Another Day Begins

So the boy is refusing to come out of the oven. Tomorrow is my 41 (41!) week midwife appointment. ??? I don't understand. And of course last night I became very hopeful because my usual braxton hicks contractions began feeling more like the real deal--ie they were radiating to my back and were becoming quite strong. And then...and then after going throughout the night they stopped around 5:30 this morning. The never ending pregnancy continues.

My early morning companions...


I love my piggies.

A Lot Has Changed

I haven't written in almost a year and a half.

I have been:
transitioning
and settling,
clearing out shadows
and growing a life.

Our beloved baby bear Howard Pinkerton returned to the eternal light January 16th. The whole process of letting him go broke me open. His life was a gift that taught us (and continues to teach us) plenty. We miss him everyday.

A couple of months after Howie died an unexpected miracle baby began growing in my tummy. Asher should be here any day and we can't wait to hold him and hug him and kiss him.

Life is good.

How To Feel Old

1. Live in a college town.
2. Go to Subway at lunchtime.
3. While in line stand behind two twenty year olds making out.
4. Act nonchalant by digging in purse for chapstick.

Husbands, Cats, and Gender Reassignment

My boss's brother was in town with his boyfriend for a couple of days and they reminded me of how easy it is to fall in love with gay men. Not that it has ever been hard (right Jimmy Ramey?). I mean I did grow up in the performing arts, so naturally I'm a natural. But these boys--these boys were men. Men who like sports. Men who look like male models, but with brains and conversation skills and manners. I think that they are what the Greeks had in mind when they invented gayness. On the hot meter they both score: ridico. Ridiculously hot.

Before I forget, one is a doctor, and one is a lawyer. I know...I know...Ridico.

And what, pray tell, do these gloriously toned and tanned and delicious smelling men have to do with my husband and his inability to wake up last night to care for the sick cat? More than you might think.

Howard Pinkerton came home from the hospital Tuesday night and by Wednesday morning looked like he needed to go back. We have been caring for him round the clock trying to keep food in his belly. This is no easy task because Howie has to be roused from his grogginess and enticed with water and then the buffet of food choices must be laid out and then food must be placed in his mouth to remind him that he is supposed to actually eat it and not just look at it and the whole process takes a bit of effort and participation. In other words you have to actually pay attention to the cat.

And since I had to be at work by 8:00 today I asked if Bill could please do the 3:00-5:00 AM shift. Please. And he said yes. And seeing as how we had been through the whole food thing many a time together I figured that when he said yes he was saying, "Yes, I will wake up and take care of Howie and make sure that he eats and drinks and survives until you wake up. And P.S. I promise to also care for Bella and not make her feel like an ugly neglected stepchild as I hand feed Howard."

But what he really said was, "I agree to let you wake up at 3:00 to feed Howard and to let Bella back in the bedroom after I intentionally locked her out. I also agree to not take Howard to eat/drink at 4:00 when I get up to go pee--but will reshut the door to the bedroom in a second attempt at keeping Bella out. And finally, when you wake me up at 5:30 to say that Howie has gotten up and wants to be fed, I will simply put him in the bathroom with some food and shut the door."

Since I was awake from 3:00 on I had a lot of time to think about how if there was an all night divorce drive through I could be single before I had to leave for work. And not only would I be single, but I would be one step closer to receiving a penis and two new boyfriends.

Amen.

By the way, everyone knows that the Greeks didn't invent being gay. Rosie O'Donnel did. Duh.

Beth and Jim, Part Two

Three years ago, either on the 19th or the 20th of August, Beth brought Howard Pinkerton to live with us. She was the stork bringing him all the way from Michigan to Virginia. Throughout the day Beth called with updates and tried her best to describe exactly how he felt. She said, "imagine petting an eyelid." She made it home in a day--even though she probably didn't want to.

I still cry when I think of that first night.

Bill was with Jim playing poker which means it must have been a Monday. I cleaned the apartment while drinking margaritas because I didn't want to be anxious. But I was. I had never been a mommy before--and while I had read every book to be found--(twice)--there is nothing to replicate experience. In the quiet of the last few hours alone I questioned myself and the decision to bring Howard into our lives.

Beth made it home around nine and I could hear Howard's meeps before I opend the door. When I did, there stood smiling Beth with Howard and his carrier in hand. He was so tiny! Beth stayed for a margarita and to help us get adjusted. She showed me his belly button and Howie his litter. Before she left Howard jumped in the air and then did a somersalt upon landing--the only time he managed such a feat.

And then it was just the two of us. Our first night as mommy and baby. We got into bed and he settled into the crook of my arm. He sighed and fell asleep--instant trust, instant love.

Beth and Jim, Part One

Beth and Jim.

I love them.

I miss them.

Our shared history is full of funny stories and good times.

At least when we can remember them.

I love them.

I miss them.

Beth and Jim.

Friday

Today is a combination of strange. I feel kind of depressed but am jacked up on coffee so am probably just more anxious. Anxious over nothing. Nothing except my job interview on Friday. On Friday I will meet with a table full of people and act like it is the most normal, casual thing I've ever done. On Friday I am supposed to know if I really want the job (not just the money). On Friday I will have come up with an ass load of self-confidence and 'get in there and sell myselfness'. I hate thinking about Friday. I hate thinking about getting the job (responsibility)--I hate thinking about not getting the job (rejection).

Why did I apply?

Until about a week ago I had convinced myself that there was no baggage in my sub-conscious from my previous employer. Mainly because someone kept asking me if I was scared to move on--afraid I might encounter a similar experience. And since he is never allowed to be right I denied it. Thankfully he quit asking.

I am scared.

After I left the hospital I so wanted to be done with the situation that I didn't allow myself to think about it anymore--telling myself, "It has already taken too much". That and I was sick of being submerged in negativity--I didn't want to participate in it or create anymore. I was finished. Done. And I was until I started preparing for Friday. Thinking about putting on my work clothes and driving into the city makes me feel woozy.

Edit/Update: I did not get the job. Thank you God.

Credit Card!

Credit card is a new game I made up that Bill hates and brings me endless delight. The rules are simple: I catch him off guard, swipe my hand up his cute little crack and yell "credit card!". Trust me when I say that it is high on the fun meter. Like now when I ask him to do something for me--"Bill will you get me some water?"--and he responds "Okay, but it's gonna cost you." I'm like, "Lucky I remembered my--"Credit Card!"" See how fun that is?