Saturday, November 20, 2004

The worstest part of insomnia is my brain: Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. It simply won't shut up. Whether it's anxious nonsense, brilliant insights, or once again a search for the most original, culturally relevant, lovely, meaningful baby name ever, I just wish I could turn off the noise in my head.

20 days from the due date.
We saw Sponge Bob The Movie with Anne and Adam.
Geoff made Russian Tea.
Russian Tea ought to be served with a bowl of homemade Chex Mix.
Baby Jordan weighed nine and a half pounds!
Chango is no longer afraid of Brahm's Lullaby played from a spinning cow mobile.
We found the leak in the upstairs bathroom; it's not as bad as it smells.
I made Thanksgiving dinner; it's in the freezer.
I am the only one that likes cranberry relish.
The pride in having a clean house lasts only as long as the house remains clean.
I still look for Diego.
Max is more than half way through his second math book.
William's hair is long.
I doubt I'll finish the second quilt.
Though Max begged us to stop, we sang Christmas carols last night.
I still need to mail thank you cards. In Spanish.
Alex rubs my back. Delightful.
Somewhere in the garage I know there is a box with a few baby things that I saved from the boys.
I want that box. Now.
Yesterday I scrubbed scruff marks off the walls.
I'm still awake.
Still sitting here, and wondering what to name the baby, and whether I should take a shower now or wait 'til (later in the) morning.
P.S.A.: If you have ever left anything here, it is either gone forever or it can be found in The Box of Things Left Here, by the front door.
I was supposed to call the bank, and pick up the kit for cord blood registry.

Thursday, November 18, 2004

"New Life." That's the subject that appeared in my email this morning.

Welcome to the world baby Jordan. The pictures show a proud dad, Gabe, and his handsome son, Griffin, and a content and delicious baby girl with a thick stack of dark blonde hair piled atop her round head. Hopefully mom was in a big comfy bed and enjoying a restful nap. Congratulations Betsy and Gabe and Griffin, and the grandmas, and aunts, and great uncles, and cousins; all of us are blessed to have a new life in the world.

I haven't seen pictures of baby Lucas, born to Marcia and Gil. Their baby came last week, and I know he's got lots of family falling in love with him as well. His big brother, Nicholas, will no doubt be very proud. Welcome to the family baby boy.

Meanwhile, our baby is biding her time, keeping us in suspense, and keeping me up with her aerobic dancing. Not much chance of her coming early, since we believe we are fully prepared, or will she? One never knows... At least the crib isn't going to waste. It took 2 days for Chango to discover the secure warmth and comfort of the baby's bed, but he is making the most of it while he can. Yes, I know we'll have to break this habit. Fortunately, he is freaked out by the mobile when it turns and plays Brahm's Lullaby.

Our evenings are quiet. Max is pushing through his latest math book, with Geek pride and enthusiasm. I marvel at his dedication. Even as he was getting sleepy, he insisted on finishing one last page for a gold star sticker. William is reading Never Cry Wolf, and enjoying it. We are looking forward to watching the movie together. And Alex is reading too. He is finishing the third novel in the LEGO BIONICLE series. Geoff is reading Abarat, Clive Barker's contribution to teen literature; he and William have been totally absorbed in both Abarat books. I am thumbing through Christmas catalogs, helping Max, supressing labor anxiety, and wondering what possessed me to buy a fresh turkey already.

Tuesday, November 16, 2004

We went to Babies R Us. We came home with a crib. It was not an easy process. This is a place with acres and acres, and miles of aisles, and we had to make choices, and I didn't relish the idea of ever returning there, so I forged ahead. I like the crib we chose, but between all the styles, colors, prices, features and finding suitable ones that were then out of stock, I was totally not loving the process. Geoff is a good shopper. He notes the rail mechanisms and color finish. He considers the redeeming qualities and downsides. I just wanted to be at Ikea, where my choices were "cheap," "not as cheap" or "good enough."

The boys were good. We did lose Alex's enthusiasm after a bit though. Max thought we were choosing the bedding that came in the crib, and he would ask biting questions, like: "Are we really Pooh people?" And eventually we did have to choose bedding, and a mattress. Again, the choices were too much for me. I threw a cream bumper in to the cart, which Geoff pointed out to me was uninspired and did little to compliment the honey colored crib we had finally settled on. We were unanimous on some points: no circuses, clowns or jungle themes. Alex and William both agreed with me that crocodiles in the crib is creepy, and we were also appalled by the bumper with kangaroos and elephants on the same savannah.

Max was inquisitive and a quick study of dust ruffles, color, and quality features. Alex was thirsty and ready to have the whole event finished. William was very cooperative, supportive and fair minded. Geoff showed terrific stamina, good taste and thoughtfulness. I was really glad not to be doing this alone.

Oh, and we chose the farm bedding theme. I couldn't resist the chickens.

Sunday, November 14, 2004

Life needs Kleenex

Saturday was errand day. My forays in to the world have been less frequent and even less effective. I can only go so far before I need to pee or nap, and I can lift and haul fewer things anyway, so I have not brought home things like the 96 load jug of Tide and 50 pound sack of rabbit food. Geoff and I, with William, Alex and Max in tow, hit The Pancake House, Target, Costco and... seems like there was more... Anyway that was enough. Later I also made it, on my own, to Yardage Town for cotton batting, because I have the delusional notion of completing just one more quilt. Now we have lots of diapers, paper plates, grape juice, a bouncy chair, bigger socks for Max, jeans for William, turtlenecks for Alex, cat food, plenty of laundry detergent and even new night lights that change colors. What about a crib? Yea, we gotta work on that one.

By six o'clock last night I would have believed anyone who said it was really 11 o'clock. My energy doesn't decline or wane, it simply shuts off. And then I am wide awake at hours like this. This is not an ideal house for padding about the house in the wee hours. For one thing, downstairs is cold and remote, and upstairs every room is occupied by sleeping people, so it would be unkind to turn on a light or bump about too much.

Many of the shortcomings and little idiosyncrasies of the Tree House are becoming less charming, quaint and tolerable. The original plan was to live here for a year. Time enough to recover from rushing out of El Rancho, with a fire on our tails, and to figure out our next move. The next move is not revealing itself in a specific enough way. Have I ever shared the fact that we have three children with beds in the dining room, which is open to the kitchen and a sort of living room, which is too small for a sofa, but large enough for a computer and chairs? And all of this upstairs, along with our "master" bedroom, which has a pretty significant plumbing leak. A plumber is coming this week, but there's not much we can do about the rest. We aren't suffering, just sort of squirming uncomfortably.

I miss Diego very much. It's amazing how much one personality can be such a significant part of the day, and night. He slept by my side or at my feet, sometimes nestled against me like the best personal heater ever. He had a pathetic meow; it was more of a canary chirp than feline speak. We all miss the meow, and his lead footed stumbles down the stairs. Anyone could pick him up and carry him about, without upsetting him in the least. He rode in the car, happily. When he and Chango walked to the kitchen for their breakfast, Diego would leap over Chango, like a circus dog doing sideshow tricks. Chango misses Diego too. This is what I surmise anyway, because Chango rarely leaves the house anymore, and he seeks us out for more scratches under the chin and he demands attention that he used to forgo. But dear Chango is much less domesticated than Diego, so Max can't pick him up and carry him down his bed slide, or snuggle him under the covers. So, like Chango, we can often be found absentmindedly staring out the window, waiting to see our little friend with the raccoon's tail, hoping he will come home.

Max has shifted his name campaign; he thinks instead of naming Papaya "Max," we should name her "Diego." He also wants to fill the stocking that Alex made for Diego, with toys that his kitty can still enjoy in Heaven.

Pregnancy hormones, insomnia, and grief... this is such a Kleenex moment.