20 weeks and laid off

20 weeks and pretty sure there's a Critter in there

Crap. I have other stuff I have written about (and need to edit before posting) and want to write about, but my head is spinning. Bosses decided, due to lack of participation from referring doctor, to shut down the office and send me on my way with nothing more than a "sorry" and a very complementary reference letter. Crap crap crap crap crap. Maybe I'll get back to you when I'm done with my meltdown.

Death

I'm well aware that the scale of this blog discussion has been heavily tipping in the Life direction lately, what with Critter and the garden and all. It's been all about birth and growth and cultivation of life. But, what about death? I'm not ignoring it. It's a fundamental part of everything; so first, it can't really be ignored and second, I still actually feel like it's so very important to open space and dialogue about it.

But I feel a little stuck. Like some kind of writer's block for the swirling world of thoughts that I want to share. Any of you random readers out there have any questions or prompts for me? A little help over here??

Actually, I'm really excited about the potential to start a new endeavor. As far as I'm concerned, volunteer work is one of the greatest things ever, and I've found an avenue to pursue about which I'm really excited. It's called a Death Café, I heard about it on NPR, and it looks like I may be partnering up with another Austin woman who is interested in hosting one of these with me. Here is the Death Café blog site:

 http://www.deathcafe.com/

In a nutshell, it's an event hosted by two people-- one person plays primary host role and the other primary facilitator role-- and the idea is that people attend to discuss death. There are so many directions I imagine going with events like this, so I'm really eager to get it started. Hopefully, by the end of Spring, we'll have one organized and put out there to interested Austin residents. So far I have plenty of ideas (as I'm sure my potential partner does too), so all we are left needing will be a venue and all the food and administrative details ironed out.

In other life/death discussion news, I think I'll start a book list. Right now I'm reading The Gift of Therapy, by Irvin Yalom, which has at least one chapter on death. Other books that I can remember off the top of my head include, but are certainly not limited to: Man's Search for Meaning, by Victor Frankl; Dying Well, by Ira Byock; and all the Kubler-Ross books. I'll get back to you on this one as I remember them and read more....

Another day, another post

Someday, these posts will slow down again, but for now I'll just keep on spewing my thoughts. You see, my new-ish job (3 months in now) offers very little to do in the way of actual work, so I find myself with lots and lots... and LOTS of free time to read, research, exercise, stretch, FB stalk, think, eat, write, and eat some more. For a while I wanted to make a good showing in case they were checking my internet history, so I mostly stayed offline if it wasn't brief and/or somewhat work related. At this point though, whatever. I'm pretty sure the Bossfolks know that I'm doing everything in my power to scrape this dry barrel for work to do, but there just won't be any unless the partnering doc steps it up.... And I really hope that happens. I LOVE doing what I'm supposed to be doing according to my job description and it is a fundamentally important thing in my values system to feel productive, so I'm going a little nuts bored out of my freaking mind over here.

As a side note, I'm feeling better today and thank goodness for bangs. I just scratched my forehead only to find a dried booger, courtesy of apparently stealthy, loose bats from my nose cave when I washed my face this morning. Nice.

The other day I wrote a long email to a friend who lives out of state. In return, he wrote a long email back. This is one of those friends that you touch base with every few months or so without either side needing a play-by-play of every detail that's going on in your respective lives, and he's a writer, so it's always good, long emails whenever we do correspond. We have a history of exchanging interesting articles and books we've read and movies/documentaries we've seen in addition to the nutshell encapsulation of our lives at any given moment. Ok ok, he actually is the one to send me most of the articles, but I do like reading them, so I'm going to pretend I'm that intellectually savvy. So, as I wrote to him I followed that formula: the nutshell happenings, books, questions and commentary for him about his life.... yadda yadda. And I said very little about being pregnant.

This friend of mine, who has no interest in being around babies or children, kind of felt like I left him hanging. In fact, it occurs to me that a lot of people seem to have forgotten that there's anything else to talk about. It's baby madness! Don't get me wrong, I get it. I wouldn't want people NOT to ask, really, because I appreciate the sentiment and the care and I know I totally do this to other friends and family: How are you feeling? Do you have any names picked out? What is the baby's room going to look like? Are you excited? Don't you just LOVE being pregnant?

And the answers to those questions:

Pretty good, all in all
Yes, for a boy. No for a girl
I have no earthly clue, but I want it to have lots of natural light and books
Of course!
No, not really.

I generally try to redirect when it comes to answering that last question, as I'm pretty sure "no" is the wrong answer. I'm pretty sure my eyes are supposed to twinkle, I'm supposed to smile like there's Vaseline on my teeth, and I'm supposed to go on and nauseatingly on about how magical and wonderful the experience is and how I love it so and how I'm going to miss it. But no. It's cool and really interesting and all--it really is totally different and amazing and I certainly wouldn't trade it in-- but I also would not say I love being pregnant or that I think I'm going to miss it.

Based on some of the experiences others have shared with me, I'm having a really easy pregnancy, so I'm not complaining (much). My body just doesn't feel like mine anymore, in sensation or form or ability, and that irks me. Well, the form doesn't irk me so much as the sensation and ability. I actually like that I'm starting to "see" Critter. I don't like that I feel more (even more than usual) awkward than alluring or appealing, and my sex drive has plummeted-- this is due to both a legit chemical shift in my noggin as well as my own self-conscious, distorted thinking that I guess I need to get over. I will say it's challenging to get into the groove when your lingerie no longer fits and your candles flare up with any and all accidental, Critter-induced gaseous emissions. Oh, that's super hot.... Moving on, while I DO like that our bodies have the capacity to pull a stunt like elastin given the structural dynamics of birthing a child, I don't much like that I'm more prone to injury. I'm accustomed to being relatively active, loving to run, walk, bike, dance, do yoga and capoeira, and at least attempt whatever other activities and shenanigans come up. I've been known to do cartwheels in the street.... so I don't like that I pulled a muscle and it won't seem to heal. Wah f'ing wah.

To sum up my "no" answer, this whole pregnancy business is amazing and fascinating. I feel a deep and sincere love that I get to grow and bring my Critter into the world, but I do not "love" the experience, itself, of being pregnant.

Part of me feels guilty, like my whole world of thoughts, feelings, and behaviors SHOULD be loving all of this experience and I should be gushing about it. Part of me feels like every conversation I have should revolve around the development of Critter; like Critter should be the only thing I know how to talk about anymore. Well, Critter IS now the center of my universe, but that doesn't mean the other planets and stars have shrunk out of existence. Critter's arrival means I want to do and experience and live more. I feel like I've been given the task of guiding this kid, as best I can, through our Universe, so Critter brings renewed life to everything. That said, I guess maybe it's not so bad that I'm not hung up on duckies or bunnies, or pastel purple or vibrant orange, or breast pumps or strollers, or any of the other baby things that will have their moment to fall into place. And I trust that it WILL all fall into place. Sunshine and I have plenty of wonderful friends and family who all have a crap ton of no-longer-needed baby stuff they're just itching to unload on us, so bring it on! I seriously love hand-me-downs, and I also seriously believe there will be plenty of time and opportunity for me to smother every single one of those friends and relatives with kid talk for the long rest of our lives.

And then there are mornings like today, where anxiety washes over me as I realize I have been feeling fundamentally happy. I realize I've been starting to fly again.... which has historically ended in a devastating crash and burn. Weird. I guess I am one of those people now who finds herself afraid to be too happy. I don't think I used to be like this, but maybe I'm wrong. Maybe because I don't think I deserve it. Maybe I don't feel like I have much to offer someone else's happiness. Maybe I think anyone in their right mind will tire of my imperfections, faults, and quirks. Maybe I'm a novelty. Not a staple. Maybe I think happiness is fleeting. I guess this is where caution bleeds over into just plain irrational fear and I feel the hobgoblins scratching a little louder.... And maybe I shouldn't have posted this.

It really is weird to think I'll actually be a mom by the end of the year. Hell, by the end of the summer! For years I thought I'd be one to adopt or just not have any kids at all. I took the singular stance that there were already enough people in the world, why add to it when there are so many children available for adoption into loving arms. In fact, I still maintain a healthy respect for adoption and for those who choose not to have kids. I could actually still see myself adopting at some point, but that's a conversation with Sunshine for another day.

So, what changed? I really don't know. I think it was the Fall of 2007 or 2008 when it hit me: I suddenly realized that I wanted kids. Now, mind you, it wasn't even necessarily about having my own biological kids at that time, but rather, simply, a family of my own. Children to raise. A baby.... But my husband at the time most definitely did not want kids--"Uhhhh, how about I just get you a monkey?"-- so any method of acquiring a baby beyond deceit and coercion on my part was pretty much out of the question. Well, actually, he did say eventually that he'd have kids with me if I really wanted them. I did, but what I was coming to realize was that I absolutely, for so very many reasons, starting with and including the fact that he had no actual desire to be a father, did not want them with him. Poof. Eyes opened, and I saw my marriage for what it was: painfully mismatched, lonely, and unhappy. Fast-forward through failed attempts to find a way to possibly make it work: we got divorced in 2009.

Back in the dating world, my expectations and goals were different. In addition to wanting someone with whom I could share much more than just space in a house, I wanted someone who wanted a family, however we made it happen-- be it biological, adoption, or feral child wriggling through the dog door. In my more irrational moments, I'd hope for an accident, feeling like there was no other choice for me. I'd felt like I'd never find the right partner who wanted to share a life with me, and my ovaries and uterus were just going to cough, sputter, shrivel up, and drop right out of my body, withered, pathetic, and unused. And here we meet my biological clock. That's when, in this state of mind I somehow decided to date a younger man. I had a house of my own, a pretty settled life, and was well on my way to entering my new career. He had a zillion roommates, unpaid tickets, and his car was getting repossessed. I was also thinking two year time frame to have kids. He was thinking ten. Let's see... I live in a world where most of my friends are kind of struggling on two incomes, not to mention they have already started AND FINISHED having their children; and now I'm expected to wait ANOTHER ten years for him to get his shit together so we can have our first kid when I'm FORTY?? And he wanted four of them. Hmmmmm.... community, partnership, responsible adult notions, and support concerns aside, starting at 40 obviously posed a massive problem. You see, men don't have to worry about the same kind of expiration dates women do-- psychological, social, or biological. Somehow, that point eluded him (as I think it either eludes or freaks out many free-spirited men who don't have to worry about such constraints) and also illuminated all the other ways we weren't right for one another. I'm happy to say he's still in my life as a peripheral friend, as are other mismatched exes who still make for good friends, and I hope he finds himself ready, with the right person, to have his four someday.

What the hell? Why am I writing my post divorce dating history. There's been plenty of drama and my fair share of trauma, but really it's just a series of misses, obviously, just like anyone else's dating history before they find a good match. So, to wrap up, for years I didn't want kids; then I really really did; then major trauma struck and I wasn't so sure anymore-- about anything at all in my life, really-- as I couldn't see the sun for a while. Now, the sun is shining brightly; the trauma has been relegated to the shadows where I ignore it while it pitifully scratches and whines for periodic attention. Life is good. No. Life is great. Critter is growing and set to make his or her grand debut in August, and so Sunshine and I are cultivating all kinds of life and family together.

HOORAY, DIRT!

Yesterday was like Christmas morning, or Easter morning, or Halloween, or the day you wake up and know you're going to Disney World. Pulled muscle and all, I couldn't wait to dive into all that dirt!

But let me back up first, and give credit where credit is due and outline the basic preparations we made Saturday. I can't even begin to describe how much I appreciate Sunshine. While he's pretty stoked about the notion of growing our own food, gardening is a far cry from his thing. He can build anything and fix anything--and he has a garage full of gadgets, doodads, spare parts, and big machines that attest to his talents-- but growing stuff out of a dirt pile? Not so much. All that said, while I tried to keep movement to a minimum due to this stupid back injury-- I assembled a composter (with the help of his tools), cleaned house, researched, and planned the layout of the garden-- Sunshine BUSTED HIS ASS outside all day and into the dark evening to make sure our garden was perfect and ready for me to plant on Sunday. If it were left to me, even without an injury, the whole thing would've probably been lopsided, wonky, and rigged together with rocks, duct tape, and safety pins. In fact, the only part of the garden structure that's not perfectly level is the part I put together, but you can't tell by the photo, so I'm still going to pretend it's perfect.


Our first steps to implementing all the plans we'd made started Saturday, and I can honestly say I can't remember anyone at any time in my adult life putting so much effort and care into something for me. Don't get me wrong; I have a wonderful community of family and friends, but I'm pretty accustomed to taking on most strenuous activities mostly alone. Mostly, I like it that way. I don't feel like a burden nor do I feel dependent; but perhaps that's why so many ideas have historically been largely neglected or half-assed: I haven't had all the requisite skills,
strength, or time; not to mention it can get lonely. Not an excuse. Just a thought. Anyhow, you see, I have this distinct fear of being a burden or a nag or a pest. I don't want to ask anyone to do anything for me or with me that they don't want to do and/or that I could conceivably do for myself; and I don't want to guilt, manipulate, or cajole anyone into doing anything they're not up for. Underlying that, though, has always been a desire that, without begging or nagging, someone would want to show up for life's adventures with me and for me, just as I would want to show up for the journey with and for them. At the risk of sounding way overly mushy and sentimental.... After two failed marriages which both, for very different reasons, lacked real or balanced partnership, I feel beyond grateful to be living this life and cultivating new life with Sunshine as my companion. This garden means so much more to me, in so many ways, than I think he might imagine. Maybe someday I'll go into it, but that's a little too much soul to bare for now.

And so, enough of that and back to getting into Sunday's nitty gritty dirty dirt! While sweet Sunshine understandably and wisely rested his very weary bones for an extra hour or two Sunday morning, I--like I said-- felt like a kid itching to tear into my gift. So, after a quick and groggy smooch, I was hardly through buckling by crusty old overalls before I was already out the door to grab a few more pots and some coffee while it was still too cold outside to play. Another bit of TMI: cold weather does a f'ing number on my preggo titties. Felt like someone took a razor blade to my skittle nips! Still wincing when I got to HEB, I was half an impulse away from stuffing my hot coffee mug right down my shirt. Probably best that I held off. Social norms and whatnot. Once they warmed up, though, I got a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, and veggies on the table to get the day started-- Sunshine on his own projects, and me in the dirt.

Over the course of the day I sculpted a wide, gentle mound for spaghetti squash in a separate 4x4 space; and I divided up a 4x8 space with another mound for zucchini as well as rows for tomatoes and cucumbers along the backside for trellis support, and rows for green beans, eggplant, and baby romaine lettuce in the remaining space. In large pots outside, I'm hoping to sprout okra, chard, onions, radishes, and carrots; and various peppers were planted in small pots-- habanero, serrano, jalepeno, and cayenne. Sunshine, among so many other talents, also makes incredible salsa. Inside, I planted one sweet bell pepper alongside some old green bean seeds that are sprouting out of an egg carton planter in the window.

In the middle of the afternoon, we took a break from our respective playtime to eat some lunch. While we sat there, crusty with sawdust and dirt, respectively, enjoying the moment with open doors and windows, allowing the savory scent of sautéed onions, garlic, serranos, and homemade burger patties to mix with the breeze through the house, it was inspiring to look at our plates and imagine the fast-approaching day when just about everything on it-- the spinach, avocado, tomatoes, carrots, onions, garlic, and peppers-- would come from our own backyard. Hell, maybe even everything on the plate: raccoon messes with my garden, I'll grab Kiddo's pink pellet gun and make a burger out of that sucker varmint!

Why, hello my Giddy. How nice to have found you in so many places this weekend. Critter belly and I had a blast getting dirty and cultivating new life; so let's hang out again soon, watch this lifecycle unfold, and keep passing go together.

The world seems like such a shithole and I frequently find myself wishing I had the skills and resources to live off the grid, so instead I'm planting a garden and compiling a list of natural home remedies. The concept of sustainability and being connected to sustenance has been a strong undercurrent in my thinking for several years, but my attempts at following through have so far been fleeting, if not all together token. This weekend, I'd like to start changing that. This weekend will be about passing go by cultivating a better connection to living that I hope will become not just a part of my life, but an integral part of Critter's.

18 weeks