awesome

A friend sent me this link.
Lovely!
Thanks Mick!

Euphoric Recall & Cervical Pride

A friend was over the other night & was talking to me about "euphoric recall" when we have romanticized remembrances of what was actually difficult, painful or traumatic.

"I think I know what you're talking about" I told her. "Like the other day when I told Scully I was actually looking forward to the birth."

Um, YES. Euphoric recall, much?

In truth I kind of am looking forward to it. I quite like our doctor and she hasn't made any references to wanting to cut me. I also like thinking about the fact that I have an idea of what was previously unimaginable to me. I think about using a mirror this time so I could see what was going on (maybe not. maybe? maybe not.)

I think about watching my mom and my sister Kirsten's face when I was crowning and Khubz's face appeared in the world for the first time. I wonder who will be at the birth this time? Will the weather be clear on I-35?

I think about being anxious to get to the hospital so that something would happen and being sent home three separate times. And this time, will I have a better idea of what is happening and when to go? Will I be able to tell? Will I feel more easy being home longer without any monitors or machines?

I think about being at the hospital with the petocin taking over my body and how I turned my head to the side to make eye contact with Scully for one last time before I died.

Okay, so it's not all euphoric recall.

Really, I don't think of myself as physically accomplished in any way (except that I actually have amazing upper body strength--no one ever believes me! I chalk this up to assumptions about fat women and femmes. . .grrrr) but I do sort of marvel at the accomplishment of my cervix dilating to 10 centimeters.

Please don't mishear me. I'm not making any comparisons between my experience and any other woman's birth experience or choices. But simply for myself and in thinking about my own body, it is nice to feel proud of my cervix.

A better day

Thank the Goddess.

In a complete departure from my endless winging on about work, let's dive into a different part of my world.

Khubz is a singing fool.

If you come for dinner (please come! please!) she'll treat you to twinkle twinkle after we have our fruit. If you're lucky she'll follow it up with an A, B, C jingle. If you're really lucky and are one of her mommies, she'll take you upstairs to her big girl bed for 30 minutes of snuggles and singing. Last night it was "how much is that doggie in the window" 27 times. But usually she'll lead you through a vast repertoire.

The lil baby song is an adapted gwydion song to have the sadness taken out. Khubz is also happy to correct me when I mistakenly say "mommy" where it should be "mama"

Personal penguin and the going to bed book are popular and we always thank sandra bouynton.

Chitty, Chitty Bang Bang makes an occasional appearance along with 50 ways to leave your lover by paul simon. Itsy Bitsy Spider and Aranya Pequinita, of course. Everybody wants to be a cat from the Aristocats, C is for Cookie, various versions of A B C, Los Ninos and Un Elefante max out my spanish songs. Scully's lineup includes the Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay song and several other songs in spanish. Khubz also requests the "Bugs" song.

All songs begin with "OOOOOOhhhh"
It's like this.
Together: OOOOOOOOOh!
Mommy: She will bring the
Khubz: BUGS!
Mommy: In the spring. And laugh among the
Khubz: FLOOOOWERS!
Mommy: In summer heat her
Khubz: KISSES!
Mommy: Are sweet. She sings with leafy
Khubz: Bowers!
Mommy: She cuts the cane and gathers the
Khubz: GRAIN!
Mommy: While the fruits all fall
Khubz: Arownder (around her)
Mommy: Her bones grow old in wintery
Khub: COLD!
Mommy: She wraps her cloak
Khubz: Arownder! (arms wrapped around herself)

I know that we shouldn't all be used to a lengthy bedtime process but I love the singing to sleep. It is delightful.

By the Way. . . .

If you are the root cause of someone else having to freak the fuck out and scramble to do something that you were supposed to take care of. . . .Do NOT start the conversation out with "You need to take a deep breath. Sorry to be so directive, but seriously Fruitfemme, you need to calm down."

Excuse me?

Scully did not say that shit when I was in labor birthing her child.

You do not get to email me a nicely wrapped package of SHIT and then TELL ME TO SMILE AS I EAT IT.

FUCK YOU.

Wondering if

Things are still shitty around the fruit basket? Yes. Yes, actually they are.

And that conference call earlier in the week? It lasted TWO HOURS. I shit you not. TWO HOURS.

But it's not all shitty conference calls this week. There's also the report that will not go quietly into that good night. And there was an all day meeting yesterday where a completely different woman got so pissed off at me that she couldn't look me in the eyes. Not only that. She just couldn't look at me. At all. Even when we were talking to each other.

On the way back from that meeting I plowed into a bird. I was going 80 mph and he thought he was flying high enough over the interstate. Splat. Feathers, everything all over my windshield.

But it's all okay. Really. It's all totally okay.

Bean is great. Khubz won't stop talking. Scully asked me not to write about the things I'm praising her for right now. (wink) Also I'm off the progesterone which means I no longer leave oily stains of melted petroleum jelly on the couch. Yea! What's to kvetch about anyway?

There's lots of news that's not mine to tell. Really, except for the life-sucking black hole of current work-related activities, its pretty exciting around here lately.

what are we doing on the phone still?????

update

they don't care

and neither do I!!!!!!


STOP TALKING

notes from a conference call

when your full of hate & having a hard time focusing. . .

RELAX.

NONE OF THIS MATTERS.

the girl is doing great!

Tubes are in! She was a total trooper about it all. She is definitely drunk with the anesthesia, though. Like she couldn't hold her own head up. It was an interesting flashback to a newborn. . . no neck control.

Anyway, we got some juice & papas (tatertots) from sonic, slept in the chair for a bit and now she's upstairs in her bed. Whew!

Scully was awesome, of course. I dumped an entire bottle of water in my completely packed & messy diaper bag. While Khubz was in surgery Scully cleaned it out. Remember all those mints I'd just bought to help me with my nasuea? Sticky mints, wet paper wrappers, a bottle of metformin that, of course, had opened & spilled & was now melting into the very fabric of my bag. It was pretty gross.

Then the surgery was done & the girl was waking up!

Hamdillallah!

Cheers & Jeers!

Yehaw! We paid off my car yesterday! Yea US!!!!!

Eeech! In less than one year I've put 22,000 miles on the car. SHIT.

Narrative flow

On this weirdo grant I work on, we spent 3 months trying to appease "those who know best" by creating a document with sufficient "narrative flow." I should say this document was a request for application--an RFA. This was not a short story, epic poem, memoir or oral history project. Again & again our handlers responded that we needed more narrative flow.

I should have simply asked my daughter.

Khubz and I were driving back from iowa last Sunday. We'd gotten a late start because the sister coffee didn't end until 2 a.m. so I wasn't going to sleep for two hours and hit the road. Instead, we left at 6 am. The girlchild slept for 2 hours (good girl) and was awake the last two hours of the drive. She was pretty agreeable. . . I kept her supplied with snacks from grandma's house--snacks that she doesn't usually get.

While she was taking in the buttery goodness of a ritz cracker, I was eyeing a reststop. If the girl is asleep, I'll make the whole drive and be fine. But if she's awake & I'm pregnant, I'm going to stop at a bathroom.

So we found one and went in. There was a woman washing up at the sink. She was clearly not happy that someone else entered the bathroom where she was trying to shower. I get it. She'd been on the road a long time & didn't seem to be having a good day. Still, there's the bathroom & that's where I'm heading.

Khubz has her shoes on so I stand her up in the stall with me. She begins her narrative.

"El agua?"

"Yes, honey, there's water in the potty, isn't there?"

"Yeah. Pants?" (this one identification for diapers or, in my case currently, panties)

"Yep."

"Mommy pee!!"

I chuckle, then attempt to distract her. "Oh, do you see that spider in the corner. Yuck."

"'pider? Mommy poop?! Poopie?!"

"Yes, honey. Yes, you're right." I actually thought it was funny at this point. Then Khubz brings it home.

"HAIR!!!"

The woman was still at the sink as I was washing my hands. She was not smiling. At. All.

"Yallah, Khubz. Let's go change your pants in the car."

Cringe again

So you want more cringe stories? More, eh?

How about this.

I have a membership at an unnamed local video rental store. We had a family membership because you can get additional people signed up and it's free. So I go there with my first (completely ridiculous, shouldn't even count as a relationship) girlfriend and we get our movies. Some point along our completely ridiculous relationship I wound up adding her to my account.

She already had one there but had racked up so much in fines & late fees that they had sent her to collections. This was not unusual. Do not even ask me about the letter from a random farmer who had been selling pumpkins out of his truck when she drove up loaded her entire oldsmobile--including the trunk--up with pumpkins to the tune of $120 and gave him a check she knew would bounce. . . do not even ask me about that letter.

Anyway, so foolishly i add her to my account and think, what is a late fee in the face of love???

Well, the real problem was that since it was a family account I had been added to with my family (a la, mom & dad) the real problem was that they called Mom & Dad when a movie was overdue or missing. Every day. They called every day. And my parents would growl at me and tell me to take care of it and to additionally tell the video place i didn't live there anymore. And I would. And the video place would call my parents every day. Every single day.

Why?

Because, of course, my then-girlfriend had an insatiable appetite for fag porn.

If you had the opportunity to call someone's mom and DAD every day and tell them that "Let's Play Anal Twister!" or "Big Dicks, Big Licks" is overdue, wouldn't you?

To this day, I can't even go near a video rental store without shuddering.