24.5.10
for real though
summer is my busy season, professionally and personally. and the boy is moving here saturday, and there's not really room for him yet. and i had two birthday parties saturday and a friend in town and worked all day sunday and my back hurts and. . . yeah. . . i'll be back. . . soon.
13.5.10
something to worry about
i touch my computer, it breaks, stops responding, etc. ted turns it on, and it works. i guess there's a reason i keep him around. you can thank him for this lovely post about t.v. and my period.
~b
I mean. . . I probably shouldn’t be getting sex ed. information from Mad Men.
“That’s not a thing, right? I mean, that doesn’t mean you’re pregnant. I don’t think that’s a thing.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been pregnant.”
“Well, that happened to me. . . and. . . I think that’s not a thing. It’s not a thing, right? Right?”
“I don’t want to tell you it’s not a thing if it is a thing.”
My cousin is two years older than me and has been trying to get pregnant for at least five years with no luck at all, only teary spells from the hormones. And what if I wasted my fertility on frat parties and hangovers and waking up in strange beds? And even worse, what if I had a baby? Where would I put it in my studio? In a suitcase? The top kitchen shelf I have to stand on a chair to reach? Or worse than worse, what if I’m not a cute mom with outfits, but one of those old ones with the saggy eyes??
It’s hard enough on regular days, thinking about it, even without Betty Draper with her perfect hair and her perfect skin and her perfect waist teaching us this lesson via Netflix.
So Ted Googled it. And of course it’s a thing because everything is a symptom of pregnancy. And when everything is a symptom, I have them all.
And that was something to worry about.
“What would we do?”
“I don’t know. It would make things harder, but I guess we’d deal with it. But let’s not worry about it until it’s a thing.”
I don’t know what I wanted him to say. (“Love it.”? That would be a little cliché and a little more insincere.)
In a book of short stories, I once read an interesting thought about how we spend our twenties trying not to get pregnant and our thirties trying to have babies. I wish I could remember the sentence, the author, the book. . . .
I worried ‘til I fell asleep, didn’t have to worry long after I woke up.
About that.
There’s always something to worry about.
~beatrix
~b
I mean. . . I probably shouldn’t be getting sex ed. information from Mad Men.
“That’s not a thing, right? I mean, that doesn’t mean you’re pregnant. I don’t think that’s a thing.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been pregnant.”
“Well, that happened to me. . . and. . . I think that’s not a thing. It’s not a thing, right? Right?”
“I don’t want to tell you it’s not a thing if it is a thing.”
My cousin is two years older than me and has been trying to get pregnant for at least five years with no luck at all, only teary spells from the hormones. And what if I wasted my fertility on frat parties and hangovers and waking up in strange beds? And even worse, what if I had a baby? Where would I put it in my studio? In a suitcase? The top kitchen shelf I have to stand on a chair to reach? Or worse than worse, what if I’m not a cute mom with outfits, but one of those old ones with the saggy eyes??
It’s hard enough on regular days, thinking about it, even without Betty Draper with her perfect hair and her perfect skin and her perfect waist teaching us this lesson via Netflix.
So Ted Googled it. And of course it’s a thing because everything is a symptom of pregnancy. And when everything is a symptom, I have them all.
And that was something to worry about.
“What would we do?”
“I don’t know. It would make things harder, but I guess we’d deal with it. But let’s not worry about it until it’s a thing.”
I don’t know what I wanted him to say. (“Love it.”? That would be a little cliché and a little more insincere.)
In a book of short stories, I once read an interesting thought about how we spend our twenties trying not to get pregnant and our thirties trying to have babies. I wish I could remember the sentence, the author, the book. . . .
I worried ‘til I fell asleep, didn’t have to worry long after I woke up.
About that.
There’s always something to worry about.
~beatrix
2.5.10
important update
i thought she was just being finicky-- but the spazziness and panic attacks just grew more frequent, and my computer finally flatlined on friday night. the boy says he's buying a new macbook soon, so now i really have an incentive to let him move in. posting might be spotty for a bit, but remember that i love you. or at least that i love that you love me.
in other news:
-i'm not too old for concerts, and i am an amazing dancer. and if the bass player for weezer is interested, i want to have your babies.
-free hugs tee shirts, etc. are stupid. if you are paying for your hugs, you are doing something wrong.
xoxo
beatrix
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