White Noise: Jager's Birth Story

William “Jager” Lipscomb was born on March 25th, 2006 at 8:11am. After discovering that he was fully breech, we scheduled a Cesarean section for the following Saturday. Yes, they do C-sections on a Saturday. The evening leading up to that procedure was the most nerve wrecking of my entire life. I was nauseous just thinking about it. The prospect of a spinal block, being cut open while conscious, having things taken out of me and replaced and of course the fear that something could go wrong was enough to make me wish I could take two Xanax and go to bed. Of course, being preggers, I had to tough out the fear, drug free. Instead, I took a one hour shower and blew out my hair with the precision of a largely pregnant woman with O.C.D. After all, one must always look good for your OB. J Little did I realize at the time that that would be about the last time I could be so indulgent with the time spent maintaining my personal appearance.

We were at the hospital when it was still dark out—I hate that. We checked in late, as usual. The drive to the hospital was surreal to say the least, everything looked normal on the turnpike… normal people going about normal business early in the morning. But for us, we knew in just a few short hours nothing would ever be the same again.

After miles of paperwork and three painful attempts at inserting an I.V., I was finally ready. My mom and dad came in to my room one last time to wish me luck. The nurses came and wheeled me into the operating room. I was freezing and shaking like a leaf. My doctor still hadn’t arrived so I had to wait with the catheter of the spinal block hanging out of my spinal cord. I couldn’t move in case it shifted and damaged my spinal chord causing… oh I don’t know... PERMANENT PARALYSIS! I had to stay hunched over on the operating table (with a huge belly, by the way) for about twenty minutes. Finally the doctor arrived and they began extremely quickly.

Jason came in just as they began and sat next to my head. We had made an arrangement that he would talk to me about basketball since March Madness was going on. I just wanted to hear about anything other than what was happening. Being conscious for your surgery is bizarre enough, and it’s best to escape the horrors going on beyond the curtain if possible. My doctor was only too happy to engage in this basketball discussion and he, Jason and two nurses began chatting happily about Duke’s chances a national championship! It was to this subject, young Jager, that you came into this world.

“Okay, are you ready? Here he is,” the doctor said. Suddenly everything went quiet in my head.

-There was my son.-

There was buzzing in my ears. Now separate from me, his pink body moved through the room without me. I cried like I’ve never cried in my life—the most intense mixture of tears and hysterical laughter I’ve ever heard. I don’t remember anyone else at that moment except that I told Jason to leave me and go with the baby, which he did. Finally, I regained thought and asked what color his hair was. The doctor studied him, and finally laughed when he said, “I think it’s red!” That was it. That was the moment, the greatest moment of my life. I could have died right there with happiness. I don’t think it’s ever fully possible to describe the overwhelming joy, fear and shock of that moment. It’s better than Christmas, it’s better than anything.

After weighing (7 lbs, 12 oz), and measuring (19 ¾ inches) and a number of other things, Jason finally brought him to me. I touched my son for the first time by kissing him on his lips. I was shaking and unsteady, but his tiny lips were warm and wet.

For those who aren’t parents yet and wonder why people you know and even like suddenly turn into love struck puppy dogs when they have kids, I’ll tell you. You find that you can and do love with the intensity of two years of longing and 9 months of waiting in one blinding instant. You finally understand what it means to love someone else enough to beg to die in their place. It’s overwhelming and suddenly very real. His smile makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time. It’s like looking at every good thing about yourself and the person you love and realizing that you’re responsible for this little piece of perfection in front of you. The pride is so overwhelming it chokes you. Yes, there are negatives to being a parent, but something about this new person makes you want to be someone you never knew you could be. You’d do anything for him and anything seems possible.

You would assume that the most powerful moments are intensely emotional, but I have found that they can be hilarious and filled with laughter too. The first time Jager smiled at me on purpose, was that kind of moment. I was popping in and out of my closet holding up a different shirt every time and asking him what he thought. He was staring at me and by the third shirt he had a huge grin on his face. I instantly started laughing hysterically at our mutual amusement and kissed him all over his face and neck. My stomach actually flipped when I saw him smiling! It was the same nervous excitement you feel when someone you like holds your hand for the first time.

Sometimes we just find ourselves holding him and staring at him. How did we create something perfect?! There are my eyes, and your dad’s lips, your uncle’s widow’s peak, and your grandpa’s ears. We are so unbelievably blessed, and we never doubt it for a moment.

Today Is…

Today, I might very well find out the date my son will be born. It’s not exactly the romantic vision of labor pains leading to a visit to the hospital and my husband freaking out that I had envisioned this whole pregnancy. I must be reasonable though. It is 2006 and doctors knowing what they know; know that I might have to be “encouraged” to have this baby. I’m thoroughly motivated to get him here, he on the other hand seems quite content to hiccup 14 times a day, dig his heels into my ribs, and shove his entire personage into my lungs when I sit down. Ah, parenthood.

For the past two months, I’ve made an unwilling habit of getting up 2 to 6 times a night to deal with various pregnancy related, sleep interrupting concerns. Lately, whenever I roll my largeness out of bed, I stop and look inside the awaiting bassinet beside our bed and realize that soon I’ll have to take care of someone before attempting sleep again. Last night, I realized in terror that he might not always go right back to sleep the way I do (or try to do). I could feed him but he may want to play… at 3a.m.! I’ve always considered myself a night owl, but once I fell asleep that was it. I love to sleep and baby, I sure hope you do too.

“So, what do you do?”

I hate that question.

I aim to disappoint. My life is relatively uninteresting. I say this with a “I realize this fact about myself and accept it for the time being” kind of tone. See, I’m not what you’d call a big “go-getter.” I will get all ambitious when it suits me, but that generally only applies to my personal life, not my professional one. In short, my career is fairly nonexistent and I have only myself and my stupid need to make money to blame. When a decent paying job is offered to me, I take it without much regard for the impact said job will have on my career. As a result, I have been a highly paid administrative nobody since graduating from college. And no, you don’t really have to go to college to become an administrative nobody.

Unfortunately, the biggest problem with being an administrative nobody is that, in the end, you are terribly unimportant and easy to replace. That being said, when I became pregnant, my boss told me that I was terribly unimportant and now easy to replace… in so many words. Actually his exact words were, “this baby is really inconvenient for us. Toddles.”

What’s the lesson here? Oh, there are so many. 1. Never work for a man who is old enough to be your grandfather. You’ll be forced to work by his interpretation of a 1950s work ethic. 2. Never work for an office/company that employs less than 15 people (see the Civil Right Amendment poster in your break room at work). 3. Never sell your creative soul for a bigger pay check. Your muse will only torment you.

What are my plans for the future? Well darlings, I really don’t know. My personal life being what it is, I confess that I feel a tad overwhelmed and of course excited. The prospect of figuring out how to start over professionally doesn’t rank that highly at the moment. Ask me again in about three months, okay? All I do know at this point is that I’ll never be some secretary or administrative nobody again. I’m putting that out there into this great abysmal internet so the guardians of the WWW can hold me to that statement.

Wish me luck!

What I'm Listening To Now

Have you ever noticed how your musical taste shifts, sometimes slightly, sometimes drastically with different periods of your life? Personally, I believe for a musical preference shift to be sincere and not coaxed by peers, it can be only a shifting indeed and not a total abandonment of previous tastes. For example, the one time I experienced a relentless hip hop preference it was admittedly due to boyfriend that I only had for two months. My taste for Ginuwine and Puff Daddy (as he was known back then), lasted roughly as long. While I still love R&B, rap has never genuinely entered the realm of my devout musical love.

Music was my first real love. I mean it. Boys were put on the backburner longer than normal probably because I could indulge in a passionate relationship with a CD without much moral input from others. As a result of this, my boyfriends have always been musicians—I just realized this. It was an easy transition I suppose.

When I think about when it all began, I start to get the feeling that the first memory goes so far back as to be nearly primitive. My mom started it all, by playing folk guitar while pregnant with me and introducing me to Simon and Garfunkel and Joan Baez at an almost indecent age. My dad on the other hand, always sung country classics and jazz standards to me. I knew all the words to Mona Lisa and You Are My Sunshine before I knew how to ride a bike. Those roots have eerily stuck with me. I am convinced that those influences exclusively inform my obsession with James Taylor and lyrically driven music regardless of instrumental execution.

In High School, I fell for U2, Chris Isaak, Sheryl Crow, Sixpence, Nat King Cole, Blues Traveler, Martin Page, Mazzy Star, Collective Soul, Enya, Jars of Clay, Tori Amos and lots of Jazz. Hip Hop and rap became really big back then so I liked a few songs, but my tape player rarely housed that genre. I would buy a single of some hip hop song and quickly realized that when my girlfriends were in the car, out came Tori and in went Blackstreet. I got over it fast. Looking back at what moved me so intensely then, I realize that I am still that same girl, just evolved.

In college I began being heavily influenced by a wider group of more open minded and well-traveled friends. My tastes became even worldlier, and I ventured deeper into the genres of existing preferences. Everybody experiments in college, I just spent my time fiddling with music and finding new ways to express the impressions it left on me. I wrote a lot back then and I began to realize around this time how much music affects your writing and really all of your creativity. Had I chosen to write this blog entry while listening to one of my high school loves this would be even more nostalgic than I meant it to be. Instead I’m listening to one of my current obsessions, so hopefully this entry is true to this moment.

Right now, I’m listening to Imogene Heap, Delays, Ivy, Ryan Adams, Clem Snide, Rufus Wainwright, Broken Social Scene and far too many others to mention. The most obvious thing that’s changed lately is the fact that my taste has gotten mellower and I’m going for more lyrical, more introspective and even sweeter sounds than I ever have in the past. At this moment I’m softening, I suppose.

So Now What?: Feminism Alive and Not So Well

As most anyone who knows me already knows, I was let go from my job when my employer found out I was pregnant. My job ended in late December, but I’m not due until March. It has now been almost two months since I’ve received any income. As you can imagine, losing that much of your income without the hope of being able to replace it is not just an adjustment, it’s downright scary. The reality is that employers don’t hire largely pregnant women. I’m out of hope for work until after I have the baby. Unfortunately that is the time all moms take time off work to be with their newborns, not necessarily before. I was given no choice in the matter so the income-less crunch has hit us hard and long before it should have.

Today, I’m scared. Like most people, we look at our finances and make decisions about expenses, but now that my unemployment money has run out (my former employer didn’t pay in, so there is no money for me to take out now), we are forced to face the harsh reality that we just don’t make enough. We just got a house, but other than that our expenses aren’t that much greater than they’ve been in the past. With the baby coming very soon, we are looking at increased expenses that simply cannot be cut. Do you have a knot in your stomach, yet? I sure do.

So the search has begun. Perhaps it should have begun a while ago, but now I can delay no longer—I must find work! Unlike every American mother I will not be “entitled” to maternity leave—that is essentially what my former employer was protecting himself from. Way to go you puritanical asshole! I can’t go to a job interview, I can’t find a normal job—who would have me like this? Hell, I wouldn’t even hire me. I have to think creatively. How can I make a certain amount of income every month without having to go to work? What can I do and how can I do it? Talk about overwhelming.
It’s amazing to me that in this day and age that issues like this are still plaguing young women. Gloria Steinem was right, we have made progress, yes, but women are still engaged in a battle for their rights. Things look better, but perhaps these female prejudices just come later; perhaps they are now restricted to mothers more than women in general. You’d be shocked how much regression takes place in the mouths of modern thinking people just because you’re having a baby.

The impulse to tell a woman what she should do is seemingly uncontrollable, and the unconscious change in feelings towards a woman who’s having a baby is perhaps imperceptible to everyone except the newly isolated mother-to-be. It sucks. You probably wouldn’t even flinch to know the amount of times people react to the employment injustice I’ve had to face with words like, “well, at least you can stay at home with the baby now.” Wow. To be honest, my boss said that as well. As if, they even knew our minds on the subject in the first place. We didn’t even know our minds on the subject yet—we never got the chance before someone else’s opinions were imposed upon us—before our autonomy was violated in this fashion.

Long story and ranting cut short… what am I going to do? I’m open to almost any option that doesn’t involve selling my body :) or baby, or settling for someone else’s stupidly backward and automatic answers.

Do You Know What It Means?

Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans
I miss it both night and day
I know that it's wrong... this feeling's gettin' stronger
The longer, I stay away
Miss them moss covered vines...the tall sugar pines
Where mockin' birds used to sing
And I'd like to see that lazy Mississippi...hurryin' into spring
The moonlight on the bayou.......a Creole tune.... that fills the airI dream... of Magnolias in bloom...and soon I'm wishin'that you were there
Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans
And that's where I left my heart

Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans by Louis Armstrong
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Yes, Louis. I do know what it means.

Even the idea of the New Orleans inspires a profound sense of loss within me. New Orleans was the purveyor of so many special experiences for me—my first strawberry daiquiri, the first time my husband told me he loved me in the middle of Jackson Square, my first wedding crash, my first win at a gambling table, and a few other wonderfully seedy, but pleasant experiences I won’t go into here.

Every once in a while I feel the call of other places on my spirit. Often I feel the call of home—South Africa has a distinct and powerful pull over her children. And sometimes the need to see places I’ve never witnessed is so overwhelming that I can barely breathe—lately it’s been Germany, Italy and Switzerland. For the past month, however, the humid, spicy spirit of New Orleans has sung its sad song to me. Many times, I’ve caught myself daydreaming about searching for airfare quotes to the Big Easy (always my first step towards an imminent trip); only to realize that the city I’ve come to both fear and love is no more. All those once in a lifetime experiences can never really be relived.

When Louis Armstrong first sang that song, do you think he ever imagined a day when just missing New Orleans because he couldn’t get there just then would be a fond memory? Today, the lazy Mississippi he spoke of has seemingly changed directions, those Creole tunes are sadly silent, and those ancient Magnolia trees are broken and splintered.

When New Orleans is resurrected, and I’m sure it will be, will it simply be a modern concrete homage or a Disneyland version of the thick aired, fragrant New Orleans of days past? Will the beignets ever taste quite the same in a rebuilt Café Du Monde? Call me pessimistic, but somehow I don’t think anything will ever be quite the same. Maybe that’ll be a good thing, so for me, a sense of privilege now dwells with those memories. In my mind, New Orleans isn’t just a city that met destruction—the moonlight on the bayou, those Creole tunes, those crawfish etouffee and magnolia smells conjure actual moments for me. Moments I’ll never forget, in a city I’ll never forget.

Not Easy, But Calm: Reflections on the Year

So the official move took place on December 3rd, but we actually began living in our new house last Saturday. What a time the last few weeks have been! I feel like I’ve been living in a state of flux for over a month and so much is changing at the same time. What am I talking about—what a time the last year has been!

This time last year, I was attempting to dealing with three of the most heartbreaking events of my entire life while working quietly at a law firm downtown. My plans, my happiness seemed to be destined to fail and I was changing into someone I barely recognized and couldn’t seem to stop it. But now… nothing is the same. Life still has its way of surprising me both pleasantly and unpleasantly, but it’s just so different now. I wish someone could have told me how things can and will change in so many unforeseeable ways, so I could have seen past the haze for just a moment.

So many things are still unresolved: my sister’s fate still seems so uncertain and her insistence to pretend like her life could suddenly become normal never ceases to amaze and annoy me. If I’ve learned anything in from the death of three people I adored in the last two years, I’ve learned that there is something beautiful about finally facing the harsh reality you’ve been dealt. My hope for her in the coming year is that she can bravely stare down her demons… and overcome them. Maybe then, her life can become normal in the way hers has the nature to be.

Even with the tremendous losses we’ve been asked to endure and the unresolved issues, I still feel oddly blessed at this point. I don’t know where the next year will take me and quite frankly, I’m nervous about the endless possibilities. There is a renewed sense of awe at how quickly circumstances can change for good and bad. I know life seems uneventful for some, but I think that’s just for a time too. If you doubt that, look at me. This time last year, I thought I could never dig myself out of the darkness and purposelessness and this year my unborn son plays “I push, he kicks” games with me every morning as if he has been instructed to prove me how God can make something beautiful out of things that hurt so much.

There are about two and half more weeks left to this year—take the time to measure how much your life has changed and I encourage you to be grateful that things do, in fact, change at all.

I'm Sick and Tired of Being Sick and Tired

I am currently without home.
I work 9 hours a day without a lunch break.
I practice/perform for 4 hours a night, every night (for 1 more week anyway).
I haven't made dinner in three weeks.
I miss my bed.
My throat hurts really bad.
I am no longer capable of faking smiles.
I haven't done anything "fun" since the beginning of November (except for Harry Potter).
I really really need a manicure.
I hate my job a little bit more every single day.
I hate hearing myself complain.

I want to...
...stay home for three weeks.
...only go out for food, shopping or very fun activities.
...live in the varnish smelling house that has all my stuff in it.
...have everything working in the house and no longer smelling like varnish.
...cook a big dinner.
...get settled.
...make out with my husband
...have some friends over.
...put up my Christmas decorations.
...make my boss feel shame and embarassment for what he's done.
...and lastly, to get paid for doing something I enjoy, from home.

Aaaaaaaaand the Discussion Continues...

I'm so sick of being the only slightly liberal member of my family! When we get together and the moment the discussion gets mildly political in nature, SUDDENLY everything turns into a discussion about religion. Why can't people see the difference between something being considered wrong Biblically and my not feeling it's right to suppress a person's freedom of expression? Is it just me or does any other thinking Christian out there see the scary reality headed our way on this issue--that if we insist on curbing the creative rights of others because elements of their fiction go against Biblical teachings, that we ourselves are just moments away from experiencing creative and political persecution.

Someone asked me if I felt television was influencing my view of homosexuality. My answer was no and I feel that way because on that particular issue and in my life, I find that art is simply imitating life and not the other way around. Sure, that's not true for everyone but again, my life... that particular issue. Then all hellfire came down on me because these "traditional, fundamental" call them what you will Christians can NOT hear what I've just said. Not once did I utter a word about my view on the issue of sexual orientation, yet somehow, the yelling began from every angle! I'm not even the most liberal person I know, in fact, I hate the labeling of political ideas period. I don't flip out when they don't agree with my ideals. I don't yell excessively until they relent, I don't start preaching, and most certainly don't put on that smug face of superiority because I believe my ideas are supported by the Bible. Why is that where they "go?" Is it not possible that true adherence to the teachings of God's Word circumvents the need for this type of discussion entirely? Clearly, both sides of this argument need to spend a little more time in study and a little less time trying to get other people's attention.

Thoughts on the New Legalism

This string of thoughts was inspired after reading a post about Harry Potter book burning and the resulting comments in Ryan’s blog. I didn’t want to respond in a comment myself since the initial conversation took place quite some time ago.*

Legalism is still a hot issue in the Church at the moment. I still have the misfortune to work for a Church-related office and I can’t tell you how often the subject rears its ugly head. I hate to burst the optimistic bubble of some, but it is still a very real and very present reality. If I interpreted it correctly, the discussion turned to the idea of a new brand of legalism, the liberal elite of Christianity calling down fire upon the fundamental Christian Right. As is the case in most incidences of prejudice (because after all, that is what we are essentially talking about here) there will eventually be a reversal of those criticizing pointed fingers. I agree with that sentiment whole-heartedly as it is evidenced all over the world; however, I cannot say that the traditionally fundamental and intolerant are not still vying for control over many of our Churches and in turn, over our futures. That is the ugly reality.

This new legalism can be viewed as the reversal of traditional prejudices, yes, but I tend to view it as a long overdue backlash with some teeth. To me, it's the difference of a group of people who are considered the "new oppressors" by some, and a group of people who have made a practice of confusing and confounding others by inserting doubt into their hearts of a different kind. Their brand of confusion and doubt appears to make a good person wonder if they are prejudicing the "right" things enough to buy their way into Heaven! The "new oppressors" are simply the "liberal" believers calling the first set of over-opinionated, habitually oppressive believers out on their bull. Sure that can eventually reveal a complete reversal of past relationships, but at this point, it is the unchurched people who have been so long (and are still) at the mercy of those wielding the use of mystifying scriptures and mostly personally invented logic to support their collective distrust in things they don't understand.

At one time, everyone agreed that the fundamentalist’s once long-held prejudices were inappropriate, but now, these types of people find things that confuse us and make us struggle with issues of little importance that have been cloaked in the guise of being Heaven or Hell issues—and for what purpose? Which is more evil then?

*This is clearly an ongoing discussion that hasn't been fully developed. There are obviously so many tributaries of thought to explore when discussing something like this, but I'm not writing a thesis here. These are just some thoughts, however emotionally charged, presented as they come to mind.

Fanfiction and Fan Art

I’ve been reading some Harry Potter fanfiction lately (yes, I’m that big of a nerd) and I’ve come to realize that while a story can be interesting and you can enjoy reading it—there is a huge and noticeable difference between writing a story and writing a story really well when it comes to fanfiction

An utterly, totally, 100% reliable resource called Urban Dictionary.com defines fanfiction as “a piece of fiction within a fandom utilizing characters and situations from a pre-existing work including (but not limited to) books, television programs, films, and comic strips.”

I would imagine that writing fanfiction is one of the most difficult yet completely self-gratifying genres one could attempt to write in. First of all, you’re writing about a fictitious world that already exists and that world, its characters and its creator already have fans of their own—the same fans that will most likely read your work. Those fans can be unbelievably grateful and positive yet others can quickly turn obsessive compulsive and nasty when the writer of a work of fanfiction fails to adhere to the rules of this preexisting universe. The tradeoff? You get to live out all your wildest imaginings about those preexisting characters and create the stories only you know.

After reading about three works of Harry Potter fanfiction, I am convinced of three things…
1. Most fans don’t know when or how to end a story even if they know how they want to end it (none were completed).
2. People love writing and reading about illicit sex between two unexpected characters. Take slash or het fanfiction for example: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Harry/Snape and Hermione/Snape etc…
3. Lastly, it’s painfully easy to recreate central characters most fundamental idiosyncrasies in order to effectively create an alternate storyline that appeals to our general opinions on the nature of good and evil. That departure from personality could, in my opinion, be the Dementor’s Kiss of all fanfiction. Out of the three works I read, the one that stood out as the best was titled “Forgotten” and attempts to take its readers to a future in the Harry Potter world most readers, and perhaps Rowling herself, would never have seen. Because of that bold sweeping move into what will most likely prove to be an alternate future, the story is able to stand alone as a separate work about characters we’ve already come to know. Also, the writer does what any good writer would do and draws from his/her own personal areas of expertise or interest to create an alternate fictitious universe.

Just in case the suspense is killing you, “Forgotten” finds Hermione several years post-Hogwarts and a few years after the great wizarding war we’ve all been lead to believe is inevitable. She has lost her two closest friends in the war and survived by escaping into the muggle society in which she was born and has become renowned in that world for her art restoration capabilities. In a very Nick Bantock-esque way, the writer throws us into her life just when she begins receiving mysterious and beautiful paintings of a clearly magical nature from a stranger. At the end of chapter three (the last chapter posted) the reader is beginning to realize who this very unexpected “stranger” might be and we wonder what role the stranger will play in her life: will this person deliver redemption or a final blow.

After reading some of this, I find that I innately want to marry the alternate worlds into the Harry Potter world that already exists. That could be dangerous as the series comes to a close… I might forget that Lily and James never got to see what became of their son, or that Harry and Snape never did have hot gay sex. :) You’ve been warned.

If you’re interested, I found these stories through Mugglenet.com

Pura Vida: Take II

I have spent the last week in a foreign country. After a record setting four flights in one day, we arrived on Ambergris Caye in San Pedro Town in Belize. Hello again Central America! The last overseas trip I took was to Costa Rica about five years ago—I have some kind of obsession with Central America apparently.

Belize is gorgeous and has all that you would hope/expect a country like that would have to offer—white sand beaches, barrier reefs, geographical oddities, jungles, rainforests, ruins, and under developed cities. If you plan carefully, you can get a little of everything in Belize.

I learned the life philosophy of “Pura Vida” while in Costa Rica and while it definitely made more sense there, it certainly isn’t out of place in Belize either. The phrase translates as “pure life” and in many ways; there is no better way to describe the very moment when you find yourself floating effortlessly a few feet above schools of sting rays, shark rays and overly friendly silver fish.

The realization of where you are and the simple rarity of what you’re witnessing compared to the harsh and mundane reality that is your everyday life is quite simply put, a moment thoroughly infused with “pura vida.” Everyone should experience a moment in which they feel completely alive AT LEAST once a year. That experience throws into sharp relief, the difference between wading through your life and opening your eyes to the entire world. I love trips like this.

Ah Jeez, It’s Another Baby Post

Yes, it is, but this is dedicated to someone else. Last Friday, my older cousin, and his wife had their first child—a boy also. Being foreign, you tend to grow very close to extended family. My cousins are, and always have been, like brothers to me. We make fun of each other, we talk often, and we advise each other, often without solicitation. My point is that the birth of my big cousin’s baby boy is big news in my world. Moving on.
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This one’s for you Gav…

Gav, you were born on a Friday and five weeks before you were expected. You gave all of us quite a scare, to be honest. Your poor parents were so anxious about your early arrival, but alas, all turned out for the best and here you are, in our lives a few weeks ahead of schedule. Don’t make a habit of this though as you have been born into a family of late risers.

You are named after your Dad’s father and your Dad’s brother. Since you don’t know them yet, I’ll tell you a bit about them. Your uncle is generous, intelligent and tender-hearted. He is so pumped about you. One day, you’ll feel that way about him too. Your Granddad was the most brilliant, generous and brave person I’ve ever known. He went on to heaven two years ago, but I think he always imagined you, just the way you are. You are blessed to share a name with these two unique and wonderful men.

As for your birth… you were greeted by the anxious faces of your mom, dad, grandma C, and Auntie C. Yours was the first birth ever witnessed by any of them—way to help someone reach a milestone so early! Your dad taped the whole thing on the same camera your granddad used to tape all of our family Christmases for as long as I can remember. I can’t wait until this year and you get to star in your very first Christmas tape!

If you’re wondering about me, I’m your second cousin, Naomi. You will probably end up calling me Auntie Nomi, like my niece and nephew do, but you will always be special to me as my cousin, my blood. I’m thrilled about you and I think you look like a black haired version of your uncle Gav. That’s a compliment to be sure.

Welcome to the world B.G., we are so glad you’re here!

True Love

Yesterday had all the makings of being a really bad day. Before I left the house, I opened the mail to find five new medical bills. I also had my monthly doctor visit and on the way, I got a speeding ticket that no amount of hormone induced tears could eliminate. Yesterday was also the day my evil boss was to come back into town, and he always makes the office his first or second stop. A bad day, by most people’s standards, to be sure.

Then something amazing happened. Still whimpering by the time I arrived at the doctor’s office, I was actually starting to become frightened that I might never be able to stem the never-ending flow of irrational tears. I went into the exam room and my doctor arrived. He had me lie down, then put the Doppler (like a baby microphone) on my belly and started rolling it around. Suddenly, there was a very loud crackling sound and I looked at him, startled. He just smiled and said, “That’s just him moving around.” “Moving as usual.” was my first thought, but then out of all the crackling there appeared a faint, but distinct rapid heartbeat—my son’s. The doctor usually holds the Doppler still for a minute so the machine can count the beats per minute. As he rested the wand there, all my concerns sort of melted away and I realized that hearing his movements, his little heart, eradicated all the wrongs of the day. From the first time I heard his heart beating its own beat; it was love at first sound.

I’ve been in love before—and am still in love, but for the first time, I realize that I love someone, “sight unseen.” To be honest, I was unsure the feeling would come and was getting a bit scared about it. But now, there is no doubt—this is true love. It is love without expectation

Random Ramblings Regarding Residences and Frivolity

I don’t want to go anywhere. Am I weird? All I want to do is go home and lay on my couch. I want to flip channels, watch movies, play with my dogs, sleep and maybe make dinner later. Seriously, I only need about seven instances of major excitement in one year to make me happy. No thrill seeker dwells here.

Have I always been this way, or am I just more content now? I have no clue. Home seems to me, a perfect place to be. Lately, I’ve been daydreaming a lot about my new house. We move in towards the end of November. I can’t imagine my future in my current house anymore, everything that wanders past my mind’s eye takes place in a house I’ve only been in three times. Sometimes, in the morning, I wake up thinking about it too.

So at some point I became a total homebody. I think it happened before I got married too, which is what makes it so weird. Don’t get me wrong, I love going out; in fact, you could just as easily be reading a post about that. It’s just that I only need a very minimal amount of full-on going out to satisfy me. A perfect night out for me goes something like this: a long, laughter-filled dinner with Jason and other friends followed by a movie. The movie doesn’t even have to be very good, because that can occupy several hours of conversation too. Then go for coffee and sit outside while we have embarrassingly pseudo-intellectually philosophical discussions about the unknowable nature of life or some other nonsense. As you’ll notice, there were no night clubs listed there, no table dancing (although, I’ve done my fair share), no drunken debauchery (done my fair share of that too), just good company, and conversation. I’m boring.

Plus, I have a thing about the evening. Anything is better if it takes place in the evening. Don’t you agree? Coffee on the patio is much better without the sun, dancing spontaneously with someone who inspires you is much better by moonlight, and of course, there’s sleeping… ah sleeping.

A Reaction to Injustice

I have spent the last two hours doing absolutely nothing. Yes, I’m at work. No, I’m not alone in the office. Why do I not care about how much I slack off in the company of boss and co-workers, I hear you asking? Because I don’t have a job for much longer whether I’m Suzy Kiss-Ass Perfect, or Slacker McSlackerson. I hate my job and have since day one.

As I’ve posted before, I’ve been “terminated” from my job, although the actual termination is still about 40 days away. The first conversation my boss had with me about this subject went something like this…
Boss: “We need to talk about your plans for when you have the baby.”
Me: “Sure. What did you have in mind?”
Boss: “Well, March is a really inconvenient time for us here and we want to replace you by December.”
Me: “My due-date is inconvenient?” “Um… well, I suppose I could substitute.”
Boss: “That sounds good.” “We hope to hire your replacement by November, so you can train her, and then you’ll be gone by December.”
Me: [total shock] “Ooooo-kay.”

So since this initial conversation and the two carefully worded letters that followed supporting his original reason (and several hours with his attorney talking about my letters), my boss now insists that my “being let go” has nothing to do with my pregnancy. His new story is that my job was always temporary and only meant to be for a few weeks. When I reluctantly took this job, I was about to collect unemployment from my previous employer after a mass lay-off and had my days to myself. Why would I have taken a job “for a few weeks” and give up all that freedom? Answer: I didn’t. I agreed to a permanent, full-time job with a review in 90 days that he chose never to have.

Long story short—my boss has lied to me, to my family and he’s done it to our faces. When I’m super sweet to him, helpful and put up with his yelling, constant frustration, bizarre outbursts and intolerance of questions, it gets me nowhere. When I’m a bitch, ignore him, act like a smart-ass, and goof around all day, it still gets me nowhere, but at least I get to enjoy my day a bit more. What would you call this attitude?

XY

One second after the ultrasound tech put that wand on my belly; a fully formed baby appeared on screen. One big round head. Two long arms and two long legs. Lots of tiny vertebrae all lined up neatly and 20 fingers and toes. And an unmistakable penis. Yes, I just typed that. Long story short. We are having a boy!

My dad and Jason came along. That must have looked weird—one pregnant chick, her man and her dad. Little did I know I was in the company of all men at a very female place doing something only women have to do. :)

He was playing with his toes most of the time while turning from the direction of the wand lady. He mooned us twice and even attempted to cover his face with one hand. It blows my mind that I can know exactly what my baby boy was doing at that given moment. He probably doesn’t even know what I am, but I am so intensely aware of him. How can you love something so small and hard to see, this much?

Mine :)

I Miss…

Coffee
Sushi!
Feta cheese
Warm baths
Advil
Coke and
Sleeping on my stomach.
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I have the big ultrasound tomorrow—the XX or XY ultrasound. This time tomorrow, I will know whether I will be saying the word “son” or the word “daughter” from now on. This is also where they measure the baby and check to make sure all its parts are where they’re supposed to be. In other words, it’s the kind of test that can make me pretty nervous. Just keep those prayers coming. :)

My Last On the Subject

This morning, I was transferring files from my old computer to my new one. The old one is set to go to my cousin very soon. As I was deciding what to keep and what to trash, I came across the eulogy I wrote for my Gran’s funeral last year.
I could transfer it to my new computer, but I think it’s time to let it go. Instead, I’d like to just put it out there in some permanent fashion. I will post it here.
This post isn’t meant to be sad because the eulogy wasn’t really meant to be that way either. Well, you can judge for yourself.

For my Gran, Amy R…
When I was a kid, I would call my Gran every night. It sounds stupid now, I know, but I called just to make sure she would answer the phone, just to hear her voice so I would know that everything was okay for at least another day. We would end our phone calls the exact same way, “I love you.” **kiss** You know that smoochy, kissing sound… we would do that instead of a hug or a real kiss goodnight.
She would do cartwheels the day before my birthday because I was so excited. She called it, Naomi’s birthday Eve and put it on the calendar for a long time.
I love my grandma. She wasn’t perfect, she wasn’t even nice all the time, but she was funny and compassionate and she loved me. She was my Gran. That’s all. She’s my Granny. When this incredible sadness comes over you, I think what it boils down to is the realization that there is one less person in this world who really loves you.
I don’t want people to forget these little things about her. She can’t be just another lady on the obituary page. She was someone special to me. For those of you who didn’t know Amy R... as well as we did, I collected a list of some her idiosyncrasies.

She had some kind of obsessive compulsive need to collect recipes. She loved to cook.
She put lemon juice in everything
She made the best chocolate chip cookies ever, I try to make them now, but there not the same.
She proudly regaled us with her ridiculous tales of Trotter’s Jelly and Liza Longtoes.
She refused to say her hair was red, it was always Titian. Whatever that means.
She openly corrected bad grammar until the very end.
She always had a Kleenex shoved up her left sleeve. It was really gross.
She often kept a damp cloth in a plastic baggy in her purse to clean the faces and hands of any dirty children.
Her voice would get really high pitched and shrill when she got mad… which was pretty often.
She loves cheese and pasta, and even more together.
She loved all forms candy and chocolate as a chaser to the cheese and pasta.
She literally burnt out two television sets in the time I’ve known her. She really loved FoodTV.
She was really feminine, and loved things like lace, flowers, Victorian era dresses and dolls.
She could walk around a “shop” as she called them, for hours. She didn’t tire easily.
She never stopped dreaming. Not for one day.

The hardest thing is trying to make myself realize that I’m never going to see her again (in this life). I wish I could take her to just one more shop and watch her walk around for hours. But I do have the hope of seeing her again--in a way I’ve never seen her.
Actually I’m starting to feel like maybe we are all missing out on something really great. Like Heaven isn’t just an idea anymore. Now it’s this real place I’m starting to look forward to myself.
It’s a privilege that the lines of Heaven are wide open to us. Because of that, we are never far from Heaven and never far from those we love. We can live with the joyful expectation that we too will “wake to the glory of Heaven” and, ourselves, be joyfully reunited with these people we have enjoyed and loved.
I look forward to seeing my Gran again one day--to go to a shop with her, to see her bright and beautiful face and of course to tease her one more time.
I will remember you Gran, and thanks for all the laughs.

Raining, Pouring and All That Mumbo Jumbo.

A friend posted in her blog that she hoped her reader’s lives were “less chaotic than [hers] right now.” Well friend, I’m here to tell you… they are not.

So, Jason and I have a LOT going on in our lives right now. For those of you who don’t already know, we are expecting an actual human addition to our household and not another puppy this time. Around mid to late March, our lives will be consumed with the omnipresent needs of a helpless infant. Ah, parenthood looms. So while I’m gestating I’m also planning, preparing, cleaning, and worrying like crazy. I don’t attempt to know when the intense fear will go away; if ever, so just keep your fingers crossed for us.

As if incubating another human being wasn’t enough… there’s more! We’re moving. Granted we are only moving about 5 miles away, the change is still huge for us. Our current house, charming as it is, is only about 930 square feet. We dance around each other in the kitchen and bedroom and have to stagger our bathroom time in order to avoid accidentally stabbing each other with our toothbrushes or razors. Our new place still has three bedrooms, but it has two full bathrooms, a gigantic living room, a big square kitchen with room for a kitchen table, a separate dining (see, our plans), a two-car garage and “ahhhhhhhhhhhh” a utility room for our washer and dryer! Oh, how such simple things bring me joy.

As you might expect, the trade off for such a ginormous, grown-up place is that the house needs some T.L.C., and by T.L.C. I mean destruction, renovation, building, paint, flooring and more. We have big plans. The dining room is lovely, but in a weird spot, plus we don’t even have a dining room table, just one for the kitchen. We aren’t formal diners anyway, so we have decided to try and enclose this superfluous space, add double glass doors and convert it into our home office. Lots to do, so expect calls for help.

Okay, so what have we so far… helpless infant, new house… OH, I’ve been terminated from my job too. Yeah. Well, just mere moments after returning to work after my first O.B. appointment, my boss told me that my due date was inconvenient and that he wanted to replace me by December. And yes, it is legal so, watch out. Being “heavy with child” as I will be by December, I’m guessing I’ll be an unlikely candidate for a new and rewarding position elsewhere. I have no choice but to attempt to work from home or temp (another subject entirely) until the summer. So, there’s that.

Ah, let’s see… then there’s the oft overlooked fact that Jason is likely to begin graduate school in February. We decided November was full enough already, so February is more likely.

To add to our drama, my sister, the one who has recently been spending lots of time with “Kiki from the penitentiary” is set for release in about a week. My mom is driving there to “claim” her and take her to her next destination—a non-mandatory thing that I don’t fully understand. Plus, my nephew who also recently spent some time in the clink is now living with my parents and a regular part of our lives. That part is nice.

Well, I could actually tell you more, but I’ll just let that digest for now. So, there is so much going on in my life right now: some is exciting, some is scary, and some is still up in the air at this point. That’s life, right?

Not mine. :)