I Gotta Be Me!

I'm writing this post not because I have some story to tell, but just because I haven't written in awhile. I hate abandoned blogs, and I don't want mine to be that way. It's not because I don't have time to write anymore (okay, yeah, I have a lot less free time than I did before, but there's always a way to MAKE time), and it's not because I don't have the will, either. I think it has to do with the fact that a) Facebook is such an enormous outlet for what my (and JiffyPop's) life is that it almost seems redundant to come on here, and b) I have become a videotape monster, which has become it's own blog itself.

I managed to buy this super cheap video camera. It's not great quality, obviously, but it takes decent footage (if you're in bright light and hold still). Since JiffyPop was very small, I started videotaping mostly her, but also our life in New Zealand. The land around our house, the places we visit, the dog, the cats, the chooks (now dead), etc. At first it was just short little clips of JiffyPop progressing on that linear map of milestones. I strung all the little clips together into one large movie and sent it off to the grandparents. No one wants to receive 800 photographs anymore, and the internet has made letter writing almost obsolete (sadly). But these grandparents don't have quite the online savvy as us and so telling them "Just go see the new photos of JiffyPop on Facebook" doesn't really cut it (though to be fare to Beau's mother, she does...try).

As time went on, my 30-second clips of Jiffy Pop wobbling around during "Tummy Time" became longer clips of me lifting the camera to the gorgeous scenery around us, and me at first shyly making a comment here and there, to what it is now -- my big mouth going on and on about what's going on in my life, my partner's life, my baby's life and all our lives combined. It's not QUITE a video diary (the tendency for a couple of the grandmas to become highly critical is something I always seek to avoid for personal annoyance sake), but at least a catalogue of how our lives are going. I kind of like it. And it's nice to have one small cd case to chronicle JiffyPop's life instead of 10 photo albums stuffed in a corner.

There's also what I mentioned in a previous blog. Since JiffyPop's birth, I've developed the irrational fear that I will die and leave her, and though that doesn't plague me every day, it does come upon me here and there (usually from something on TV or a book) and it chills me to my core. In some way, these videos feel like I could leave here something of me, in case I should go. Beau hates when I talk so morbidly, but it's true. (Not to mention he was the one who brought up talk again last night of who the hell could we make JiffyPop's godparent(s) in case we die and how we should stipulate the use of our life insurance payout).

Hence, long explanation of why I don't really blog anymore. I can't stand to hear myself go on and on anymore, even if it is in written form. It's true I tend to be a bit more open here, which I avoid on video, but still. Telling the same story over and over sucks.

ANYWAY, I will make a conscious effort to be here more, for my own sake. It's not just about the blog, it's about getting back a bit more ME after becoming MOM. I've always been highly sensitive (and honestly, a bit critical) of the fact that many of my friends seem to have disappeared once they became mothers, and it's something I totally understand now, but still want to avoid. I want to be "J, who has a daughter," not "J the Mother," even if I think JiffyPop is the most amazing creation EVER.

So, I started taking yoga again, went to an amazing art seminar (I hadn't painted in AGES), and at least started thinking about my 85% completed book again. I had shoved my book aside after JiffyPop's birth, and have been feeling guilty and wistful about it since. I have just pulled it out of its hiding place, dusted it off, went through it and made careful piles, and then left it sitting there on the coffee table for the next seven days. Oh well, that's some progress made.

And for 3 days we are back in Hamilton while Beau does some teaching training -- the city of JiffyPop's birth. It's been 9 months and I have just as warm and loving feelings toward the place as I did back then. Gosh, I'd love to live here, though already it sounds like getting a job here is tough. Pff, that's how it is everywhere, especially when you're a "foreigner." Gotta keep trying though. It's been 3 years in the bush and we're both just about at the end of our tether. Anyway, in the meantime, I've done a shameful amount of shopping (and frankly, loved every minute), had some okay food, and as soon as JiffyPop wakes up from this nap, I plan on taking her over to the NICU (baby intensive care) where she was born to say thanks and show them how great she's doing. I'm a little nervous about it since they always had super strict rules there (though they were never crystal clear with you what they were, just when you violated them), and I am hoping it's a friendly, instead of intensely awkward visit. We'll see. If not, there's always a nice cafe to sit and eat away my social embarrassment.

A Baby Changes Everything

Before you have a baby, you hear over and over, "You cannot imagine how much your life will change when you have kids. It changes COMPLETELY."

I heard that so often, I was expecting it. Perhaps, expecting it too much. 'Cause the truth is, I don't really feel it.

Maybe it's because I (we) just have one child. Maybe it's because overall she's a very good and happy baby. Maybe because I currently have the luxury of staying home with her and not juggling a career. I dunno. Even Beau said his life hasn't really changed that much. He still does all the same things he did before. Now, it's just that Jiffy Pop is there too.

There is one thing that changes, or I should say, changed in ME. My mindset. My thought process. I feel I have to be more responsible, more careful with myself, because now I'm someone's mother and she deserves to grow up with a Mom. It's not like I was ever a risk taker or irresponsible before, it's just now I don't want to take any shortcuts or blow things off.

This coming Thursday I'm having surgery. I'll leave out the details, cause, you know....eww...but it's just a minor surgery and I should be sent home the same day. It's something I was supposed to have done a long time ago, but then I got pregnant with Jiffy Pop and they had to wait til after her birth to prevent an accidental miscarriage.

And I'm not one to get scared by hospitals or surgery. I never worry about stuff like that. But all of the sudden, I'm a little nervous. I mean, it's minor surgery, but they ARE knocking me out and people die on the table sometimes...you know...things happen.

Now, I can't NOT have this surgery, and I know, really, it's fine and it has to be done. It's not keeping me up at night or anything, but suddenly, in the back of my mind, there's a tiny fear...

The fear of leaving behind a tiny baby without a mommy.

I wonder at what point this fear fades away. At what point am I "old enough" and not have to have this constant concern in the back of my head?

Maybe never?

Mad PROUD Skillz, Mad DISAPPOINTMENT, Part II

I've been wanting to get a Graduate Diploma of Teaching for the past few years, but obviously, living out in no-man's land, it hasn't exactly been possible. It's just a one-year degree though, and not only would I be able to legally teach, but I'd also be able to pursue what I really want to do, which is be a literacy specialist. I want to help children to learn how to read, and then hopefully, to love it as passionately as I do.

Distance learning has really increased in New Zealand lately, so I started calling all the universities with Education departments to see if I could do this one-year degree from home. I was going to be a stay at home Mom anyway, it seemed perfect.

One big snag -- all of these universities required a one-time, on-campus stay of 1-2 weeks in the first week of February. Then I would be home free to, well, be at home for the rest of the year. Sounds fine, except that Jiffy Pop was due about February 3rd. All the universities said the same thing, "Sorry, you'll just have to wait another year."

Argh!

A few weeks after the Maori language class had ended (and me STILL pregnant), a woman from a Maori university came to Beau's school to talk to us. Many of the people teaching at his school are not truly officially certified and the university had a three-year distance learning program for them to get all the credentials they needed. It would work out well for those in our community who live far from active civilization. The school's staff was told over and over that this university was very keen to work around all our needs. So, along with some staff members and several locals also interested, I came to the meeting myself, hoping that perhaps this could finally be my way to get that damn diploma. Also, it was the cultural part of this Maori university I was really hoping to work in my favor. I'll explain, but first, let me get to the start of the meeting.

Three Maori women walked into the room, smiling and acknowledging several of the teachers and locals whom they obviously knew. We then all settled around a large conference table. The three university women, interested people (about 12 of them, all Maori), and me, white-ass cracker girl.

As in Maori tradition, the first university representative stood up and began speaking in Maori, greeting everyone. Then she did her pepeha (short personal genealogy) for the group. Everyone warmly greeted her, and it then moved on to the next two women who did the same.

Then the first teacher stood up to do her intro. It was coming MY way around the table, not the other way around! She too recited her pepeha and greeted the group, and so rose the next person. There was only one more person between her and I. They didn't go very quickly, but it wouldn't be long before it was my turn.

I gulped and looked around the table at the people there. Should I do my own pepeha? I mean, I'm the American sitting at a table of Maori New Zealanders. Would it be appropriate, presumptuous, weird? Would I be like some sort of novelty? A trained dog? My heart began pounding hard.

But wait a minute, this is what I was taught in language class. This was what I was supposed to do, right? Hmmmm. Okay, I was going to do it!

My heart was really banging in my chest now.

Slowly, I stood up and I immediately had to make myself manually breathe. I steadied myself, then plunged in with full force. This is my name! This is my mountain! This is my lake! This is my ancestor! This is my people!

There was a sudden silence, and the mouths of the three university women dropped open. Their eyes bulged out. They looked at each other in amazement.

I felt a sudden burning flush and knew my neck and face were becoming beet red. I'm as pale as they come, and when I get very embarrassed, the change in skin color is rather dramatic. But I kept going...I was almost done! I finished my pepeha and self-introduction, then switched to English where I said I was hoping to do the graduate diploma. Then, now shaking slightly and with my skin on fire, I smiled self-consciously and sat down.

The table erupted in a loud, collective whooop. The three women let out several exclamations voicing their shock, delight and admiration. I felt so proud and thrilled, but also completely horrified at what I knew my skin looked like at that moment. I have to say though, I hadn't felt that proud and that good in a long time. There aren't a lot of moments like that in one's adulthood.

The crowd began to settle, and the woman next to me, Ella, a Maori woman in her late 50's who often substituted at the school, leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Oh great, thanks a fucking lot, J!"

She then stood up and did her own introduction. In English.

Anyway...

I've lived in a lot of places and haven't seen the amount of love and acceptance given to the presence and care for children as I have in Maori culture. Each time I take Jiffy Pop to Beau's school for a visit, my heart is just warmed at the amount of love she receives. Everyone is an aunty, uncle or nanny. Everyone wants to care for her. She is entirely accepted and welcomed in the workplace. The first time I brought Jiffy Pop to the school, one woman ("Helen") held out her arms, said, "Come to Nanny Helen," and after cradling the baby in her arms, promptly walked off to a staff meeting where she stayed with her for the next two hours. Imagine trying to bring a baby into YOUR next staff meeting.

Well, this university provides for women with babies like me! Though I was due to give birth to Jiffy Pop shortly after the university program began, they have it set up so I could stay in my own room at the university, breastfeed and care for Jiffy Pop, and do my several days of required on-campus time before going back home. I could even bring her to class! This is the Maori way. I couldn't believe my luck. I'd be able to get my degree, WHILE here in the bush, do the majority of it online and be totally supported on campus! Wow...beyond thrilled.

Not so fast, J. For reasons that are complicated and still a bit hazy to me, the particular degree *I* wanted to do was not available to me. The rest of the room was interested in doing a three-year teaching degree (basically, a B.A. in Education), but mine was a post-grad one.

I was devastated. I sat there for a minute, sort of soaking in my disappointment. Then, realizing the meeting was going to continue for some time for the REST of the room, I self-consciously whispered my goodbyes and left.

Fuck.

Cloth Diapers are from the Devil

After Jenn's comment, I'm a bit nervous about the whole diaper thing...and since many of you have procreated in the past few years, maybe you can let me know how it went for you? (Thanks Pee Pee Sheep!).

Right now we have 5 packages of newborn disposable diapers - one of each brand on the market.

The diaper thing is a bit of a problem for us for a couple reasons. One, we're down to one car now and one income, so the drive to the nearest town isn't always easy or affordable. We wanted to stock up on diapers now so we didn't get stuck without them later and then REALLY be screwed.

The cloth "nappies" used here cost a LOT and seem overly complicated to me. Beau and I are still stuck in the olden days, since we were expecting the basic piece of cloth and safety pins. Little did we know now it consists of an expensive "outer" nappy and then you get like 3 "inserts." Buying more "inserts" is not cheap either. Since apparently a newborn goes through 8-10 nappies a day, it's a big investment for us to start stocking up on these too, especially since the baby will be born in the summer when our water supply, and therefore our ability to do tons of laundry, will be a constant issue.

We were at the enormous Baby Factory this past weekend thinking of putting some things on layaway (or as they say here, "layby"). The manager was giving me a very long, but very informative lecture on all things baby when she stopped in mid-sentence and gasped. Beau was some distance away from us in the diaper section. In his hand was a package of the old-school cloth nappies - he had found some.

"He's not seriously thinking of buying those, is he?" she asked appalled.

"Umm....yes?" (We still thought we would invest in a FEW cloth diapers, just to have them on hand if we ran out of disposables).

"Oh no no!" she scolded and made a beeline for him, me trotting after her.

She then gave us a lecture on the whole cloth diaper phenom and told us that they tend to leak anyway, despite the thick inner and thinner outer layers. She finally relented and said if we wanted to buy one package of the old school diapers, that might not be such a terrible thing, so they could also have other uses like a puke rag or a baby wrap.

Argh, not such a big deal really. It'd be a nice if money and distance wasn't an issue and we could have a nice big stock of both kinds ready and waiting. Ahh well. Thoughts?

Sad, But Okay

Originally, I had no intention of writing about this, but for some reason, I've changed my mind. I think perhaps I feel as if I don't write this stuff down, then I lose the majority of it to my crappy memory. And I don't want to forget. Every once in awhile I read stuff from my blog (Thailand days) and go, "Holy shit, I had forgotten that even happened!" and it's something big, not something minor and humorous like how I almost drove my motorcycle into an elephant's ass.

In about 2 weeks I was going to announce that I was pregnant. It was that close. But as of a couple days ago, I started miscarrying. I'm okay, though in some pain and pretty unhappy about how this all plays out physically. But emotionally and mentally I'm suprisingly okay. Not fine, not great, but okay. Still, my reaction has somewhat surprised me. But I know I'm not in denial.

And the sad thing is, it's because of all my friends' pain. Nearly all my friends have had babies, the vast majority within the past five years. And as this all started going on, I started learning that the majority of them, (though not all), were having at least one miscarriage before successfully giving birth. Initially, this stunned me. I had always thought miscarriages were one of those rare, tragic things that occassionally a woman experienced, but as more friends started going through them, I saw them for what they were -- sad, but somewhat common.

I mentioned in a past blog about a co-worker who had had one -- I believe her second -- and had missed quite a bit of work. She was devastated. And my boss, who is really a wonderful woman, had shocked me by leaning in and saying, "You don't understand, J., they're really common. They happen all the time." I thought she had been a little callous at the time, but as time went on, I learned she was right. And more of my friends went through this, and they were all so sad. It's because I've watched so many others go through this pain that I had already braced for it myself, and in some way, thought I would be lucky if I did not experience it. I'm considered a high-risk pregnancy by default (high blood pressure and age). I wasn't pessimistic, just prepared.

I also learned that miscarriages, in Nature's view, are a good thing. Sometimes a fetus should never develop -- something is horribly wrong with it. And this is Nature's, and the body's, way of saying, "No, this baby would not make it. We need to start over." Nature is hardly ever warm and fuzzy, just watch Animal Planet for an hour or two to catch that. She's brutal, but she knows what she's doing.

I had that, "You've made it past the danger zone" ultrasound scheduled for next week, but I started to bleed, and we all know what that means. What's worse, is that the hospital is over an hour's drive away and Beau works 20 minutes in the opposite direction, so I had to wait for him to get a sub to cover him at work and come get me. We finally got to the place, and had the ultrasound, and it was all but confirmed. I was checked into the hospital, and after waiting FOREVER (it was the day before a long holiday weekend), was surprisingly greeted by an American obstetrician. They took blood, gave me the RH- shot, and told me to come back in a few days. Finally, at the end of a long day, Beau and I drove home, a little sad, but okay. I hate how this is being kind of dragged out. I want it to end, but I'll follow the doctor's advice.

In addition, Beau was unbelievably amazing during all this, which I think also made it a lot easier, unlike one friend who was dealing with painfully difficult husband while going through the same thing (she eventually had a beautiful baby boy, but got divorced soon after). Beau was there every step of the way, though all he could do for the most part was sit there. I think by the end of the day I loved him twice as much as when I had woken up that morning.

Well, it'll be a few more months of waiting before we can "try" again, ugh. I got pregnant SUPER fast due to my anally-organized tendencies, vigilence with my ovulation kits, and a little help from Beau, of course. I thought we were super lucky, and the timing was great. Unfortunately, the first couple months SUCKED. I lost 20lbs, hated nearly all food (Me! a Foodie!), got exhausted after any kind of minimal exertion, and of course, was a bit crabby. It was like having the stomach flu for a month. But I was finally starting to feel better. I was beginning to get excited. Now, we'll have to go through all that again.

Anyway, I had one weird encounter which I wanted to write down, since it's kind of a local cultural thing, and that's one of the main reasons I started this blog in the first place - to record this kind of stuff....

At the end of the day when we had returned from the hospital and were back in our little town, Beau had to go to one of the teacher's homes to pick up his keys from her. Her husband, also a teacher, came out of the house with her. The husband made a gesture at me to smile, and I obliged, though inwardly I was a little bit annoyed. Beau had left the engine running (hint hint) and I stayed in the car. I was NOT feeling particularly social and just wanted to get back home. But of course, in this small town, word travels fast and the word "family" is something you hear a lot. A lot, a lot.

The husband strolled slowly up to my car window, a strange, twisted look on his face. As he reached me, he immediately started in on me, scolding and berating me. Basically, the gist was that we were all a family in this community, we were all together and supported each other no matter what. When there was an emergency, we all drop whatever we are doing and rush to aid that person (he noted that his wife had had plans that day but had, of course, cancelled them to cover for Beau). And Beau and I are not alone, should not act like we're alone, we are supported, etc. etc.

Part of me was touched by this...um...slap in the face, though I felt sheepish and had to keep saying things like, "I know, thank you, I know, yes yes." This is a very kind couple who I have always really liked, and yes, I do know where he was coming from and I did appreciate it. But I was also a little upset that I was sort of being harrassed, especially at such a vulnerable time.

Beau and I are a lot alike -- we can be very social if we have to be, but truthfully, we're homebodies and like to live quietly -- going to movies or out to dinner together. We're really not the types to rush out and proclaim such news (well, um, except for on my BLOG, *cough*). And the LAST thing I wanted was the entire community to know, to have people coming up to me left and right to comfort me. I appreciate well-wishers, but from a distance. I just need a couple of people I care about to care. Anything else makes me feel uncomfortable and uneasy and I feel as if I have to put on some kind of fake face to satisfy them and get them away from me as soon as possible.

Does that sound unbelievably rude? Unfeeling? I don't mean it to be. I guess I just want to have some true sincerity around me and though I may be touched by people's good intentions, for me, it makes the situation worse rather than better.

Anyway, I have mixed feelings about my cultural encounter. I know that in this indigenous community, that's how things are done, but I think I am going to find that pretty tough in the future. But as always, you have to try and fit in to the place you live. "When in Rome, do as the Romans do" hasn't survived this long for nuthin.

And now, I'm going to go and lay down and read for a bit. Perhaps several months in the future I'll have some better news for you all. :)

Babies, Mistakes, and Leave Me Alone!

Happy Mother's Day to all, and particularly to the three mommies I personally know who gave birth within the past few weeks: Andrea, Cabol, and my sister Lindsey!!! Hooray for little Zane, Aniela, and James. The baby boom continues...
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Mother's Day has always been awkward for me. My mother had me my first few years of life in the chilly Midwest before she shipped me out to my grandparents to live the rest of my childhood in the sunny Southwest. So, essentially, I have two mothers - the one who gave birth to me and the one who raised me. It sure makes hunting for Mother's Day cards a chore, since all the ones addressed to "mother" talk about all the "memories" during childhood, and all the "grandmother" ones talk about her milk and cookies and sweet ways (my grandparents were pretty strict). Trying to come up with a card that is both appropriate, but not emotionally neutral is tough. Not to mention that my mother and grandmother have always been completely at odds with each other and use me jealously as a pawn, so like two bratty children, I always have to make sure they get the SAME gifts (cost-wise) so no one seems favored. Lord.

This year I got my grandmother a silver cross which she adored (and she' s one tough broad to please), and my mother got a gift certificate for Home Depot. Right there you can see the differences in their personalities.

I am currently the only female in my entire family who has not even conceived. The various females of my bloodline seem quite offended by this on some level since every single one of them has given birth somewhere between their 19th and 21st year, NOT a goal I had ever intended to reach. My mother has been the only one who has refrained from the constant, blunt-ass, "When are you going to get pregnant? You're getting really old," demands I receive via telephone every single time I talk to one of these women. I thought she would lay off since a) she's one of those women who probably should never have had children since she kinda hates them, and b) she was heat-of-a-thousand-suns pissed off when my sister accidentally got pregnant at 21. Well, the wait is over! During our Mother's Day call I got the question. I told her not to ask me again. She claimed she was only asking because she was at the baby shower for another impregnated family member (via marriage) and how at that party my step-brother's wife was harangued for her lack of conception (they've only been married like a year and a half), and so, well....well, there was no real excuse, she was just searching for one.

This is nothing new, it's like being unmarried in your 30's. People start asking you why you haven't done it or telling you with that condescending sneer that you better "hurry up." I've been asked about both since my 20's and it never bothered me too much, but now, in my 34th year, it's beginning to really bug the shit out of me.

WHAT IS THE DEAL?! Why is there still this pressure, this push for every woman to have children? I thought society was kinda getting past this. And why is it mostly from other women, particularly those who have already had children? When you're single, there's always the "recently-married" who suddenly feel like they have to try and get YOU married off now (REALLY annoying). This is a similar situation. I've often said that I have a few friends who have made the conscious choice to NOT have children and I applaud them! Anyone who thinks they should NOT be a parent and then does the responsible thing and not become one, has my full admiration and respect. That's a mature decision.

I never intended to get married again, but then came Beau, so that changed my life. And though I've always intended to have children someday, it's never been a good time and I have taken great pains to ensure that I didn't make a "mistake." There's nothing wrong with "mistakes," since I myself was one. My own mother was attending college -- the first person in our entire family to do so, so there was lots of expectation -- and then oops, sometime after some college party, I made my appearance. I've never felt bad about this at all, and never really understood why people get so upset when they discover they were "mistakes." Hell, I bet at least 50% of all babies in the world were not planned. Not to mention, it's not like I had anything to do with it.

So, let this be known to all out there -- DO NOT ask me anymore if I am going to have children! It's a private matter, and maybe I will, maybe I won't, I really don't know. And if I don't have a baby, THAT'S OKAY. Besides, I'm sure I'll blog about it if it should happen, so it won't be a big secret. It'd be a lot more interesting than some of the sad sap crap I've been posting lately. Beau and I don't even have a house, nor truly stable jobs (I'm still temping during the day, Shop-n-Smiling at night, and Beau is substitute teaching during the day and Wally Worlding at night). And Beau is several years older than me, which is also a concern (for him). He doesn't want to wait forever, which I totally get, but like me, isn't eager to bring a child into the world when we're still a bit unstable.

When I told this to my grandmother over the weekend, she said, "But J., NO ONE is really ever ready for a baby!" Well, okay, sure, but wouldn't you want to at least not feel like you were having a baby during a time of chaos?

And with that lovely thought, a happy Mother's Day to you all, and to all a good night.

Friendly Baby Boom

Today I received a Valentine's Email from a one-month old baby. My good friend Stanna, whom I've known since the first grade, had little baby Ava at the end of the year. A real cutie, eh?

I mentioned it in passing previously, but there seems to be an unusual baby boom going on around me. Not literally, thankfully.

The fact that I have lived in so many different places, has meant that I have also had friends in different places, of all types and ages. Yet, they seem to all have gotten together and agreed to get knocked up around the same 18 month period. Just now, off the top of my head, I'm counting seven babies, either just recently expelled, or getting close to it. I didn't know I still knew seven people. Just last night I got an email from a co-worker back in NYC who I haven't talked to in awhile -- quite obviously since she's due to give birth in two weeks! One of my closest friends from the same job just got back from her own maternity leave this past Monday.

Most of these pregnancies were planned, some not-so-much, as in my own sister, who just a few months shy of graduating from college (from a school, no less, that has put my mother "in the poorhouse" for my sister to attend), is getting ready for her own birth. I have to hand it to her though, she has celebrated her own pregnancy with more gusto than many of my friends, which is really saying something. I don't know anyone else who got their swollen stomach painted in festive colors and then took artistic photos (which were pretty cool looking, actually).

I hope I don't sound callous. I've been a teacher, and loved it, so I do like children. But I also have a lot of weird, uncomfortable feelings toward other people's children and their excitement in regards to them. And don't get me started AGAIN on my boiling rage toward a woman wielding a baby stroller!

I guess I just don't know how to process it, so I'm writing, cause that usually helps me out. In this case, it doesn't seem to be. What am I feeling? Jealous? Hmm, no doesn't feel like that. Annoyance? Only sometimes. I really am happy for my friends' happy packages. Longing? I only get that every once in awhile after a vivid dream or stray pensive moment.

Hmm, I don't know. I'm 34 and still don't feel rushed about babies, though I admit to thinking about it more than when I was 24. It's still basically the same thought though, "Yeah, I want to, just NOT NOW." And if my aunt (who is 3 years older than I with 3 boys, spaced far apart), tells me ONE more time "You better hurry, J, TICK TOCK!" I am going to put my hands through the phone and strangle her.

I still want another cat though.

So, I'll just try to be "happy with the question" instead of reaching for the answer. I guess it's like one of those things where you see everyone going in one direction and even though you're not going that way, you think, "Well, it must be SOMETHING important if they're all going there."

And of course, I am happy for all of you who have recently or are getting ready to give birth (YIKES!). CONGRATULATIONS! I do admire those who make the conscious decision to go ahead and completely change their lives, forever. There's no more sleeping in, no more wild sex in the living room, no more selfish vacations, no more ME ME ME!

When in New Zealand, I went with Beau to a end-of-semester drink fest at the local bar with several other teachers (all women, all Maori). At one point, two of the younger ones I was sitting near began an interesting, deeply emphatic, conversation on their views of giving birth. They described it in terms I had never heard of before.
- "It was great! You feel like you're superwoman!"
- "You feel like a goddess! You are so strong and amazing!"

Had to be the first time I ever heard a woman describing the birthing process as "great."

They continued on to talk about their profound love for their children and the overwhelming honor and love they felt in being a mother, as well as the utmost security they got from living in a small "family" village, where they knew their children would always be cared for, and always loved. One woman showed me a beautiful bracelet she wore of three, intertwined silver bands. She said they represented her three children, that she never took it off, and she never wore any other jewelery. Despite the fact that raising children in a small village was completely NOT what I was interested in, I still was deeply touched by their feelings, and it has stuck with me today.

So, go on with your bad selves, Superwomen! Goddess of Maternity! Hooray!

Just one request, please please please do NOT send me a photo of the ultrasound. I don't mean to offend, but i have ZERO interest in that blurry, warped picture. I'm sure YOU can see the fingers and toes (and penis!) and all that. To me, it's a fuzzy mess. I don't even know how to comment on it when I get it. "Ooooh, loooook. Um."

Instead, just send me a pretty K-Mart photo after the baby is born. Put yourself in it too! I find YOU just as interesting as your baby and love the parent-child pics. Now THAT'S something I can really ooh and ahhh.