the pieces of my life

I’m exhausted and Doodles decided to have a nap-free Wednesday, so while the mother’s helper is here, I’m hiding out in my office with a bag of Double Stuf Oreos, which will make me feel better right up to the point when they start making me feel sick. And I’ll quit eating them about five Oreos after that. So today you will get a random, free association blog…

…I had my first trimester genetic screening. I begged during the ultrasound for them to tell me the sex, but the doctor insisted it was too early to tell. I think it’s just a plot to make me suffer more. The results were really good. Good enough that I’ll skip having an amnio (I am advanced age, after all, so they’re required to offer me an amnio). For my age, the odds of having a child with Down’s Syndrome are 1 in 175. From my test results, my personal odds are 1 in 1,741, which is lower than those of a twenty year old. The odds of Trisomy 18 for my age are 1 in 449, but my odds are less than 1 in 10,000. Considering that the odds of a complication from an amnio are 1 in 250, I think we’re on the right track…

…Doodles is entering the language explosion phase. And he’s adorably messing up his words. We have a ton of Sesame Street books and stuff, and he can correctly identify Elmo (what 18 month old these days can’t?), Bir’, Cookie (of course), and Ernie and “Burp.” He can mimic back, “I wuv you,” which I milk for all it’s worth. Adam finally figured out that “B! B!” is Doodles way of asking for his laptop. Doodles loves saying, “Ahtchoo!” when we sneeze…

…I just finished copyediting a porn novel. Gotta say, it wasn’t nearly as interesting a job as I would have thought it would be…

…This pregnancy is completely different from the last. I’ve been really queasy and nauseous this time around. More lower back pain. Probably the same amount of exhaustion…

…When I’m not feeling sick, though, I tend to forget I’m pregnant. With Doodles I devoured every Baby Center e-mail and scoured the sites checking for daily pregnancy calendars. Now, every few weeks, I think, “Hmm, I should check in one of my many pregnancy books for a refresher on what’s happening.” And once in every four of those times I actually remember to do it….

…Okay, I’ve hit the point where the Oreos are making me sick. Hmmm, wonder how many more that means I’ll eat?…

…I really wanted a girl when I was pregnant with Doodles. But I got to say, this time around, boy is a known entity. Girls are, well, different. And they, apparently, require all new clothing unless you want to forever be saying, “No, actually, she’s a girl. We just like to dress her in all navy blue.” I don’t have the big ultrasound scheduled yet, but it’s got to be in the next two to six weeks. I’ll let you know as soon as we know. And, no, there will be no discussion of names, once again, until the baby is born…

…What does it mean when you’re free associating and you have nothing to say? Does it mean there’s nothing left in your mind? Or just that your mind is kaput? All I can think is “Those last three Oreos were a mistake,” “Just two hours and forty-five minutes till Doodles goes to bed,” and “Why is there a hole in my ceiling?” So I guess we’ll leave it at that today.

I had this really vivid dream the other day. It was my turn to perform on American Idol. As I got up before the judges, it occurred to me that I’m perhaps one of the worst singers ever. This is not an exaggeration. I can’t keep a tune and I don’t understand what all this talk of on or off key is. It all sounds the same to me. Then it occurred to me that I don’t know the words to any songs. I stood up there, panicked, wondering what I was going to do. I racked my brain and before I knew it, I was singing “Baa Baa Black Sheep.” Paula, Randy, and Simon and all the others in the room loved it and started clapping. Encouraged, I went on to sing my “ABCs.” Everyone was cracking up and Simon said I definitely got points for originality and I could move on in the competition. I have no idea what all this means except I’m taking it as a hint that Doodles could stand to listen to a touch more Modest Mouse and a little less Wiggles when I’m around.

I’ve always divided the world into two kinds of people. Of course, where I am in life dictates what that divide is. For instance, when I graduated from college, the world was divided into those with jobs and those without. I was in the latter and I was in awe of the former. Later in life, I began to focus more on relationships, and the divide came between those with boyfriends and those without. Sometimes those on the other side of the divide were to be envied. Sometimes they were to be pitied. For instance, for a long time the concept of marriage horrified me. I felt so sorry for my friends trapped in the outdated institution. They seemed to lead such horribly boring existences. (I think it’s reasonable to say I changed my opinion on this one.) For a while when I was at Amazon, the world was so obviously divided between those who had pre-IPO stock options and those who didn’t (I’m not sure why everyone didn’t see the world that way!). Envy doesn’t come close to describe how I felt about that one.

Now, the divisions I see are all child-related. When I was pregnant, all I saw were women with rounded bodies and those with slim, baby-free bellies. I suddenly realized that the divide came simply down to those who have children and those who don’t. And to a certain degree, I still feel that way. I have happily maintained close friendships with some non-mom friends, but really, all my new friends have kids, because it’s simply easier. They understand when I go to bed at a ridiculously early hour. The know instinctively that, no, I haven’t seen the latest, most-talked about film. They don’t flinch when I whine for the umpteenth time about my temper-tantrumy toddler and my lack of sleep.

Yet, there’s more to it than just who has kids and who doesn’t. I see that there are actually divides among the moms. There are the new moms, those with adorable newborns in slings who are shellshocked from sore br*easts and round-the-clock feedings. These moms, as freaked out as they are, still have that sheen of idealism. Back when Doodles was still a Doodlebug, I never understood why more experienced moms would slowly move away from me and my newborn at the park. It’s because in those days I was prone to making pronouncements like, “I’m going to make all of my child’s food and use only organic products” (this one still cracks me up, especially today as I have my mother’s helper feeding Doodles Girl Scout Shortbread cookies to keep him appeased). They could tell I was thinking things like, “Why is that mother allowing her poor child to play in that snow without mittens?” (Again, triple Ha! The day I get mittens on Doodles is the day I start sedating. Hey, sedation… hmmm….) (And by the way, I promise I never said anything like that out loud!)

Then moms get to the next stage: experienced moms. When realism sets in. When you know that your child is going to eat Ritz Cheese Bits three meals a day and that, no, you hadn’t intended to cosleep but hey, there’s your toddler in your bed most nights anyway. And yeah, your kid is yanking a toy away from another kid, but what are you going to do? I see those moms of newborns eyeing me with disdain as Doodles crams another handful of Goldfish into his mouth, getting ready for a temper tantrum about, oh, really nothing. And I just laugh. Because soon they will be standing where I am. So the world is divided between the new idealistic moms and us tainted cynical moms.

But then, I’ve noticed there’s another divide. There’s a group of moms out there who are so beyond where I am that I think of them as the big-time moms. That divide is between those of us with one child and those out there who have children. I see those moms with more than one kid out there, and I’m kind of in awe of them. I’ve seen a woman, with her newborn nursing in the sling, bound across the room to stop her child from clobbering another with a toy car, with her br*east never slipping from her baby’s mouth. I’ve seen them expertly maneuvering that double stroller in doorways so narrow, Doodles and I barely fit side by side. They sagely watch their children wreaking havoc with the confidence that no real harm is going to be done while us singleton moms panic at every bump. This is the big divide as I see it right now.

Are you still with me? Do you see what I’m saying? Let me put this another way: Life has suddenly become somewhat more manageable. Sure, Doodles has hit 18-months with a vengeance, but ever since I learned to just let him scream and work his tantrums out for himself, it hasn’t been too bad. And he’s way more fun than ever. He’s walking and talking and trying to make us laugh. And for me, I’ve gotten more freelance work than I can actually handle. My running is at its peak. I’m actually making time for my creative writing. Adam and I can finally see our marriage resurfacing from the explosion of parenthood.

So we’ve done the only logical thing we can do. We’ve decide to f*ck our perfect lives up big time. We’re crossing that last divide: Brown Brown the Sequel, a.k.a. The Deuce, is due September 3, 2005. God help us.

We’re having a crappy week all around. The Doodles is sick. And a sick Doodles is an unhappy mother. Especially when Monday day care is canceled because of some stupid holiday that only the auto dealers celebrate and he’s banished from Thursday day care because he hasn’t been fever free for twenty-four hours (do I need to remind you he’s only in day care on Mondays and Thursdays?). I have a ton of deadlines coming up and suddenly, no time to get the stuff done. I was supposed to go to New York for a night this weekend all by my little self, but seeing as how it’s been a work-free week, it looks like I’ll have to cancel my night away (my first night, I might add, ever away from my Doodles!). Yes, I’m being cranky. It happens. It would have helped if Doodles hadn’t screamed for an hour in the middle of the night, but the fact is, I’m tired and I’m cranky. Sorry folks, you’ll just have to deal with it.

Edited later: Ah, things are much better. I just got some naked tushie time. I don’t think there’s anything better in life than a naked Doodles tushie.

Despite the fact that I’m neither a drug addict nor an alcoholic nor insane, I’ve always felt an affinity for Hunter S. Thompson. If you recall, Doodles did, too. He once said, “Some may never live, but the crazy never die.” I guess he proved himself wrong.

“The Edge… there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.” –Hunter S. Thompson, Hells Angels: A Strange and Terrible Saga

We are officially in Yuppiedom. Today we called a nutrionist for our 18-month-old Doodles. Ugh.

Hannah came to visit us. Let me say, she was the perfect houseguest. We’ve had plenty of less-than-perfect houseguests (read: high-maintenance) that she was such a refreshing joy. She came bearing not just Peeps for me, but decorating Peeps! She entertained herself. She entertained Doodles even when he was acting less than friendly himself. She earned her position as president of the Doodles fan club. Future houseguests, the bar has been raised.

If it weren’t for the fact that he spends all of his time on Sons of Sam Horn, I’d think Adam was secretly behind this site.

Not all my friends lead as boring and sedate lives as I do. My friend Brian, in fact, has a pretty good gig. He wrote an aritcle about the cool work he does but be warned: this is not for the easily offended. It’s may not even be for the difficult to offend. But I think it’s pretty neat.

I had planned on writing more this week, but unfortunately someone (and I’m not naming names here) doesn’t seem to want to be helped by his lovely mother’s helper today and he is instead standing by the kitchen gate shouting, “Momma! Momma!” And to think I was at one time so happy when he called my name.