I miss you people and this blog. I’ve been sucked into a vacuum of sleeplessness and general lack of brain cells. I have enough wherewithall to play a game on facebook that involves clicking once amidst a bunch of little flying balls and watching them all bump into each other. I’m a little embarrassed because nice folks keep linking to me and I have nothing witty or entertaining to say.
I’ve been preoccupied with a few folks and their journeys to fertility.
A very close friend is trying to freeze her eggs for future use. This is tough because it is more like trying to try to conceive, if that makes any sense. There’s neither BFP nor BFN at the end of a cycle. Just lots of needles and tests. I wish I could give her even more support, but I just keep calling and asking how today went.
Another friend of a friend — single mom by choice — just got a BFP. Yay! I love those three letters.
I’m awaiting the arrival of L and H babypants’ little pant-wearer. I thought for sure he or she had already arrived, until I read this today. Ugh. My heart goes out to them for the unbearable past-the-due-date wait. On the other hand, it will be over soon. Yay! (Do you see how braindead I am? I keep saying “yay!” like an over-enthusiastic cheerleader on red bull.)
And EVA! Over at eggdrop? High-stakes IVF. It is taking every ounce of my being to not call her. Maybe I should call her. I just worry that on the off chance she’s actually not thinking about it for five seconds, I might upset her temporary sanity. God I hope she’s pregnant. Can we impregnate her with our thoughts please?
Umm errr uhh. Oh! And today I found out that I will teach a new grade next year. I’m finally moving up to third grade from second. I’ve been teaching second grade for 8 years, so this is a bit of a big deal. I was hoping to loop with my class, to have all the same kids next year, but that’s not in the cards for me.
What else? This Prop 8 is just another lame misstep on the way to equality. Evolution takes time. I think we’re pretty much still primates in much of the country.
And… I’ve been thinking of putting some pictures of Trucker up here. This blog is not so pretty to look at. And he is so much so. In fact, every single day someone tells me how pretty my daughter is. 🙂
I haven’t been blogging. Except for this.
Want to know what I’ve been doing?
Checking my email.
I’m waiting to hear possible news about (I’ll be vague to avoid some kind of jinx) our book. This wait could take another three weeks.
I’m also waiting to hear if Cakie got into any public Pre-K programs. That wait is actually supposed to end “the week of May 18.” Which is this week. In fact, if there is any chance I will find out before Tuesday, it needs to happen in the next hour. I don’t really feel positive about hearing from them before Tuesday or about him getting in anywhere. Which would mean he spends another year in daycare. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. But I feel as a teacher, especially, that I want him to go to a real school. We are not going to pay NYC prices for a NYC pre-school, either.
On a lighter note, Trucker has come up with the best trick ever. This is the kind of trick that attaches a mother to her son for all eternity. Trucker has decided to clap when he finishes nursing. Bravo! Go mom! Great milk! Encore. Gosh I love that kid.
I know deep in my head somewhere there is still a poem or two.
I went to grad school for poetry. I wrote some above-average poems while I was there. I thought once I got older and experienced more things, as Rilke advised, I would maybe write one or two great ones.
As it turns out, my life experiences seem to have buried the poems under layers of fat or callouses or drivel or reality tv shows or something.
I bought a copy of the Writer’s Market. Since I’ve been writing the book and enjoying the work. I think maybe I could write other things and maybe even get them published. It isn’t unheard of. When I was in grad school, I made myself feel like I had tried to become a published poet. I really only sent poems out about ten times. That’s not saying much. My proudest moment was when I received an actual hand-written rejection letter.
Spring makes the poems rise a little more to the surface. Almost to a place where I can hear them. I realize that the way poems used to come to me was usually from wandering around alone. Now? Now I never wander around alone. Pushing a stroller is not alone. No. Nope. Not even.
I guess I could wait and see if one comes.
Or I could dig in.
That’s something my honey says sometimes. It can refer to the way she or I look on a bad day, or to an item of clothing that has seen better days. Or anything that has seen better days.
Today I feel tore up from the floor up.
This week I did a lot of work on the book. I actually took a day off from work to write. Which felt empowering, if not stressful. I really like writing. Did you notice?
When I got back to work, we all learned that a colleague had passed away the night before after a long battle against lukiemia.I haven’t bothered to learn to spell the disease. I’m still raging against it since it took my friend Joannie. Now Maria’s gone. She was only 31. She had a little girl. That $hit kicks my ass.
Now my dear eggdrop is having a really awful time.
The only consolation… my wonderful neighbors have knocked each other up. And my babies’ clothes are out in the universe and they keep popping up on the web. But I’d really like to send some cute hand-me-downs eggdrop’s way someday, so can you people send some energy her way for those ten more eggs? Ultimately, we just need one good one.
Sorry so quiet.
I’ve been working on my book under a ridiculous self-imposed deadline.
I haven’t had much extra writing time. My honey has the draft of the chapter in her hot hands right now, so I have a minute to blog.
Going on the blog-as-diary model, I just want to share something extremely cute Trucker did last night. I just need to write it down, lest I forget. I don’t know if you’ll think it is as cute as I do. But you don’t have to.
I’ve been feeling a little nervous about my milk supply. It is not his main source of nutrition anyway, since I’ve stopped pumping. But he has seemed hungry after several feedings this week. We followed them up with a little formula so as to not starve the guy. I was worried that I’m running out. (I had neglected to make the pre-menstrual low-milk supply connection. I’m hoping that was the problem.)
I was nursing him right before bedtime last night. I usually do it a little earlier so he doesn’t fall asleep in my arms and lose his ability to fall asleep in the crib. (Sucky, right? I know.) But there I was nursing him. Sleepy little guy. And he started to fall asleep on the b00b. I didn’t stop him, thinking that this might be one of the last times he does it. Then he opened his eyes and burst into laughter. Immediately, he fell asleep with a huge smile on his face.
About two minutes later, he woke himself up again, in a perfectly happy, content mood. Smiling and laughing. It was as if he had said, “No worries, Mom. Your milk is still good here.”
My dear dear boy,
I don’t get why you love me. You love me. Like a loony little bird.
You’ve gone through this stranger anxiety-esque phase in which nobody is good enough but me. I don’t understand it. I don’t know why you love me so. I feel so flawed. But you don’t see it. You don’t dwell. You just love me.
I love you back.
Now I need you to know that you hopefully have plenty of time in your life to do all of the things you want. You don’t need to do them all at once. But you do try. You try. I’ve seen you try to cruise with toys in both of your hands. You’ve crawled across the floor with a paper in your hand to give me. You are a cute little nubbit.
Thanks for getting over that stranger anxiety thing a bit. Now you look for mama. After you nurse in the morning, you turn and look for her. When you find her, you show her your tongue, then burst into giggles.
Enough blogging for me. I need to go get you and kiss your belly.