sueeeus

I was so anxious to see the doctor.  My first prenatal visit.  I wanted to see that ultrasound!!  I have been waiting, with as much patience as I can muster, and the day had finally arrived.  As did the snow.  Unable to confirm my appointment via phone or fax, I decided to brave the roads and go.  Luckily, MG was home and had put chains on the truck.  Enroute, there was one particular ice patch where the cars immediately behind us piled up in a body crunching heap.  We missed that mishap by a mere thread.  It was a very dangerous day to be out on the road.  Needless to say, when we arrived at the doctor’s office, and found a hand written note scrawled on a piece of paper taped to the door, stating, “We’re sorry.  We’re closed, due to the weather,” my patience reached its limit and I was sorely vexed.  Hrumph.  I’m going to give them a piece of my mind, I told MG.  He nodded, in dismissal.  He knows I’m not one to bark or raise a fuss.  Confrontation is not my thing.  Once safely home, I composed a note: 

Dear Health Center,

If in future you are closed due ot the weather, PLEASE change your message to clearly state that you are CLOSED.  To say you are understaffed implies that you are open, at less than full capacity.  I called about a dozen times, and at no point was I given the opportunity to leave a message, which is what your voice recording instructed callers to do.  It would have been nice to get a call telling me my appointment was cancelled.  A clear message on your voice recording would have sufficed.  I drove to your office, only to find that you are closed.  This wasted 2 hours of my time, and was completely unecessary, had you had an INFORMATIVE message on your recording.  Please leave a CLEAR message if this happens again.  It would save your patients a great deal of frustration. 

Sincerely,

Sueeeus

MG read it and asked me if I was going to send it.  Yes, of course I am, said I.  He was skeptical.  But I did it.  I faxed that note.  He was quite surprised at my gall.  (And so was I.)  Now I wonder if I should have just let it be, rather than send it.  But it’s too late for that.

Isn’t the heavenly bamboo heavenly I think it’s so pretty, and now that it’s peeking out from a snow drift, even more so.

It snowed a little the other night, and it was just the right amount. The roads were clear and the snow was nicely decorative. Today is another story. The heavens have opened up and dumped their contents on the suburbs. Driving is treacherous. Mr. Gadget took the Boo Boy to daycare, which is only 3 miles away, and it took him 3 hours, with 4-wheel drive AND chains. I opted to work from home today. It’s nice to have the option. Now that MG has made it home, we’re thinking we should have just kept Boo home. And today is supposed to be my first prenatal appointment. I’m not sure if the doctor is even in.

The snow capped tree outside our front door is festive, but the ornaments are hardly visible under their coat of snow. I love the way the night time colors turned out in the picture of the ornaments. By day, they look entirely different. The multicolored lights and a little photo processing made it so gorgeous!

These are the best pictures, though! My little guy loves to wear my shoes! He is so proud of himself when he puts them on and stomps about. He’s learning to put his coat on as well, but he hasn’t quite gotten the hang of it. In this picture, he is just about to jump. He loves to jump! He has such great balance and dexterity. He jumps and shrieks with glee. There’s nothing like the boisterous unbridled joy of a child. It’s contagious. The best!

This is classic. I love it. A little boy with crayons scattered everywhere, intent upon his art. He switches between left and right hands, but seems to prefer his right. He is very serious about his colors, he is.

It’s always an adventure in itself, to drive through the International District. We passed the Lucky Dong on the way to the New Kowloon. It was hard to miss the giant neon letters, and I promise, we didn’t snicker. Okay, we did. But only a bit. We were headed to my friend’s wedding banquet. Once there, we signed our names on a beautiful red silk cloth embellished with some fabulous Chinese embroidery. I like that idea, rather than a guest book. It was quite lovely. We found seats at a table on the bride’s side. I wonder if it’s a western thing, to segregate the bride’s people from the groom’s people Although I’m half Asian, I don’t blend that well in an Asian population. In the company of my blue eyed blonde husband and son –let’s just say we stood out from the crowd.

The toddler boy was well behaved, for the most part. He would wave excitedly every time he caught glimpse of another child. He’s so friendly that way. He enjoyed using the chopsticks as drumsticks. The bride and groom were quite late arriving, so people were sitting at their tables, drinking tea, passing the time. Very little English was spoken. There were many polite nods. It was going quite peacably until a certain Star Bellied Sneetch plummeted across the table at lightning speed, knocking a glass of 7-Up in its path onto the lap of a kindly grandmotherly sort seated across from us. Some parents just don’t control their children very well. The nerve of these parents, going out in public with an uncontrolled child. Honestly, I was trying to be keenly attentive, but this boy, he is FAST! We didn’t see that one coming at all. After many apologies and an attempt to clean up the mess, the hubbub eventually settled down.

The bride arrived, resplendent in the most beautiful strapless white gown, complete with a furry white stole. So appropriate for a wintry November wedding. She was beautiful, crowned in a tiara with a short veil. So lovely, my tiny 84 lb friend. She’s a doll. Literally. I tried to get a picture, armed only with my camera phone, however, I couldn’t get it to focus in time, due to the fact that the big pink blur blocking the picture was my finger. Idiot. By the time I figured out how to turn on the camera mode, turn on the flash, realize my finger was in the way, and learn how to zoom in, the moment was over and the bride had disappeared. She soon emerged in an amazing red gown, beaded and sequined and stunning. She and her new husband moved from table to table, toasting at every table. Food began to arrive.

The first platter to arrive on each table was a huge mound of some translucent faintly yellow stringy material, surrounded by thin slices of some sort of meat composition. Interlaced with the translucent material were long shreds of daikon. Delicious. I tried the translucent stuff, and it tasted quite good. It was a bit gelatinous, and crunchy. I have no idea what it was, sea creature or sea plant, but I bravely ate a little. I cut the meat into tiny pieces and fed it to the toddler boy, who gobbled it down enthusiastically. He’s such a trooper.

Next came the soup. It was a mild soup with clear noodles and crab bits. The toddler boy had a bowl of his own and half of mine as well. He’s a soup and noodle lover, he is. The bride reappeared in a teal satin gown with a cape. Again, beautiful. I began to wonder if it is a tradition to change for every course in a wedding banquet. And we thought American weddings were expensive! Goodness. The bride moved from table to table, bestowing gifts upon her guests. She gave me a cake, explaining that it was a tradition for the bride to give her family and friends a special wedding confection. I didn’t catch the complete story, but it seemed that was the gist of it.

The crab balls arrived. Decandent is the best word to describe these delights. They were large and crispy golden brown on the outside with a crab claw sticking out as a handle. Inside was a crab batter that was more crab than batter. They were fabulous. We got two, one for the boy and one for me. He only had half of one, so I got extra. Such a treat! Next came the shrimp platters. The first was a heap of giant shrimp, fried in a very delicate tempura-like batter, mounded on a bed of shredded lettuce. Beautiful and delicious. The other was the most artfully prepared chow mein I’ve ever encoutered. It’s probably not chow mein, but it was presented in a lacy woven fried noodle basket. It was quite lovely. Inside the basket was a stir fried mixture of celery, mushrooms, chicken, and shrimp. We were getting quite full at this point, and I noticed the bride had changed again. This time she wore a deep burgundy gown. So lovely. People who are size minus two can wear such stunning things!

We thought the meal was surely coming to a close, but more food arrived. There was a dish of baby bok choy stir fried with giant shitake mushrooms, accompanied by a platter of birds. Now, these birds caused quite a stir with the grandmotherly types at our table. They looked like quartered pigeons to me, head, beak and all, and I wasn’t too keen to try them. One of the ladies insisted, and put one on my plate. She had several, and they even requested to-go boxes to take the leftovers home. They must have been a special delicacy. I bravely tried some of my unknown bird, and was glad it was only a small piece. It was liverlike in consistency. Not at all to my liking, but I was a good sport and didn’t want to insult anyone. I was glad there were mushrooms and bok choy on the table, so I could turn my attention to them.

More food appeared. Goodness gracious, how do these tiny people stay so tiny and eat so heartily So far, everyone at the table had eaten something of everything (except Mr. Gadget, who tried to stay on familiar ground as much as possible). A giant platter of chicken arrived, along with a platter of fish. Whole fish. Head, eyes, and all. It was a dramatic presentation, to say the least. Being the good sport that I am, I tried a little tiny piece, and it was mushy and very oily. Not my favorite. I enjoy fish that are firm and flaky like salmon, cod, and halibut. The chicken was good. Mr. Gadget was relieved to discover that it was real chicken, not duck or goose or pigeon or crow. We think it was chicken, anyway. After that, yes, there was more food yet to come, arrived the fried rice. Finally. Rice. It was nearly the last dish. The wedding cake, a seven tiered composition, was cut and served. It was a fluffy yellowy cake with the lightest whipped icing with chopped fresh fruit between the layers. Quite nice.

And finally. A bowl of black beans in some sort of creamy looking sauce. We declined. I’m not sure if they were a dessert, but I suspect as much. We had absolutely no room left, at that point. During the cake and bean dish, the karaoke began. What is an Asian banquet without karaoke ! The bride and groom had the first song, and then an encore. My friend was such a good sport. I simply could not have imagined her singing karaoke in a thousand years. One of the grandmothers followed and belted out a few Chinese songs. She sang quite well. Nobody else had the courage to go forward, which might have had something to do with the full bottles of wine at each table, as wine glasses had not been provided.

The evening came to a close, and the guests began to leave. We thanked the bride and groom for the banquet and headed home. As we drove past the Lucky Dong, we didn’t snicker. Okay, we did, just a bit.

For the second day in a row, I’ve awakened at 3:30 a.m., and haven’t been able to return to the land of slumber. Sigh. There is a piper, and he must be paid. But not right now.
The Black Friday ads are tantalizing, almost to the point of hyperventilation. Should I go stand in line amidst the mob of other hopeful shoppers and try to score some early bird specials I don’t need anything. But there are 1000 thread count sheet sets out there for $79.99. One. THOUSAND. Thread. Count. !!! Yes, I hyperventilate over linens. No, I probably won’t buy them. They’re sateen, and Mr. Gadget has already expressed his dislike of slippery sheets. (The luscious 500 thread count dark chocolate brown sheets I treated myself to a few months ago are sateen –and GORGEOUS! –alas, not to MG’s liking.)

I could just go and wander, to see if I encounter any hot deals that would make appropriate holiday gifts for MG’s family. I used to shop for my family, but sort of stopped in the last few years. It occurred to me that I’ve spent a lifetime trying to hold my family together, and making sure they all had gifts was one of my feeble attempts. Only, it’s just stuff. They don’t need stuff. I don’t need stuff. I’m so tired of stuff. We’re all grown up now. It’s no longer us as a unit trying to survive, to get through childhood and early life. We’re there. We’re on our own. We’re making our way. Whatever ways they may be, they are our own. We don’t have gift-giving obligations. Who wants it if it’s an obligation anyway Obligation completely ruins the spirit of giving. So. I don’t send things out to my family. And they don’t send things to me.

Most importantly, I have my own family now, and I can turn my focus to making life magical for the child(ren) I’m raising. That is where my joy is now. This is where my strength goes now. I don’t want them (speaking with the assumption that Little One, the size of a pea inside me, will survive and fluorish and join us soon) to grow up in survival mode, us against them, like I did. I want to give them a beautiful life.

The other day, in the kitchen, I hugged Mr. Gadget. He probably helped clean up, which isn’t the norm, although he would contest that. It was a nice moment, but the very best part was stepping away from him and seeing my little boy smiling up at us, radiating the most beautiful pure love from every ounce of his giant little being. It was an impression I’d like to etch in my memory forever. It represents love at its finest. Unconditional. Untainted. Unjaded. Unscarred. He’s so young and innocent, and it filled him with joy to see his mommy and daddy embrace in a loving moment.

I need to remember this. To try to see love through the eyes of a child, rather than through the hardened skin of a weary and worn adult. Because, it’s true, I can be critical. I have great expectations that I impose upon myself, and by association, I impose them upon my man. Because we’re a unit; we’re a reflection of each other, in some ways, and I do believe there are some fundamental things that we should agree on. Like-mindedness. How I yearn for that. It sometimes seems that there is very little that we agree on, other than that we love each other and that we love our child with a great big gigantic love. Expression of expectations is not always conducive to a harmonious environment. I need to remember that he’s not me, and I need to embrace that and rejoice in the diversity he brings to our union. I need to appreciate him, simply for being him. And, perhaps, he just might do the same for me. Then, there will be more loving embraces, and there will be more shining happy faces smiling up at me.

It’s so worth it.

Perhaps this year I ought to ask Santa for a new computer.  It seems like mine isn’t that old, but in the last two days it’s suffered several spontaneous reboots.  When it recovers, there is an ominous warning about Windows and serious faults, along with a not-so-helpful log of problems encountered.  Things like boot sectors and gobbledy gook.  As if that’s going to help me.  I don’t know how to make sense of that mumbo jumbo.

I ought to take heed and do some major housecleaning.  Back up all my files.  You know.  Just in case.  It’s my weekend project.  I hope that uttering these thoughts hasn’t sealed my fate and that  I won’t wake up in the morning to a failed hard drive.  That would be just plain awful.  Of course, I could work on backing up my files right now.  But I’d rather go to bed.  Everyone else is asleep, and it would be a good time for me to work unencumbered.  But I’m tired too!  And Mr. Gadget will surely chastise me for spending so much time on the computer.

What would I want, should I wish for a new computer   Sometimes I think I might like to try a Mac, but that would mean learning a whole new set of tools, and none of the software that I already have would work.  I think I am sort of stuck with a PC until I’m ready to leave behind the suite of tools I’m already familiar with.  I think I’d like an itsy bitsy teeny weeny laptop.  Something that’s not too heavy, that I can fit in my bag.  I can always dock it with my full size keyboard and monitor, and I can undock and roam the house and blog at will, as long as it has a wireless card.  Yes, I think I might like a teensy weensy laptop.

It astounds me, the way a ray of sun bursting through the clouds, illuminating the trees in their fall splendor, can make my heart soar and make me feel so alive.  The last two months I’ve found myself gloomy more often than not, and every once in a while I get a rush of energy when the sun breaks through the clouds.  It’s sad.  I’m sad.  Off and on.  They call it SAD, anyway.  Whoever they are.  Seasonal Affective Disorder.  Google will return a plethora of information on the subject, if one were interested enough to bother.  Basically, I am fickle, like the weather.  It has been an emotionally difficult time for me, what with memories and associations, and certain recent events.  The daily weather forecast lately calls for rain, heavy winds, and flood warnings, more often than not.  And those bursts of sun   They have a name.  Sunbreaks.  They call them sunbreaks, here in the Northwest.  A break from the normal dismal gloomy grey. 

How fabulous to enjoy a sunbreak, while walking amidst a carpet of fallen leaves, hoping and dreaming of things to come.  It’s been a week since the discovery, and I’m trying very hard not to overthink things and get too worked up about the what ifs.  So far, so good, as far as I know.  People are so kind.  There have been so many kind, warm, thoughtful and loving comments and I appreciate each and every one.  It means so much that all over the world there are fine people with loving hearts who are sending their light to the little one growing inside of me.  We are blessed.  We thank you all.

Today we broke from the normal mundane weekend full of chores, catch-up, and to-do lists, and went to the museum. Because I have a tendency to overlook opportunities, and take far too many things for granted, this decision was quite a departure from the norm. After looking up the admission prices, Mr. Gadget was quite surprised that I remained agreeable to the venture. I am, after all, Ms. Penny Pincher Party Pooper Fun Police, and adult admission was $24. Each. Each! Okay, it’s been a long time since we’ve been out, so I don’t know the going rate for these sorts of things, but I just don’t recall paying fares like that for the Louvre or the Uffizi or the Smithsonian or any number of amazing museums I’ve had the opportunity to visit. But Leo’s in town. So off we went.

 

 

 

It was quite an exhibit with great models built from his drawings.

Some of the models were interactive and child-friendly. There were flying machines, gizmos, gadgets, war machines, and even a robot. Oh, and the first escalator.V. impressive.

There was an original piece from his codex, which was quite something to see. Pssst. It’s backwards, whispered Mr. Gadget, concerned that those idiot display managers had posted the wrong side of the codex. Yes, Dear, that’s his characteristic mirror handwriting. It’s supposed to be that way. It’s his thanggg.

LDV also did sculpture. I quite liked his horses.

But this is the stuff I really like.

And of course, there can’t be a Da Vinci exhibit without Mona.

All in all, it was a nice exhibit. Very interesting. But the paintings were all reproductions, as were the models, and I find these things somewhat disappointing. I think the only original work was the one sheet from the codex. It was quite something.

The rest of the museum was full of airplanes. I like the old ones best.

So many things to see.

So many buttons to push.

So much fun to be had.

What a beautiful day.

Well, it’s day two, and there are still two lines. Only, the important one doesn’t seem as vivid as yesterday’s. I try not to let this make me crazy. Part of me is frightened that this will end badly. Part of me is certain that all will be well. The headache persisted well into the day and I finally caved and took some Tylenol.  I’ve been faithful with my folic acid and vitamins for months and months.  That’s a plus.  And now I’ve started gentle yoga and am cleaning up my eating habits in the hopes of evading the gestational diabetes this time.  I feel like crappe, and count that as a blessing.  Leg cramps.  Belly cramps.  Queasiness.  Dizziness.  Fatigue.  All SIGNS!!  It means things are happening.  It means it’s real!  I gathered the courage to step on the scale and was disappointed to see that I have recently gained so much.  It’s like an explosion.  I could feel it happening, but preferred to stick my head in the sand, so to speak.  Sigh.  What matters now is to make the most of things as they are.  Get some fresh air.  Try to get more rest.  Pray.  Settle myself.  Immerse my inner self and outer self in love.  What a blessing I am bestowed with!  July 19th.  That’s my guess.  We’ll see what the experts say when the time comes.  I made my first appointment today, but it’s not for two more weeks.  How can I possibly wait that long.  It’s like an eternity away.  I must find a way to calm down!
And how nice!  A phone conversation with none other than the fine Miscellania!  The blog world becomes smaller and smaller with each passing day.

A cautionary note.  The following post is most likely going to contain a plethora of Too Much Information (TMI).  Those with aversions to –or a low threshold for– TMI, run along now, and thank you for visiting. 

Recently a certain someone postulated as to the reason for clumsiness and shattering of dishes and whatnot.  Okay, it was Miscellania.  I loved the theory, but considered it implausible.  However.  In a sleepy stupor in the early morn, I fumbled in the cabinet for a strip and a cup, going through the motions that I’ve gone through a gazillion times before.  I stared at the strip, bracing myself for the normal disappointment that I always feel, no matter how often I’ve convinced myself beforehand that I would not (be disappointed).  Only this time   Two lines.   I rubbed my eyes and shook the strip and stared at it closely, just to be sure.  Then  hurried to show Mr. Gadget.  My stoic man.  (I know he’s pleased.  He’s just not the most expressive of individuals.  Unless gadgets are involved, of course.)   I don’t even know if I emptied the cup, washed it out, and put it away.  (I hope so.)

And so begins a new chapter.  Moments of paranoia interspersed with moments of hope and elation.  Minutes, days, weeks, months.  Already, this day, the paranoia sets in.  I have a headache.  The kind I get when it’s that time.  I’m no stranger to miscarriage, but oh, how I want this to take!  I know better than to get overly excited at so early a stage, but  how can I help myself

This is yet another nearly immaculate conception.  Just like the last one.  In which I got my Boo Boy.  I have one of those cycles that moves to the beat of its own drummer.  Every now and then.  As it sees fit.  As to the presence of ova   Another matter entirely.  Add to that a near absence of folk dancing.  The odds!  They must be staggering!  Not that I’m complaining!  I’m not.  I’m not!  (But I was, and have been, off and on, for some time.)  Poor Mr. Gadget.  I’ve been known to be so frustrated with him, at him, in times past.  How hopeless and helpless I’ve felt at times recently, knowing the odds that we have to work with, and feeling powerless to enable an outcome, compounded with a perceived lack of interest on his part in my hopes and dreams, all being drowned by the deafening sound of my biological clock relentlessly ticking away.  My stoic man.  Life can be such a rollercoaster, and finding synchronicity is beyond me, at times.

A cacophony of thoughts.

Can I finish that bottle of wine   Okay, I won’t be buying any more, but can I have that last glass   In America, most would say NO!  In Europe, they may say Oui.  What to do, what to do.

Headache.  Panic.  Oh Lord, please don’t let this one go.  I don’t want to miscarry.

Calm.  I know you’re in there, safe and sound, deep inside me, protected.  Nothing can hurt you and you are fine and well.

Reason.  Ahh, this explains much.  The dizziness.  The clumsiness.  The shortness of breath.  Anxiety.  Fatigue.  All things that I live with, more or less, but lately more.  Enough so as to make me notice that it’s more than the usual.

Wonder.  Are you a boy or a girl   Will you look like me or your dad   Will you be a giant like your brother   Will you be petite   Will I be able to deliver you the natural way   Or will I need to have another C-section   Will you be healthy and whole   Please be healthy and whole.  Will you latch and breastfeed, or will you be like your brother   I hope you will take to the breast.  I hope you develop perfectly.  I hope you stay.  Will I develop gestational diabetes again   Or can I avoid it

Is this for real   Oh please.  Please!  Let it be real.

I know the exact date.  You know.  That date.  The date when people engage in a folk dance.  It was October 25th.  Of course, the actual meeting could have taken place any time between then and the 27th.  Oh, the 27th.  That was a momentous day.  On that day, I sobbed for hours.  On that day, I remembered my brother.  On that day, my brother’s first child miscarried the one that would have been her second child.  It was a momentous day, and it just might have been your first day.

I want to tell my sister.  My sweet sissy who wants desperately to be a mother and faces challenges as daunting or even more so than mine.  We are eight years apart, so her clock isn’t clanging quite as loudly as mine.  She will be so happy for me, but she might be sad as well.  I know.  I go through this time and again.  As elated as I am for others who share this joyous news when it’s their turn to share, each tiding only brings to focus the glaring lack of fruition in my own sphere of life.  So I know.  I don’t want her to feel bad, but she probably won’t be able to help it.

This blog is going to morph into a Babeeus blog, the Harmony blog.  It may become tiresome to read, but it will be about things that matter to me.  Hopefully, the journey will be joyful.

I’m a bit afraid to go home and retest tomorrow.  What if I wake up and this was all a dream   A figment of my overly active and reactive imagination   Paranoia returns.

It’s exhausting.  But good!