Discombobulation Station

The Elephant in the Room

1. As the proud (ahem) owner of a new and long (35 miles round-trip) daily commute, I am reacquainting myself with the joys of JAMMING OUT to radio for an hour every day, four days a week.  The state o' Maine radio is rather grim, with an abundance of country and god-music, but there are 4 or so reliable stations for JAMMING OUT.

Yesterday, as every day, I picked up Little A. from her beloved daycare, and proceeded to JAM OUT (albeit at a decreased volume, for the sake of the child's eardrums) to a favorite Foo Fighters song (yes, sometimes I have the taste of a 19 year old frat boy). Serious air-drumming and head-banging was afoot in the front seat, when from the back I heard a little voice say "ooh Mama. Mama? No yike-y dis song, Mama. Tun it down a yittle peas." I turned around at the next light, and she said it again, with a shake of the head for emphasis. No yike-y dis song, Mama.

FINE. I will defer to the taste of someone whose current favorite song is the frickin' Alphabet Song.

The sacrifice that motherhood requires is astounding.

2. The sacrifice that motherhood requires is astounding. Just ask Sarah, one of the guests on the show Pregnant in Heels. I got to watch this on the flight home from our annual Nana-in-Florida visit - HURRAH for JetBlue, btw, and I know you already know this. But seriously, the bliss of 90 minutes with a sleeping toddler sprawled on the seat next to me (and on my lap), earphones in, junk TV? Is. Awesome. Anyway. Have you guys seen this show? Is nuts. The ladies are all nuts.  That Sarah lady, she said ALOUD that the baby residing in her womb was a "life-force sucking parasite."  She and her hubby refuse to buy baby gear because it is ugly (to them) and won't fit in to their sleek loft lifestyle. WOW, I thought. WOW.  And then the plane landed and Little A. woke up so I never got to find out whether or not that crazy lady stopped being so crazy and finally got a goddamn teddy bear for her baby.

3. For about seven weeks now, I haven't been able to: eat sushi. Drink wine. Have eggs benedict. Stay up past 10.  Not smell every smell in the whole world. Go more than an hour without being hungry or having to pee. Write blog posts because OMG I AM PREGNANT AND I WAS TOO SUPERSTITIOUS TO WRITE ABOUT BEING PREGNANT AND I COULDN'T THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE TO WRITE ABOUT. 

But yeah, I am pregnant. 12 weeks today. Today, we packed up the whole family at an unreasonably early (but of course running late) hour for my first ultrasound, and saw the tiny beaner in my belly.  Little A. was interested for a few minutes, happily took her own little copy of a clip of the sonogram.  In the car on the way to daycare, she declared I have a baby in my belly! Yike Mama! And pulled up her shirt to pat her abundant tum. 

The sacrifices are so very, very worth it.

xoxo, A

She's like the shine on your shoes

Over the last few weeks, instead of writing posts or being productive somehow otherwise after the kid goes to sleep, I'll just sort of hang out, mentally flatlined, with my ass parked in front of the TV, half-watching, half-reading Crap on the Internet. You know how it goes. For weeks. Unproductive. Which breeds unproductivity.

There are a handful of blogs I read all the time. One of them is this: Soulemama.  This woman is a wonder. She has four kids, homeschools, expects her fifth baby in the summer, makes gorgeous things, and in case that isn't enough she is taking care of the family farm while her husband recovers from a hip replacement.

Hate her yet? I'll admit sometimes I do. She is charming and graceful and funny, and I have a feeling I would like her very much in person, but GODDAMN WOMAN CAN YOU PLEASE STOP MAKING ME FEEL SO INADEQUATE.  But I don't stop reading. And feel worse and worse about me.

And then, of course, comes the epiphany. I could be doing stuff too. No one is tying me to the couch or has glued my fingers together or sawed my feet off at the ankles.  As much as I want to resent my circumstances for MAKING me tired or whatever, they are not. Remember when we first started this blog? I was busy then, albeit in a very different way. I was not making a ton of money in a city where it is easy to feel like you need a ton. I was working full-time, rehearsing for dance shows, taking yoga teacher training, dating up a storm. I was BUSY. Every night I was going and doing and writing tons and just. LIVING. And it felt great.

It's true what they say about bodies in motion, after all. So inspired by Soulemama and not a little by Mighty Maggie (who can also make a girl feel woefully inadequate, if one is inclined thus), I am gonna break out of my own assprints and DO stuff.  Write. Dance. Stop Moping. (This is easier to do in the spring, obvs.)

The kicker? I am getting a little windfall from Uncle Sam this year and have designated a chunk of that change for something frivilous.  Denizens of D-Station, If you had a few hundred dollars to spend anyway you wanted, what would YOU do? Should I take a class? Travel?

And I am going to try to come up with a bit of good news to share in this space almost every day. Like this: hooray for my state's vote for safety and sanity!  If you have anything to share, please do.

Thanks for reading! All five of you!

xoxo, A