Ready or Not

The most common question I am asked these days is, "Are you ready for the new baby?" In one word, "Nope." I have accepted the fact that I am not one of those women who is absolutely excited and always ready to bring another child into the mix. I know I will very much love all my children, but I am also realistic that transition is work, and sometimes I am not in the mood to work.

Everyday I think about how unprepared I am to have another child, and everyday I am one day closer to welcoming a new child into the world. Sure, I have clothes, a place for the baby to sleep, diapers, the car seat, all the things, but mentally I am still operating on being the mother of one. Last week, when I was having regular nightly contractions, I just kept thinking about how we have a good system of how things work in our house, and how another child is going to change that entire system. I am certain that we will adapt and that we will love our new little one so much that we cannot imagine the world without her, but adaptation takes time and effort. This week I am more open to the time and effort it is going to take to have a new little one. I have not have the reoccurring thought of, "What have we done? How did we get into this mess?" nearly as many times each day. I guess that is growth; I guess that means I getting ready to have this baby.


*Photo from http://www.turbosquid.com

Word Vomit

Pregnancy launches you into a whole new realm of Girl World. Being pregnant and being around a lot of pregnant women has made my conversational boundaries fuzzy. I am so comfortable and accustomed to gabbing about the everyday things like my cervix, dilation, effacement, the bloody show that my filter for what is appropriate in certain situations is all but gone. Today I went back to work after having a week-long holiday. The act of getting to work was enough to make me want to pack up for the day, and it was enough to make me too tired to adhere to any professional social boundaries that exist.

During a staff meeting I decided to discuss with my boss the risk of my water breaking at the office and the mess that it would be. I also discussed my options for getting to the hospital if I went into labor at work. One of the possibilities was to have my boss drive me to the hospital. He graciously said he could take me, even though I emphasized the damage that could occur to the interior of his car. Somewhere along the line I lost my mind and I heard myself gabbing about all the things pregnant women talk about amongst themselves, not the topics pregnant women discuss with there bosses. The only thing that kept me from going completely over the edge and into gory detail of labor and delivery was that I know that my boss has hemophobia, which leads him to pass out at the thought or sight of blood. It's an interesting day when the only thing that held me back from falling into the socially-inappropriate-in-the-workplace abyss was the fear that I would have to deal with a passed out boss as a result of my detailed conversation.

Inspiration of Look-Alikes

The other day I was having coffee with a friend of mine at a fun doughnut shop and look-alike couple came in for breakfast. I was immediately intrigued and in awe. The couple I gawked at the at the doughnut shop was significantly intriguing to me because I could not decide if they purposefully dressed alike, or if their style is so enmeshed that their overall look-alike appearance was organic. I decided that a short story needs to be written about them. I know a number of look-alike couples. I am in awe of every single look-alike couple I know. I catch myself staring at them, studying their similarities. Sometimes I wonder if I am part of a look-alike couple. I wonder if after years of being together John and I will be a look-alike couple. That would be intriguing, at least for folks with my fascination.

One indication of a look-alike couple is if you cannot determine if the children of the couple look more like the mother or the father. I am not talking about having children who are a good mix of genes, but more the inability to assign genes to just one person in the couple. Another - more obvious - indication of a look-alike couple is that the couple clearly looks alike. I cannot stress how much I am so intrigued by look-alike couples. I often wonder if the couples have always looked alike or if they have grown to look alike. I am sure there are research studies about this somewhere.

*Note: The image is fuzzy because it was taken from across the room with my phone. Clearly, I am a maniac for look alike couples.

Harmony in the Season

The time change this week ushered in fall and winter, and all the sentimental feelings that come with those seasons. Whenever the seasons change I am reminded of the power of music to conjure up specific feelings. Certain music played during the right season is perfection. For some reason it just feels fitting to listen to piano and jazz music in the dark evenings of the fall and winter. There is just something magical about music in the nighttime. Here are some of my favorite TV and movie clips involving music.

I love the sultry nighttime feeling of this clip from Treme.

Heartbreaking scene from You've Got Mail.

We have the family tradition of watching Into the Wild every Christmas season. Some say it is depressing, but it feels right to watch a movie about the great outdoors. Plus, the music from Eddie Vedder is amazing.

Not necessarily a winter clip, but this tribute from The Office is stirring. I don't have proof, but I think this was a surprise to Steve Carell.

Undercover Style

This morning on NPR's Morning Edition Yuki Noguchi reported on Jon Corzine's resignation from MF Global. In the report the Yuki Noguchi described Jon Corzine by saying, "Corzine, who wears glasses and favors sweaters, looks more like a professor, but inside he was pure business cowboy." there are so many things I love about this description: favoring sweaters, business cowboys. Hearing the description immediately got me sidetracked from the story about Corzine's investment approach to my personal style.

Recently I was discussing my grandmother's personal style. Ever since I could remember she donned the same signature style. It seemed that no matter the occassian she wore a variation of her same style. She was not a victim of trends or a slave to fashion. She was a woman who knew what she liked, how she liked it, and she rolled with it for decades. During the discussion my friends and I agreed that personal style is better, and far easier, than subscribing to the current trends. Sometimes I think this mentality is what leads me to take 'business casual' to a whole new level, but that is another story. It is intriguing to have a signature style, though. Having a signature style plants a firm memory in the minds of others, and it also lends itself to the element of surprise. How fun would it be to be pegged as a professor but actually be a business cowboy?

Second Child Syndrome

I have been far from proactive in preparing for this upcoming labor and delivery. I see how easy it is to let a second child come into the world without as many bells and whistles as the first. Poor second child syndrome. I am probably fostering it.

Yesterday I was very proud of myself for taking some intiative and pre-registering with the hospital. This is something that has been on my to-do list for at least a month. I confidently logged in to the hospital's website and carefully provided the most intimate details of my life online, details that would make any identity thief salivate. I was so pleased with myself when I completed the online registration. It was 9am, and I felt like I had done a solid day's work. Thirty minutes later I received a phone call from an unusual area code. I assumed it was a telemarketer, so I sent the call to voicemail. The call was from a sweet woman, Cindy, at the Alamance Regional Medial Center, confirming my registration. I realized that in my zeal to be proactive for this second child I registered at a hospital in Northern North Carolina, not the hospital down the street from my house. Again, poor second child syndrome; everything seems to get lost in the shuffle. Thankfully when I returned Cindy's call I received her voicemail. I was not ready to discuss my complete oversight and lack of awareness. It was a relief to leave a voicemail stating that I mistakenly registered for a completely wrong hospital, in a town I had never heard of, and to please cancel my resgistration. Later in the evening I received another voicemail from Cindy. She graciously offered me Internet browsing tips and provided the web address to the hospital where she presumed I was intending to register. Few things are finer than a gracious middle-aged woman leaving late evening voicemails with advice for navigating the Internet. She must be trying to break the cycle of second child syndrome.