Sort of

I'm still in the coccoon, but there are changes afoot: Though I have nightmnares about my ex, (I had one last night) and still cry, on occasion, over him, I'm mostly happy, finding my rhythm with work, the house, my man and his boy. I'm getting there.

In fact, this morning, as B~ (the boy) opened the door to leave for school, he blew a kiss to me at the computer. He's a sweet kid. I get hugs and kisses from him regularly, so this was nothing new. I didn't have to break my stride at the keyboard to return the gesture. It is brand new, however, for him to call out, "love you!" For this, I put my hands down and turned fully to face him, thoughtfully marking the occasion, saying--what else?--"I love you too."

Yesterday, I overheard T~, the local school counselor / window and door guy ask B~ if I was his mother.

"She's my sort-of step-mother," B~ said.

"Your sort-of step-mother?" came the inquiring reply.

"Yeah," B~ answered, leaving T~ to wonder.

I'm not sure quite what I am either, or what I'll be when I emerge from this transformative process, or what I'll be writing about, but at least I'm something already, if only sort-of something, and at least I'm not the only one who wants to know!

Chrysalis

That's me right now, I'd like to think: deep in my dark coccoon, not-quite catepillar, not-quite butterfly, not quite sure yet what I want to say except that I haven't slipped into a coma or run off from Blogland entirely.

I'm focusing on work at the moment, which I must admit, I find overwhelming. I've over committed myself and I can't figure out how to uncommit, so I'm doing my best to push through, while at the same time keeping the tiniest bit of momentum in place on home improvements and family planning (more like family hoping) and a modest exercise regimen.

Ovulation is imminent.

Updates to come.

Feel the Breeze

Dear new and loyal readers,

I'm thinking about this blog a lot lately, though I have come to no conclusions as to how to proceed. I remind myself that everything will be easier a month from now when I'm out from under this terrible nose-to-the-grindstone work-crunch I'm currently oppressed/blessed with.

For those of you in suspense, yet again, no I'm not pregnant. But the next egg is on deck, taking its little practice swings and feeling like a winner. I'll keep you posted.

By the way, this is a photo from the trip J~ and I took to Mexico. Ah, how nice to know that not all that long ago I was lying under a palm tree...

Fresh Air

My blog needs a change .

Lately I haven't had a whole lot to say on the subject of baby-making, or not-baby-making, or fear of or longing for or even avoidance of baby-making. It's the same redundant nail-biting anxiety that keeps going around and around in my head like Dorothy's tornado. And we all know I'm not in Kansas anymore, or at least in the naively happy and trusting middle-America place I think, metaphorically speaking, Kansas represents. (Forgive me for stereotyping and oversimplifying. I don't mean to offend the state of Kansas or middle-America or any of its inhabitants.)

The point is, how many more times do you want to hear me complain about how much a woman has to give up (personal time, freedom, social and professional status, not to mention earning power) to do what our species is most deeply programmed to do? And haven't I made the point enough times already that I think it's a woman's sole right and responsibility to make her own decisions about whether or not or when to reproduce? Haven't I made it clear that, though it can be harder emotionally and physically, I don't think there's anything wrong with deciding against it, even after a pregnancy has begun?

Assuming I'm not pregnant right now, and a few days from now I won't be obsessing afresh on miscarriage and motherhood, I need to figure out a way to move on. I want to keep writing, I want to keep communicating with you, dear readers.

So, tune in next time, when I promise to have something new to say.

Have a great day.

Ambivalence, Revisited

I'm busier than I want to be lately, which is not exactly why I didn't write yesterday, though it was half of the two-part excuse I gave myself. The other half was that I didn't want to bore you with what felt like yet another redundant, tedious, repetitive rant on how unsure I am that I really want kids at all. This always happens to me when the possibility of pregnancy exists. And this month, the first of J~ and I actually and officially trying to make that possibility a reality, the doubt-demons are especially ferocious.

What if I'm pregnant now? I can't help wonder. I don't get excited when I think this - I've learned to keep that heart-opening hopefulness tamped way down. Foreboding, on the other hand, runs rampant in its place. I imagine a snotty, whining, ugly baby, crying and clinging to me while I feel far too alone and overburdened, overweight, unhappy, longing to run away. Good-bye freedom, I find myself thinking in a grim monotone. Good-bye sleep.

But then again, last night, lying in bed in the dark, the what-ifs took an unexpected turn. What if my body actually could support a pregnancy now, but J~'s sperm are no good? I know I've said a million times that I'll be happy either way. J~ and I have said as much to each other on more than several occasions. But that was before I considered the possibility that his body mightn't be up to the task. Whoa Nellie, hold up just a second here!

Okay, so maybe the real reason I didn't want to write about this again is that I didn't want to admit - to you, to myself - just how much I want a child. But here it is in all it's undeniable glory: I want it to happen! Despite loss of sleep and freedom and moments (and I'm sure there will be plenty) when I'll feel like running away. Despite a million precious but boring hours of baths and laundry and chauffering and feeding and not chopping wood or playing tennis or losing myself in my writing, I still want it to happen and I want it to happen now.

Right this minute.

Immediately.

My Very Own Beloved Plan B

I feel I should write about the emergency contraceptive, Plan B, now available over the counter (with some caveats). But today I am preoccupied with my self-absorbed little self, and the Plan B that is my life at the moment.

This afternoon I will pack my stereo, my yoga mat, a last few dishes and kitchen appliances, shampoo, the contents of my refrigerator, and a shopping bag full of gift wrapping supplies, among other sundries that still litter my old apartment. I will slip a letter into my landlord's mailbox stating my intention to vacate the premises, fully and completely, by the end of the month (of September, that is).

I am dismantling the home I made with the man who was my husband, and moving into the home I'm making with the man who will be my second husband.

When I ask myself how I'm feeling about this transition, the answer comes back pure and simple: I'm happy. But it's a strange, almost embarrassing happiness, and now and then, not so pure and simple.

Chopping wood yesterday, I was hit by yet another wave of grief and anger about A~ (the cheating pathetic ex, whom I realize now, on some level, always kept an emergency exit plan in the back of his mind). Luckily I was holding a maul and standing over a very useful outlet for my emotion.

The thing that gets me is that I can't quite shake the need for an emergency exit plan of my own this time around. I don't anticipate needing or wanting out, but when I consider dumping my duplicate drinking glasses and inferior toaster oven, I feel a subtle wave of panic, picturing myself bereft and starting over without even the means for a glass of water and a slice of toast. When J~ says I needn't push past these feelings, or part with my junk ("Put them in boxes," he says, "and store them in the basement. Forever.") I laugh, and I immediately want to cry for thankfulness, and for grief that it took so long to find the person I now consider the love of my life.

Life is too damned short.

Not for Naught

For two days I've been tearing my hair out trying to figure out what's up with my computer that is doesn't have enough memory to crop a single unspectacular photograph to a measly 2090 pixels. And now I understand. Inadvertently, I was trying to crop to a gargantuan 2090 inches.

So I've been backing up files and transferring and cleaning my hard drive for naught, or at least for naught much.

Naught only that, but I was doing this photo thing because I didn't have time or inclination to write for my blog!

Well, now I have less time, so inclination is a moot point. Guess that goes to show me, life has its own agenda sometimes, and maybe its agenda is to remind us of this: You have more time than you think.

Some things, in fact, take care of themselves. See Exhibit A, B, and C above: three shots of my garden, from three nonsensically differing angles, but you get the idea: before, in-between, and now.

Want some vegetables? I've got too many patty-pan squash, and cherry tomatoes. We're practically swimming in them. Somebody, anybody, please!