the pieces of my life

What’s the only thing cooler than hearing great news about a friend? Hearing about it before anyone else! Yeah! So congratulations to you-know-who-you-are about that thing that not everyone may know about yet.

I know I talk a lot about the fact that my brain is not up to par these days. But I wish you could just experience it from in here. A bunch of us HBS partner women have been getting together for a weekly potluck over the summer. Tonight Meg hosted (and oh, that strawberry shortcake! Mmm, was it good!). I get to her apartment, and of course, the first thing I do is say, “hello,” and the second thing I do is head for the bathroom. It’s just kind of a given at this point. The bathroom is all of fifteen feet from the front door. Only, while I’m in the bathroom, I look down and realize my shoes aren’t on my feet. And the first thing that crosses my mind is, “Gee, did I drive all the way from Arlington to Cambridge and then walk four blocks without noticing I was barefoot?” The second thought I had was that that was nonsense and I must have taken them off at the door, although I had no recollection of doing so. It then it occurred to me that walking into a room full of people and just removing items of clothing–even shoes–is not the most polite thing to do. But hey, at least it was just my shoes. What happens when the heat gets to me and I just automatically take off my pants or hike up my shirt? Yikes, that’s a scary thought. Luckily, tonight, I was able to contain myself. Can’t say the same for Brown Brown though. At one point, Kara exclaimed, “Oh my God, your stomach is moving!” Sure enough Brown Brown was sticking some limb out in some odd direction and my stomach was going along for the ride. Now that we’re in private, he’s sitting tight. Sitting tight on my ribs, that is. Move it already!

It’s been a while since I’m ranted about Boston, hasn’t it? Hate to disappoint folks, so:

• Is it not bad enough that drivers here are so bad when they are just driving that they have their own special name, Massholes? Now, they want to multitask? On the way into work, the guy in the next lane was reading a newspaper as he drove in.
  
• Red Sox fans are rude. No disrespect to my own live-in Red Sox fan, but whenever I take the T around Boston University, some student always stands and offers me his/her seat. Coming back from an interview downtown, I was on a subway with folks heading to Fenway for the day game (my office is very close to Fenway. In fact, I have a great view of it from my window), and my stomach was moving–moving, I tell you! with all of Brown Brown’s little acrobatics–and not a single “Yankee Sucks”-decked person thought they should give me their seat.
  
• How does the weather go from a high of 61 degrees (last week) to a high of 97 degrees yesterday! What is up with that! I mean, the home page of Boston.com has the current weather as “83, Dreary.” Dreary? Is that a real forecast?
  
• Why are the individual towns so unfriendly? Try to visit a friend in Cambridge. Just try! If you don’t friggin’ practically park in Allston, BAM! A $15 ticket for parking in a permit only spot. Um, can you please show me what’s not a permit only spot? Because they don’t exist!
  

Okay, that’s good for now. Although, remarkably, I’m still in an awesome mood. I think I just needed to get that out.

My mom sent me a series of eleven birthday–what? not exactly e-cards? birthday images? They were too much fun. A selection from them:



The Claire Bear also made me the funniest CD cover based (and a good CD), which I would have posted here if my computer hadn’t crashed. I’ll try again later. <edited: got it to work! The one on the left is a real CD Claire bought me>

I think low expectations are what make for an excellent birthday. The carpet was installed and it looks mighty fine. The painters started (exterior, so no disruption to our lives). I got lots of phone calls and e-mails from friends, chocolates from Hannah, flowers from Adam, a banana cake from Shannon, a pile of presents that I’ll open tomorrow morning when Adam’s here (it’s no fun opening presents by yourself!), and the most amazing massage at Body and Soul (they have this contraption that they use for pregnant women that cradles the belly so I was actually able to lie down. I think I need one of those for the house. Even if you’re not pregnant, if you live in this part of the world go there! Make sure Natalie does your massage). Even Brown Brown gave some celebratory kicks! If this is old age, I’ll take it!

I’m advanced age. Today, it’s official. Woman giving birth at the age of 35 are advanced age, and while I knew that when I got pregnant at the tender young age of 34, today is the day I cross that barrier into advanced age. Had Brown Brown been a premie, I could have still been a young mom. But since (thankfully) he’s still on schedule, I’m doomed to be an old mom.

And I don’t think I’m allowed to watch MTV anymore as I’m now out of the oft-sought-after 18 to 34 demographic. I think I’m required to only watch VH1 and Oxygen now that I’m in the more lucrative yet less glamorous 35 to death group.

But overall, it’s a much better birthday than last year. Last year, I spent much of my birthday at the car repair shop. Adam was three time zones away. I didn’t have a job or a place to live. And it was HOT! This year, I have my brand-new car that’s stylin’. Adam is only two time zones away. I not only have a job and a home, but I also have a Brown Brown. Although it’s still HOT! But this year I have AC.

Do you realize that if I die at the age of 70 then today I am middle aged? Ponder that one!

I feel like I should impart some wisdom now that I’m older and wiser. At the moment, I’m drawing a blank. If I come up with anything else, I’ll let you know.

Do you ever have one of those days that just drags on. You have e-mails to answer, stories to write, stories to rewrite (or whatever it is you do), phone calls to return, but gosh darnit you just don’t feel like doing any of it, so instead you mindlessly hit the refresh button on your personal e-mail to see if anyone from the outside has tried to make contact with you and eat cookies one by one from the department stash? That’s the day I’m having. And no one is trying to make contact with me. Which, actually, is a good thing, because I wouldn’t write them back now anyway. Lethargy has taken over.

The weekend was a good one but it was too short and I didn’t get enough done. I got to spend a complete 48-hours with Adam, and now he’s gone again, this time to Denver. I don’t mind the domestic trips so much, because I least I can still contact him whenever I like. The international trips, though, suck because I have to remember everything I want to tell him for when he calls me and considering that a good 60 percent of the time now I can’t remember the end of the sentence that’s already coming out of my mouth, it means I don’t usually have a whole lot to say to him.

It was yet another get-things-done weekend. For me, it was very Martha, sewing curtains for Adam’s new basement office, working on the baby hat I’m knitting for my class, although I also worked on a book review that I have to turn in this week. I’m organizing pretty much everything that gets in my way; nesting is a very real and dangerous side effect to pregnancy. Don’t even think about coming between me and my labeling gun! Adam patched up holes in walls, finalized the registration on the new car (an almost all-day event), touched up paint, and got his office nearly organized. I made it to yoga and swimming (I go weekly now, on Sundays, to the 7 a.m. swim at the Y), and I gorged myself on ribs when the old red meat craving hit (although most were pork, so I guess that’s white meat). We had brunch at a friend’s house, and I have to say it was one of the most enjoyable brunches I’d been to in a really long time. A fabulous mix of people so that the conversation always flowed and was always interesting.

Our AC installation is supposed to be completed today, although the installers have annoyed both of us to no end (does anyone take pride in his work anymore [asks the gal who’s not taking a lick of pride in her own at the moment]?), and the carpet should be installed on Wednesday, but given how many times Home Depot has screwed us over, I’m not counting on that. Once that’s done, though, then the interior of the house has had all the fixing up it’s going to get and we can start buying baby furniture. The baby is moving pretty much nonstop now, and at times, my belly looks distorted. But he’s not cooperating. I’m having some doubts on the name we’ve chosen. I adore the name, but it’s becoming a common name, and after a lifetime of torture dealing with “Jennifer Brown,” I don’t want to do that to my child. Of course, at least he’ll have an uncommon last name (although I keep forgetting that fact. I thought the other day, “Oh, I should buy up Brown Brown’s domain!” So I looked up Xbrown.com as well as variations on it to see what was available and then it hit me: Brown Brown’s last name is Medros. He can wait fifteen years and pick whatever variation on his name he likes, because it’s not like those “medros” domains are getting snatched up! I also thought of getting him an e-mail address but as Adam pointed out, any address he’ll want for the next twelve or so years will be “dumptruck87409@” or “ilikedonuts@” [oh, wait, that last one is Adam].) Anyway, I have a name alternative that Adam also likes, so I keep asking Brown Brown, “Kick me if your name is X.” If nothing happens, I’ll say, “Kick me if you’re name is Y.” (And yes, I did just give away the names! I want the baby to either be X Medros or Y Medros.) He responds to neither. Now, for a goof, I just throw out random names to see if he’ll respond. For those who are curious, Brown Brown’s name apparently is not X nor Y, nor is it Marvin, Xavier, or Achilles. And to top it off, my own belly button is still freaking me out–it’s almost completely flat. Yuck!

Adam’s been traveling loads for work. He just called–he’s back from Berlin (and can you believe it? He was there for five nights and he didn’t have wiener schnitzel once! The freak), and on his way home. It’s good to have him home, but I have to say, there are pleasures in having the house to oneself. For starters, I got to spread my pillows out all over the bed (the leg pillow, the body pillow, the wedge pillow–all required to get me to sleep at night). Secondly, I got to eat over the stove, just like in the old days. I don’t feel too guilty about this, because the last time Adam called, he asked, “How’s my beautiful lawn?” After responding he asked, “How’s my beautiful son?” And then finally, he asked, “And how’s my beautiful wife?” Nice to know where I fall in the scheme of things (he didn’t ask about the Red Sox because he’s been following that himself online). I will say, though that the house gets quiet and is a little scary when he’s not around, so I’m ultimately relieved that he’s finally home. Besides, taking out the trash myself sucks big time.

Tomorrow is the release of Harry Potter, in case you’ve been living in a cave. Yes, I’ve had it on pre-order forever, it seems, although I don’t plan on reading it till the fall, when I’ll be at home a lot with nothing but a crying Brown Brown for company. Right now I have too much reading for work and for freelance to even think about starting the–gasp–896-page book, which means I’m sure someone will spoil it for me by telling me who is killed off, but that’s just a risk I’ll have to take.

It’s been hard to avoid the articles, but one that’s stuck in my craw is from Book magazine, which somehow I seem to now have a subscription to (I believe it’s because I have a Barnes and Noble Reader’s Advantage card and this came with it. And, yes, I do shop Barnes and Noble. I also shop Amazon. And I shop my local independent bookstore. It’s not like I could ever have enough books). The article is fine; it’s the content that’s scary. It says that instead of making kids read more books, Harry Potter has had the opposite effect, and it makes kids think that no other book will live up to it, so why bother. Of course, publishers aren’t helping: fewer kids’ books are being published. Also not helping is the fact that adults aren’t reading as much either. According to Book: “Adults…now spend an average of 109 hours a year reading–down even from 1996, when the average was 123.” What I’d be curious to know is what are they reading? Does this number include magazines and newspapers? Not that there’s not merit in that, but it’s hardly the same as delving into a good book.

As a writer, I find it sad. What it means is if I ever do get around to finishing my novel, no one’s going to want to read it.

I told my doc at yesterday’s appointment about how What to Expect When You’re Expecting says that eating veggies now will make the baby like veggies more when they’re born, and she said, “I’d like for someone to show me the proof of that! I think that’s B.S.” And then I said, “Well, that’s a good thing, because my sweet tooth has come out like crazy and I haven’t exactly been ignoring it.” She shrugged and said, “You’re weight gain is fine, so I wouldn’t worry about it.” Yeah! Another spoonful of frosting, please!