cheap nursery means letting go of your expectations.  This is doubly so if the "nursery" is actually going to be a part of your room. A Pooh Theme has no place in your bedroom, unless of course, you've already got the king-size Classic Pooh bedding, in which case, go for it.  But, I really think that the baby won't care. Making a space for baby is more about YOU feeling ready than the baby coming home and rejecting your choice of decor. It's already traded spaces--and if it's not a womb, it's not really interested in whether the carpet matches the drapes.

Instead, it seems to me that it's more important that you find a way to work the baby's stuff into what you already have and how you already live. Yes, having a couch and TV as key "nursery" design elements won't make the next issue of Better Homes & Gardens, but Freak and I spend a fair amount of time in the "sitting room" part of our master room. We enjoy watching movies together, and I imagine that I might want to do the same while nursing. Also, having our own TV area helps with sharing the house with my brother, and I think I might like having the option of watching a movie with Beta while Freak and Uncle Monkey kill people on the X-box upstairs.

But, I still wanted to signal that the area was "baby central." I cleared off the existing shelves and assembled all the "baby" stuff we already owned: kids books, stuffed animals, games, toys. Just collecting it all in one place and nicely arranging it on the shelves made the area look more "ready." I'm a big fan of grouping like items together and repeating design elements--it can make a space look more finished even when you haven't removed or added a thing.

Once this was done, I was able to think about the "big" items that we'd really need. A place for Beta to sleep, a place for Beta to be changed, and a place for Beta's clothes. A friend gave us a great changing table for upstairs, which I'm keeping in my office for easy access to the bathroom. I really didn't want to buy a changing table just for downstairs, but I wanted something. I had a dresser that wasn't being used, so I cajoled Freak into painting it a fun "kid" color, and I found a cheap changing pad at IKEA. I added a knitted box that I made last year, and put all the changing supplies in that.

Also at IKEA, I got two fun hampers that add a lot of charm to the space. One hamper will hold clean cloth diapers and the other will hold dirty clothes. As for the clean clothes, a few months ago, I made my smartest decision as a bargain queen. I said "yes" to every offer of free stuff, even though that "IF, IF, IF" jinx feeling haunted me. I just said, "Yes, thank you!" and stuck all the boxes in a closet until I was ready (okay, forced into) sorting them. Do not be picky about the freebies--you can sort them at home and donate what you really don't like/want/need.  I'm thinking that when all of the "cute clothes" are in the washing machine, I'll be really glad I said "yes" so often. Clothed is better than naked.

I said "yes" to both boy and girl stuff. If I need a receiving blanket, I'm not going to be fussy about color. As for clothes, I just washed all the "girl" stuff and packed it away separately. If Beta's a boy, I can just find someone else who needs the girl stuff, and if Beta's a girl, she's going to have a huge wardrobe of both pink and blue stuff. I have no problem putting a girl in blue. I'll knit her a bunch of pink hats.

I sorted the clothes and put the smallest stuff in the drawers, and put the rest in the closet labeled by size. I had a vintage cradle, and while it's not Beta-approved, it's perfect to hold linens. For the actual sleeping Beta, I got a moses basket on Craigslist. It's not a long term sleep solution, but it seems perfect for a tiny baby (we're planning to get a crib eventually, don't worry!).

When we went to IKEA, I tried to focus on getting useful things (the hampers) that also made the room more "baby friendly," and added the mobile to enhance that vibe. I'm doing similar things upstairs to try to incorporate the baby stuff in pleasing ways. Without jinxing myself. *

*We are so, so lucky to have gotten so much stuff for free/cheap/long-term loan. If you're one of those people who have given us stuff, know that you made my weekend much more fun! Yay for hand-me-downs! And if you're ever in a position to get rid of baby/kid stuff--try finding friends, neighbors, friends of friends to pass the love onto. Behold the power of "yes."

My Surreal Life

I own diapers. There is a pack of size Newborn diapers in my office mocking me. (Yes, we're planning to cloth diaper, but we're using disposables for the first week or so). Despite my huge belly, maternity overalls, and pronounced waddle, I felt like a fraud wheeling them around Tarjay last night.  I kept expecting someone to come and point out that I didn't belong in the baby section.

I'm 34+ weeks pregnant, and it still doesn't feel real. I'll pass a mirror and just stop, "Dude, I'm really pregnant." I still laugh out loud at the hardest kicks and wiggles--it's just so funny that there's a baby in there. One that can make my stomach move! Freak has these long conversations with Beta now that involve much belly shaking and ear thumping, but I have a hard time following suit. It doesn't feel real, and when it does feel real, I feel like I have a big flashing "JINX" sign following me around.

It feels like I've spent 8 months waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it hasn't. And now, there's like a 98% chance that it won't. But, I'm obsessed with the two percent. I was watching a birthing DVD that our doula loaned us, and the instructor told us to visualize our ideal birth. Um. No. Not happening. Jinx. Jinx. Jinx. Jinx. I'll visualize all of the bad things and be pleasantly surprised instead, thank you very much. We went to a baby care class at the hospital, and the instructor's certainty that we would all have babies SOON was disconcerting. Freak reminded me that it's true--we will. Also, he's way better at diapers and baby baths than the instructor. Possibly because he has no trouble asking questions that begin with "When" not "If." 

I make it sound like I'm a ball of anxiety, but it's a different kind of anexiety than I've ever had before. This is anexiety born of being the happiest I have ever been. Ever. Insomnia  because a baby --a BABY--is kicking my bladder with the force of a  jackhammer feels like a blessing. I'm huge. So huge that I haven't been able to post a belly shot b/c my clothing choices are down to things made by Omar the Tentmaker. And I've never loved my body more. A friend said, "don't beat yourself up over all the weight!" and I was like, "huh?" I don't even think about the weight.  I really don't. I'm too delighted with mah huge bump to care one wit about it.

I'm not worried about "getting my body back."  Let me get a baby here, let everything go well, and IF that happens, Caylis, I, and Beta will walk that weight off. I'm not worried about going overdue, and my worries of going early recede each day. I just worry that it's not real. That I'm going to walk by a mirror and not have a bump to grin at. Yes, I pick the most irrational, most abstract things to worry about.

The real things--the things I SHOULD worry about--they just stress me out. Cause you know, the jinx. Packing a hospital bag caused a minor breakdown. Packing the beta diaper bag to accompany the hospital bag caused a major one. Beta thumped away happily while we picked out the coming home outfit, but it still felt so surreal--like a movie.

I've been trying to force myself past this surreal feeling, or at least to act out more mundane parts of the movie. The beta corner of our room is getting there. I may post pictures soon. I felt the need to keep saying, "if, if, if," and tossing invisible salt over my shoulder, but the itty-bitty clothes (thank god for hand-me downs, otherwise this kid would be naked--I've bought a grand total of 3 new things) are washed and sorted. 

I even made it through the emotional minefield known as "registering" and "tarjay hell." (And if I left something critical out, y'all will tell me, right???).  Registering when everything feels so surreal is equivalent to signing up for a nervous breakdown. But, since I'm having the most surreal event of all--a shower--in two weeks, it was necessary. If I know you IRL, you should have received your Evite by now. If I don't know you IRL, I wish I did. I wish I could share this surreal experience with all of you. Perhaps in lieu of traditional shower games, we could all drink the purple koolaid and talk about how unreal all of this is.  I need all the karmic sisters I can get to anchor me down right now.

Because I could have a baby. A month from now, I could have a baby. And dude, that makes me giggle.