Monday, May 24, 2010

I chose ... wisely

Jeffrey and I wrapped up our birthing classes this week. After 2 months of complimenting each others' healthy snacks and talking organic cotton baby carriers, we couples finally let our hair down and got a bit goofy. People dispensed with the hummus and the carrot sticks and brought cupcakes, cookies and strawberry shortcake. We all talked about the bad things we'd done, the sips of margaritas at the barbecue, the mochachinos, the sushi. It was refreshing.

Later on in the class, some of the second-time moms were talking about how to explain the newborn's umbilical cord to big brother or sister. One suggested comparing it to a raisin. Jeffrey and I were thrown by this. He said, "How will they know that they're not supposed to touch this treat that they just had for snack?" I said, "It will be called the Raisin of Knowledge." Jeffrey laughed. Even though we are not on the same page religion-wise, we're at least in the same book, whose title is lower-case.

But infinitely more importantly, it's nice to have someone on your side – who also thinks you're funny.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

STFU, future me!

I really hope I never become a mommyjacker. Never heard of the word? Neither had I until I came upon this awesome Web site today: STFU, Parents. It basically calls out all the people who used to be fun and able to Facebook about things other than their kids' diapers or lack of sleep. It also talks about the aforementioned mommyjacking, which goes like this:

Person 1: Regular status update like, "I am suffering from writer's block today."
Person 2: Totally hijacks status update with something like, "I can't believe my kid is 1 year old today!"

Of course, Facebook will possibly implode by the time I have the kid. But I never, never want to be Person 2 in this scenario. If you see that happening, please, please tell me. I said to Jeffrey tonight, "I really hope I stay funny." I can tell that he hopes so, too. And not in an ironic way.

Whew, ok. Moving on.

I had a lovely weekend shopping with Bernadette in Bethesda. I mostly window-shopped, which was fun and inexpensive. There's a super-cute little shop there called Red Orchard. We only found it because the restaurant where we wanted to eat couldn't seat us for an hour, but it was the best shop we saw all day. I love serendipity like that.

Then I got home today and Jeffrey and I went to the annual art festival near our neighborhood. It makes me crazy because it draws in all kinds of people with gigantic cars who don't quite know how to park? You know? But we walked over and got a turkey leg and a shaved ice. And then everything was OK again. I charted it thusly:

Saturday, May 15, 2010

The craziest thing I've ever done

I always thought the craziest thing I'd ever done was going to look for alligators when I was an intern in Miami. One night a bunch of us drove around to this remote area and poked around with our little flashlights. I don't remember much; I believe it was after a full and raucous night of karaoke. I'm going to say it was somewhat swampy? I think there was an abandoned shed we walked through, also? Sorry, I don't remember much, and I can't find anyone to verify the details right now. I just remember telling someone about it the next day, and him saying, "Are you crazy? An alligator has a maximum land speed of 25 miles per hour. You? MAYBE 5."

Sounds pretty crazy, yes? But during my morning commute today, it hit me. That was merely foolish and dangerous. The craziest I-don't-even-recognize-myself thing I've ever done was the time I got together a band of near strangers, rented out a recording studio for a night and recorded a song for my boyfriend.

See the problem is, I'm a doer. I don't just think about sh*t. Well, I think about plenty of sh*t. But then I go out and do it. This was particularly true with this guy, my first boyfriend. I was on an internship (those were crazy times, weren't they, interns?) in Delaware, so far away from him in Illinois. And the nightly talking and daily e-mails weren't enough. I had to show my devotion. And I chose to do this by finding the cheesiest semi-country song and recording it on like a 16-track cassette. (Side note: cassette is such a weird-looking word now, isn't it? I could barely spell it just now.)

Seriously, where was my sense of self? Had I heard of the word co-dependent? I could injure my current self rolling my eyes at my former self.

So anyway, I chose this song, a duet (no less!), and set about finding the band to play it. I got 2 business reporters, maybe an IT person? Some other people? See how crazy this is? I was some little intern and I didn't even know these people, but I somehow got them together and we holed up in the bass player's home and rehearsed a couple times before the big night. The IT guy and I did the singing, and we were in a real studio, like with the big headsets and the pantyhose thing in front of the microphones and everything. We had a producer named Marc, I remember. And all these guys gave up a couple afternoons and a Friday night to record this song for my boyfriend. That IT guy had a pretty good voice.

See, and now I don't even know where that tape is now. I think maybe it got thrown (and I don't mean thrown out; I just mean thrown) during the break-up. But the memory of crazy lasts forever.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Breaking radio silence

I've been caught inside my head a bit lately. Here's a bit of what's been going on in here.

I've been thinking a lot about one of my first best friends, Jimmy Mills. Maybe it's the time of year, or maybe it's a natural part of first pregnancy to reconsider everything in your life before it drastically changes.  For whatever reason, I've been missing him quite a bit. From the moment we met in first grade, we seemed to always be in on the same joke, even though we were completely different. When we weren't having some stupid spat, we were inseparable. I'd go over to his house and he'd try to teach me to skateboard, or we'd walk down the street to his grandmother's house, and she'd tell us about his grandfather and the war. We'd go to the rink and couple skate. He gave me a ring. I really wish I still had it; I probably gave it back to him in some crappy young kid way. Of course, I was madly in love with him. But that's hard to show when you're seven.

I never got to see Jimmy grow up; none of us did. He was killed almost 20 years ago, riding his bike. I miss you, buddy.

Also, Mother's Day was this weekend. I have definitely been missing my mom. At our birthing class on Thursday, our teacher said we should try to resolve any unresolved grief or conflict about our parents before we become parents ourselves. I pretty much abandoned any hope of that, since unresolved conflicts are my predictable best friends. So it went right out of my mind almost as soon as she said it.

But then the next day I was watching a show I'm too embarrassed to name, in which a little girl loses her mom. And I just cried a long and ugly cry. I don't know what is more odious, the constant manipulation of this Show That Shall Not Be Named, or the fact that I fall for it every. Single. Time.

Anyway, those have been on my mind a bit. And a few other things. But mostly I'm pretty happy about this little guy, and thinking about what his personality will be, and just loving him, loving him, loving him.