I received this letter in the mail yesterday from Jonathan’s youngest cousin, Rachel. She wants to help name the baby. It is literally the cutest letter I have ever opened. Honestly, it needs no further explanation, I just had to share. I am going to frame it. It makes me laugh every time I look at it. Especially her picture of our baby — which looks a lot like the Great Pumpkin. I’ve seen a few babies that look like the Great Pumpkin, apparently, so has she.
This was such a lovely surprise. Life keeps surprising me. I like it.
For some reason I was not ready when Oprah arrived at my house for dinner. I was looking for the dog named Snoopy I had purposely let escape because the crazy girl named Madison said she wanted to kill him. What!?! When Oprah arrived she was wearing all cream. For whatever reason I had determined that it was okay for me to finish dressing in front of Oprah. I slipped into some cream pants while chatting with my now best friend, Oprah, about the awesomeness of the Sundance Catalog. I tell her the entire catalog is MY favorite thing. I’m too embarrassed to tell her I can afford none of it. And finally, while walking out onto the lanai I do not have, she asks the question, “Are you ready for this? Do you have any idea what you are doing?”
I was being dream-schooled on motherhood by Oprah.
If dreaming is really going to be this vivid while I am pregnant, it will be an interesting nine months. Very interesting. My only explanation for this is I had just watched the 30 Rock episode where Tina Fey imagined the real Oprah, but it was really a ninth grader named Pam. Oh, and only my Mom and my husband know how absolutely comical it would be for me to serve dinner in cream pants, since I often wear half my meal. I have no explanation for Madison wanting to kill Snoopy. She did not succeed.
The past few days I have had several people ask me if I am nervous about carrying the pregnancy to term. Isn’t it scary to be so public? Yes and yes. I really didn’t have a choice since I had been yammering on for three months on this blog. I tell them what I am now about to tell everyone. Yes, I am scared to death, but also incredibly calm. It’s not the sort of scared that keeps me paralyzed and afraid. It’s the sort of scared that hopes I can handle everything that happens, no matter what it is. It’s the sort of scared that wants me to be present until there is a reason to be scared.
Today there is no reason.
IF the final IVF had worked with my eggs I would be making an announcement about now that we were three months along — which is how people (especially at my age) generally do it. As I sit here today with some perspective, I know with that scenario I would have spent the last three months stressing; keeping myself closed off; hoping for the best.
That didn’t happen and ultimately, I am grateful. Life gives us what we need. I believe that. We don’t always see it the first or even the second time it comes around. At least I don’t.
Instead of getting to quietly fret for three months, I reluctantly went on a yoga retreat and spent the last three months cracking myself open so wide it’s impossible to shove it all back in. I’m not exactly that scared, fearful person anymore — despite my ugly cry meltdown three nights before the pregnancy test. I don’t doubt that there may or may not be tears of some sort lurking around the corner on this journey. I acknowledge, but refuse to anticipate.
Valentine’s Day has never been our holiday. When I think back on the past several years, not much has been our holiday. Last night we had our friend Bryant over for some Valentine’s Day tacos. Jonathan and I have both been sick so the thought of going out was unappealing. Food was good, company was good, they watched the basketball game. I read baby books. Boomer napped.
We are having Valentine’s Day on Sunday when we go to a couple’s yoga workshop with Chaz. Jonathan is nervous, but I know he’s going to have a great time.
After Bryant left we were cleaning the kitchen and Jonathan said, Put on A Mighty Wind.
A Mighty Wind is a hilarious movie if you have not seen it. It was once a staple CD in our car. I can’t remember the last time we played it. It always made us laugh and laugh. We could sing it from beginning to end with gestures. Last night, as he’s washing the pans and I am drying them, we were both singing the songs, laughing; stopping to add the hand gestures and choreography.
While drying the last few pans, it came on. Our song. A Kiss At the End of Rainbow. We sing it as if we are Mitch & Mickey, complete with a pause for the kiss. It’s the corniest thing ever, but I love it.
We do it as comedy, but deep down we really mean it.
I think there is a part of me that dreams of retiring as a hippie folk singer. I need to learn to play the guitar first — or the dulcimer.
As I climbed into bed I was thrilled with my Valentine’s Day. The letter from Rachel. Listening to A Mighty Wind while washing dishes. I felt like Jonathan and I were coming back. The us was rejoining. The clouds were moving to the side. All the fun was not lost, just buried for awhile.
It was nice to know we can still kiss at the end of the rainbow. And laugh. You always have to laugh.