Top Five Fave Christmas Gifts

1. Mei Tei Baby Carrier by Baby Hawk in camouflage
Courtesy of my Dad
My little Dax LOVES to be held. And I love to oblige. I had no idea prior to his birth, but there's this whole parenting debate raging on between styles. My general philosophies of parenting tend to fall in the attachment parenting aisle. One of the principles is baby-wearing.  I've tried other carriers and they are either a) too hard to put on or b) fit like blah. BUT this one is oh-so-cute and easy and will grow with us into the toddler years.

2. China Plates from Lenox, Chirp Collection
Courtesy of My Mother
I've been collecting this adorable set since our wedding in spring 09'. They are china, washable in dishwasher, casual enough to use everyday, AND always on sale at Macy's. And every time I eat on them, I feel like the meal was something special. They are so me and Oh - So - Cute! I imagine passing them on to my unborn daughter in like 30 years.

3. Oven Mitt from Anthropologie
Courtesy of My Sister
My old mitt was greasy and gross and begging to be thrown. AND aave you shopped at Anthropologie? They make EVERYTHING cute. Everything. They make me want to buy salt shakers & hair bands & soap bars. None of which I need. All of which I want. And this one is--guess what--oh so cute!

4. Kardashian Konfidential, the book
Courtesy of My Brother
I have to admit, my brother surprised me with this one. I  LOVE LOVE the Kardashians. I DVR 'Keeping Up With the Kardashians ' and all spin offs! I like totally think these girls are like totally awesome and like totally funny and like totally gorgeous and I like totally wish they were my best friends. But the practical Taurus inside would NEVER EVER let me ask for or buy this book, considering it completely irreverent. Luckily, my brother called me out, seeing the little girl fan in me that like totally LOVES this book!

5. $200 bucks, Macy's gift card

Courtesy of My Husband

Because, let's face it, I'm a hot mess. Postpartum--I am not quite my old size and my maternity clothes are falling off of me. I need new digs. And now that I'm a SAHM, all my $ comes from my hubby. And that's weird. And I'm super cautious not to be wasteful. And sometimes that means putting me last. So luckily my hubby gave me some guilt-free cash to finally get some clothes that fit! 

What were YOUR fave gifts this year??!!

The Honeymoon's Over

The families have departed. They have come. I have gone. To them too. And now. I'm left with long days that stretch out before me. We don't live near relatives. No grandmothers take our babies on the weekends. No cousin's birthdays to attend. Not yet. And so. We are alone.

Together? Sure. Happy? Absolutely. Lonely? Sometimes...

In Minnesota, I watched my niece Nova shove her fingers in my baby's mouth. Kiss his cheek. Pat his belly. Little Dax and his little cousin--they saw each other. Faces like brand new presents. Curious. Acknowledgement. You'll be in my life forever...

I ache for what they'll miss. The everyday. The seamless weekends. Where mom and mom and nana and uncle and us we get together for goshknowswhat. Those babies will run at our feet. No big thing. This dream may never be... 

And now I have behind me. All the excitement of pregnancy & birth & new baby & who sees who when & Christmas & presents & planes. It is done. The thank you cards are stamped. Sealed. Sent.

Before me I have my itty bitty family and our endless numbered days. It is real. And it is right. But a realization none the less.

I try to live in The Now.

But I drift. I dream about the growing baby in my arms. The growing family in our future. The growing need to believe our extended family will follow us here like ducks. South for the winter. But then they stay. Stay.

Cousins: Nova & Dax

Dax & Nana Kay 

This One Might Be Broken

So our travels to the cold country went without a hitch. We decided not to traverse by car to North Dakota to save ourselves the infant car ride. I am glad we did not, although I am itching to see my grandmother.

However, I came to an icky conclusion while there. Which is only amplified by today--my first day back on the job as a stay-at-home mom. Help me! Here's the sitch...

So Dave, my husband, was of course there. And have I mentioned what an awesome Dad he is? I mean, I knew he would be, but he's better than I even thought before. He's so attentive and caring and cute with him. He walks him and rocks him and hums to him. He brings him to bed for me to nurse him in the wee hours of the night without me asking. He says to me, "Can I get you anything?" Words that make me wanna wrap my legs around his torso and hug him with my whole body.

But Dave works a lot. Like a ton. I once wrote a post about it here. Which translates into some very long days for me. However, over the holidays, we got like five whole days together. And I came to this very ugh-worthy conclusion: Dax goes to sleep much easier for Dave. Like it takes five minutes of walking and he's out like a light.

I am so annoyed by this conclusion. Firstlies, I don't have the magic hubby touch all day. It takes me walking, strolling, bouncing, nursing, swaddling, white noise--you name it--just to get Dax to sleep. And if I'm not holding him, he sleeps like 45 minutes. If I'm holding him, we can get a good 3 hours in the day. But you can imagine what that does to your to-do list.

I guess I didn't mind doing all that, but now that I saw Dave just turn Dax off like a switch, I'm left feeling like this could all be easier. Has anyone else had this problem? I'm thinking Dax can smell my milk or something and it sends him into a frenzy. I promise you, I've done exactly what my hubby does and I get results no where near that.

Secondly, at night, my guy is regularly hitting three hour stretches, but no more than that. I just read on babycenter.com on this quiz that like 60 thousand people took, that 91 percent of those parent's babies were sleeping five hour stretches regularly by three months. WTF? Dax is nowhere near this...is this survey really true???

I'm tired. Like sometimes exhausted. What were your experiences with your babies at this age of three months? Did they sleep through the night? Is mine broken? Did your hubby's have better luck than you breast-feeding mommies???

On the Road with the Wee One

Tomorrow we hop on a plane to go visit my family in the snowy Midwest. I'm a little scared, just because I haven't traveled with Dax before. He's only 11 weeks old, so I have no idea what to expect. It's weird thinking of an infant now, it definitely affects my ability to freewheel. For example, we have planned on driving to Fargo (where I grew up) on Christmas Eve for one night to see my extended family. I would love for them to meet the wee one, plus it's been years since we've been to that party.

But the last couple of nights I've been doubting my decision. First off, it's been snowing like mad up there. Normally, this would not deter me. If it were a blizzard, sure, but a little snow isn't the end of the world. But now I have a little guy to worry about. I don't want to do anything foolhardy, or needlessly dangerous. I am his protector; I take that role seriously.

Secondly, I have not yet vaccinated my guy. I'm already terrified that I'm bringing him on an airplane with god know's what germs lurk, but then to trek him across the tundra to a party with lots of people? I don't know...I meant to get to the pediatrician's office sooner than this trip, but I had not yet done the research that I wanted to on the 2 month vaccinations, so to be honest, I kind of procrastinated. He'll go for a check-up after he gets back, but until then, I don't want to needlessly expose him to whooping cough!

I don't want to be a big wuss, but my mom-stincts are telling me I perhaps should plan a separate trip to the cold plains in a few months. What do you think?

I know it will probably all be fine. I have to pump a few bottles today so I can take them on the plane. I have not yet mastered the art of not being embarrassed by breast-feeding in public. Anyway, blah blah. I am just doing a little mom worry before the trip. Any tips for success? I will be there a week.

Outside, A California Winter in Technicolor

In California, even though we are knee-deep in December, the world looks like Fall. It still feels like winter though.  The air is snippy, brisk.

Me & Dax & the cats go outside into the yard to see the golden cover of leaves...

In every frame there's an abstract picture,

or a colorful poem...

Diego, our little kitten-cat-panther-lion, follows me everywhere...

 (kitten)

 (cat)

 (panther)

 (lion)

It's so quiet outside. The absence of sound reminds me of loneliness...

Although I'm not alone...

We notice all the pretty things together...

and head back inside.

I stare at you again.  

And again...

You're so darn cute...

How'd  you get to be mine?

In this house together now. It's a brand new winter. Sparkling yellow and gold. 

We play on the floor of the nursery. We are looking from the inside-out.

(love taking photos?...click below...)

What Dreams May Come

I'm looking for poetic things in the cracks of my dreams last night. I remember people leaving each other, laying next to one other underneath the stars. Isn't that too intimate of a place to say goodbye?

I remember giant yellow magnets...and the one that said 'It Is Done.' The artsy picture then became a movie, and I woke up thinking it was beautiful. These dreams. They don't make sense. Even less so--I see--my words fail to organize them.

What of DREAMS now? Aren't they so vivid? Is it the postpartum hormones? Or the intense shift of my identity? Am I sifting through the remnants of some past me? Looking to find what to keep and what to throw? Is the EGO re-defining? Yes....

I ache for all things beautiful. These dreams are delicate, pretty. I like that. My life dreams are like my night dreams...

Time is different now. Precious. And unpredictable.

Everything I want is tied up in this family's future. In Dax's future. In our future children's future. What I hope TO DO is not as important now as WHY.

(In between dreams...) I am laying down next to me in the grass. Under the stars. Thinking 'isn't this too intimate of a place to say good-bye'?

Right as Rain

It's raining outside. The palm tree juts out in jagged lines. A spiky black silhouette against the grey sky. The white curtains glow with light in front of the window in the nursery as we rock gently. His navy blue eyes watch the shiver of the trees outside. His eyes, still and open. As we rock. Back and forth.

'I love you,' I think. His little body like a magnet to mine. My breath sets the pace for his breath. I must calm down to get him down. I'm learning patience. I listen to the cars in the street turn the corner in front of our house, their splash coats the curb. Like a short breath. And. Breathe.

I have nothing to do but love you. Every day. Just that thought alone makes my throat well up. My eyes choke back tears. Thank you God. Oh My God, Thank You.

I see my world, my house, my thoughts...through your eyes now. Everything is new. Everything is in place. Everything is safe and planned. And lovely.

I feel at home. For the first time in years, everything makes perfect sense.

This Is Home.

My Announcement, love it...

Hello Green Birth Announcement

Find hundreds of elegant baby birth announcements at Shutterfly.com.

View the entire collection of cards.

Isn't It New

What does one say about the birth of their child? What pictures can I paint that will truly fill you in...let you in on this life change? I exhale. I believe. There's not much now to do but start...

Dear Dax,
I love you. I love you more than you can possibly know. I've seen others have children and babies and my removal from all this made me think that maybe you would be all about diapers and late nights and sacrifices. I wasn't ready for THE JOY. I wasn't ready for that switch to be flipped...the one that would do ANYTHING for you. Jump in front of trains to protect you.

This is how I feel. How quickly you've weaved yourself into the fabric of my life, how effortlessly your cry fills the space and you are as normal as living now. You have turned my life upside down. You have changed everything, and yet sometimes, I'm surprised by how life continues the same too. You are the light in my eyes. You are the realized dream of Dave and I's future. How can I try to explain this more? I can't.

You were born on October 4th in the early early morning. You were 7 and 1/2 pounds. Labor surprised me. I suffered. I strained. I gave birth to you. I knew that was the end of pregnancy, but the empty space in my belly is weird now. Seeing you here. Now. Is a dream. A miracle. I have a lump in my throat.

Parenthood is elusive. I thought I would feel older. Like marriage made me feel. I don't though. I feel younger maybe. Slightly inadequate. But more confident than I ever thought I'd feel. I am confident that I know what you need. Confident as your mother that I'll be what you need me to be. That confidence has been a surprise. I am not scared. I feel chosen by you.

And Dave. The love we felt those first few days. An intensity that made me cry when we kissed. Seeing him rock our son to sleep has been my soul's great joy.

Thank you world. For blessing me. So profoundly. I drop to my knees in reverence of these gifts I've been given. As my family surrounds me now--the uncles and aunts and grandparents rally around our home to love you. What love. What love I feel now. Thank you world. Thank you.

Forever and ever and ever,
yours.

Diary of a Due Date

Today was dripping with pretty.

I woke up to the quiet licks of lightening, appearing like white veins in the grey sky. The cracks of thunder moved me to the window. The scene was drenched. Flowers lit up our yard--bits of paint, yellow and red roses. They were bright and vivid. Bursting against the slicked green leaves. 

I listened to the sound of the world and loved her. Loved her chatter. The cymbal sound on the concrete. I was glad for it. Glad that today looked different than other days. I wanted the outside to be different. 

I walked for an hour today with my mother-in-law in this warm, wet neighborhood--we trekked over the hills, pausing at snails. It felt purposeful--her and I--waiting for the little guy, swinging him in my hips, encouraging him. We ate egg and cheese sandwiches and baked sugar cookies, frosting them at the table. I drank my raspberry tea and we enjoyed the weather together. The silence outside soothed me. 

I am so tired now. I let the Big Day pass over me. I am thankful for it. Thankful it's over. I can get on with real things, like uncertainty. And life.

Hurry Up and Wait

I'm still here. Full moon pregnant.

Forty weeks in just days. These things seems so arbitrary now...my little man knows little of the date we've chosen for him. 

I hear pineapple helps induce labor. And sex. And walking. I'll try them all...

I've nested. And re-nested. The closet are clean. The cupboards organized. I did six loads of my husband's laundry on Sunday. In the decade we've been together, I've only washed one load of his laundry. And I ruined two of his shirts. This time. His clothes are clean and perfect. Nesting is real. 

Now I want my dark corner. Like a cat. I've shuffled around my nest of newspapers. I want to SIT DOWN and WAIT. I want to Be Quiet. I want darkness. And silence. Leave me alone world, I have the world's work to do...

38 Weeks. Wait...whaa?

Time has stopped completely. I am paralyzed. I can do nothing. I can think nothing but when when when will this happen? I am obsessed.

I can't believe I'm here. I'm on the fringe of mommyhood. Isn't this something other people do? Not me, there's no way I'm ready for this.

I am gathering up my little baby belongings. I am lining them against the crib. I am thumbing through his little baby closet daily. I am picking out outfits for him. I am wondering who he will be. How will I usher him through this life, as best I can, without being TOO MUCH.

I am mourning every moment of right now. Almost like the way one mourns grandparents who lived good long lives. I am sad to see this moment GO, but I know it's time.

I have a headache right now and my belly is moving like crazy. Dax is shuffling around in his amniotic hammock, making himself at home. I don't know why, but labor still feels like a ways off. I have a feeling I won't be early. Or so my intuition says. I think I'll sense when it's closer. I'll just know...

Does everyone around me feel the weight of the world shift? Do they feel the light in the air move differently? Nothing feels the same to me right now. Every moment is a moment I've never felt before. I'm knee-deep in Change.

I love you, my little buddy. I will miss you in my belly. I will miss your turns and rolls, your closeness, your safeness, you're unknown.

But right now, I want you OUT. My dear son,

I want to hear you Laugh.

Kitty Chronicles

Trick Daddy almost died the other day. He's our seven-year old cat, black and shiny, sensitive and moody. Strangers don't really care for him. He isn't very nice to them. He hisses and haws. He looks crazy-eyed and aggressive. He's swiped a few house guests here and there.

We found him in 2004 in Dave's old condo complex. According to the vet, he was probably one years old. He was crying and roaming and looked unkept and lost. When we offered him milk, he lapped it. When we opened our door, he jumped on our old black leather couches and started cleaning himself contently. Every once in awhile he would do a little happy cat twist for us.

He was dirty and scrappy and we figured full of disease. We bathed him and he let us. He still does to this day. We put out a plate of rocks for him to pee on that night. I did it to soothe Dave, figuring it would never work. It did. Our kitty peed on a plate of rocks. To this day, he's never soiled a floor.

He never wanted to leave again. We frequently opened the door so he could find home, if he had one. He refused. To be honest, we didn't look too hard for any previous owners. I mitigate that sin within myself by reassuring myself that he was either abandoned or ran away from home.

Through the years, Trick stayed with me as Dave and I moved in and out of each other's homes as we navigated our young relationship. To us, Trick has been the picture perfect cat. A lap cat. The kind of cat that nuzzles in the morning and purrs by your ear. An indoor-outdoor cat for years, he always would come when he was called. At his nightly curfew, I could call into the dark apartment parking lots of the apartments I lived in, and like a black panther, I would see Trick barrelling across the yard running towards me. Eager to please. Like a puppy.

Unfortunately, due to his extreme intolerance of others, I suspect many of the loved ones in my life secretly believe that I'd be better off without him.  Yet most people don't see the Trick that Dave and I see. The cat we adore for his intelligence and smarts, his love and his loyalty. This is the cat I protect, I feed, I love. My kitties bring me great joy. (To read about our furry sociable two-year-old kitty Diego, click here).

The point of this whole thing is: Trick almost died the other day. And I almost completely lost it.

We don't let the cats freely roam here. But we do have a fenced backyard they frequently explore. Little Diego doesn't attempt escape, but Trick does. Unsupervised, he'll be gone in a flash. As was the case the other day. I went into the house for a few minutes to check on dinner. Within minutes, Trick was gone.

I ventured into the neighborhood and quickly spotted Trick exploring a lush hillside directly across the street from our house. I approached him.

Something spooked Trick and he started running. Directly into the street towards the house. Not particularly scary, except at that exact moment a teal Toyota RAV4 was speeding around the corner. The driver must have not been paying much, if any, attention.  The bulbous figure of the 8-month pregnant woman wearing a hot pink tank top in the middle of the street, chasing after her sprinting cat did not cause the driver pause.  My flailing arms did not cause him pause either.

I didn't see the driver brake until the screaming started. My blood-curdling scream cut the air as I watched. With complete horror. My cat go in front of the car. Right in front of the speeding car. I watched him disappear. They met in exactly the same place. Trick didn't just miss the car. The car and my cat met. In the middle of the street.

In that moment. I saw the flash. I saw my cat's limp body splayed on the street. I saw the end of an era. I saw the guilt flood like disease through me. I saw my grief.  I lived that nightmare. Lived in its horror completely. And then the moment passed.

Trick had gone UNDER the car. The car got him head on. BUT it did not squish him or hit him. He went UNDER the front tires and in his furious kitty hurry he made it out the side. Of a moving car. Unharmed. Guided by a divine hand.

I saw Trick, tail ballooned, jump an 8-foot fence in one leap, scrambling over the side back into our yard.

Inside, once we found Trick safely under our bed, Dave told me he heard that horrific scream of mine.  I broke down. I cried for atleast an hour. Convulsing with each vision of that moment. The moment I saw Trick dead. I was so shaken up.

Now it's days later. Trick was weird at first, hiding under the bed. The vet said 'he'll be ok' and gave us some anti-inflammatory and bandages for his paws and some clips for his bloody nails that dug into the pavement and the fence. And he's better now. But sometimes, when I look at him, that vision causes me to shudder.

Mostly, it made me think of being a mother. How I felt so responsible for my cat and how that feeling must be a billion times more intense when you have your own kid. How would I cope with being the person responsible for another person? This person will depend on me TO LIVE. I feel that so strongly with my cats, I realized how much more serious it is going to be as a mother.

I can imagine as a mother towards her child it's over the moon more tangible, more frightening, more gripping than that. How do mothers cope with the fear? The fear of losing something you love that much? I'm scared to imagine that. Scared to feel that. If I feel this towards my cat, how paralyzing will my love for my child be?

making little mes&yous

I met my little boy last night, tucked inside my dreams. He was whisked away after delivery to be cleaned. I waited for an hour to see him. In dream time, probably like one minute. When I saw him, he was everything I thought he'd be: handsome and mine. I was relieved to find I loved him instantly.

In the blurry edges of last night, he was born atleast 6 months old as he could already charm people with his baby kisses. I saw old friends and they oohed and awwed. In my dream everything was All Right. All Right, I beamed.

In real life, I'm about six weeks away from B day. Six weeks. Did you hear that? Six f**king weeks. A blink. Of an eye. My obsession is reaching fever pitch. I wonder/worry/think aloud only pregnancy. Last night at the movies, I worried the volume was too loud for my little one's inner ear. I put a protective extra hand over my belly, hoping the extra layer of skin would dull the bass of the surround sound.

I look at Dave now and can't wait to see him as a Father. A Dad. My Husband. My Life's Love. I am overwhelmed with how much I love him. Last night, as I was a bit sick to my stomach, feeling down and achy, he led me downstairs where it was cooler. He brought me chilled water and a pillow for my belly. The other pillow we shared, head to head, on the green fabric sectional couch. You and me, we formed an L. A Picture of Love. We woke up hours later with the twinkle lights in the trees, yellow on our limbs. You held my arm as we sleep-walked up the stairs.

These moments guarantee that I'll love you forever. When you painted the nursery, I loved you. When you said told me you were sorry that I felt down, I loved you. When you say 'good morning' to my belly, I loved you. The blessings we share do not escape me. Not one day could go by without me counting from one to a zillion why I'm the luckiest girl on earth.  

I am looking forward to enjoying these last few weeks of our aloneness. It's been You and Me for eight great years. And I think I'm going to miss that. In the forever we face as we grow our descendants, I will miss just You and Me. I know the journey is going to be different and amazing and change us in ways we can't imagine and believe you me I'm looking forward to that. It's time. I know that.

But I aim, through all this love and change and making little mes&yous, to keep my eyes on you too. And you keep your eyes on me too, k? Cause in the end, isn't it still just You and Me?

Bullocks to the Third

So pregnancy has been pretty easy on me, I have to admit. I am blessed, I do not deny this. Even so, the third trimester IS the pits. Baby Dax is uber-expanding and I've read that he doubles in size in like the next six weeks. W. T. F.  Sleeping is getting to be a pillow extravaganza. Even my cats have forsaken the bed for the floor.

I had a baby shower in Minnesota last week. It was really lovely. Here's some pics from my trip...

                                                the mobile my sis made for the shower...

Mmm...paper airplane cupcakes...

                                                                      belly shot in red...

I am 33 weeks today, but here's last week's pic...

The Sounds of the Suburbs

So I've been making jokes lately about what yuppie-land we live in here in the green northern canyons of San Diego, where a nice cool breeze ruffles our rose bushes. And then, much to my heart's content, I am typing here at my laptop and I hear an irate neighbor's voice rise through his patio door, "F**k you, f**k you, and f**k YOU." And so on and so forth, voice in a crescendo. His inflections directed with absolute rage at whosoever his targets are. A screen door slams.

And so. Naturally. My two well-groomed cats and I gather at the window peering through the trees, trying to see beyond the clean rattan patio furniture of our neighbor's yard. Shadows skirt the concrete and we hear a woman's voice coaxing her irate male somebody... "Corey...Corey...come in here." She is taming her shaky voice, and my cat lovingly rubs his head under my chin.

Naps for Everyone

Here he is (kinda)!

31 weeks...Got 9 weeks to go...Eek, single digits!

Isn't it obvious already how darn cuuuuute he is ;-)?!

This Little Light of Mine

Getting ready to fly to Minnesota tomorrow. I am going to visit my mom and sister and niece, and they are throwing me a baby shower! Hurray! I have lots of family and friends up there in the Minneapolis/Fargo area so should be fun.

In the midst of my packing, I've tried on nearly every single outfit in my closet that has the chance of fitting. I found some long-lost gems I forgot about that suit my maternity look well. But more often than not, I found my choices dwindled further. On a positive note, I bought super cute capris today that were too expensive, but that I will probably wear everyday until I give birth.

---------------------------------
On a totally different note,

I'm feeling lately extra sensitive about the people in my life and the struggles of the daily grind.
I'll leave with a mini-poem...

The world is on its axis right now
tipping over
spilling guts out.
You and them and him and her
are all struggling
with the weight of its insides
crushing
souls down.
i see the earth bearing down
and the bodies in pieces
the population wide-mouthed and
pleading.
i want to relieve you
All. 
What needs to be done here God
so we may lay 
our burdens down?


Can't you see our little lights,
struggling to get air? 

Silhouette in Blue

 I worked on the house today. It feels like the first time since we've moved in that I've had a weekend without a barbeque or wedding or visitors or out-of-town travel. I meant to get so much more done, but I'm slower now; I kind of shuffle around the house.

The last couple days I've pretty much eaten very poorly. It seems like cakes and cookies and ice cream bars are the quickest solution to my hunger pangs. How cliche are these cravings? Pre-preggo, I don't typically crave that stuff--I kind of considered the "sweet tooth" a sign of weakness. Um, yeah...I will retract that judgement for the rest of my life thankyouverymuch. 

I go through stages though. While I can always make it through breakfast with some tasty fruit and whole grain Cheerios or english muffin, the nighttimes kind of are like hit or miss. It depends on how much I feel like cooking. Today? Not so much...

Dax's room is filling up with his toys and sheeps and baby things that keep arriving in the mail. I started a pile by his pack-n-play. I love looking at it. I love imagining him sleeping there. I love imagining his cry, his smile, his presence. I smile all by myself sometimes. 

Who are you, little man?

You're my heart. You're my heart.

Snippets of Things to Say

I was hugging the curves around Bancroft Street today when I saw a playground to my right. In my mind's eye, a giant brown unicorn lounged in the yard. It was a tangled branch. Still, I wasn't disappointed.

At the wedding last weekend in Jerome, AZ, we all cuddled inside the garden. We talked about large things like love and eternity. The fountain was too loud sometimes, I couldn't hear the words that slipped from our lips, but I knew them anyway. We were all trying to find forever here. We believe.

In our little flat above the Flat Iron Cafe, you and me, we could see the red and pink cliffs in the distance. How cute are these stores in Jerome, lined up like brightly colored antiques? We fumble up the town's stairs hand in hand. I feel so petite and pretty and protected by you...seven months pregnant...your little lady...I feel safe...and slightly owned by you. How primal are we...

Cupid-sized boxes keep arriving in the mail for our little one. Yesterday, I opened a board book and got teary-eyed. "This is for our son," I thought, as the image of him poured into my heart. I ached for his presence just then. These not-yet memories thrill me.

My brother is filling his space here. I am pleasantly pleasant. I've missed him. The cakes he's making help. Like a lot.

You Get the Picture...

Time is moving hand over fist now. Yesterday, I bought this birth help CD's to help me with my no-drugs birth. I am going au natural not because I am against drugs, but more for the fact that I'm a control freak. I want to feel it so I know when to push. I figure the less intervention, the more quickly this labor thing will go. I'm flexible, but I'm preparing for labor diligently to avoid drugs and interventions as much as possible.

The approach I will be using is called "hypnobabies." It is more about self-hynosis and relaxation techniques so that fear does not take over. It uses visualization and deep relaxation techniques that still allows you to be completely aware and in the moment, but supposedly reduces the pain of labor. The birth stories are actually quite amazing. It's a lot of work though in the next few weeks, and my lovely husband also has to do some work so he can help me. He is totally willing. I love that about him.

I keep having these vivid dreams. The other day I had one where I gave birth to our baby boy, but he just fell out of my vagina. I wasn't at the hospital and I was way early. He was bloody and purple and I had the umbilical cord still attached to me and attached to him as I ran around trying to find someone to help me cut the cord. I remember thinking he'd be ok, but the terror of the whole thing made me choke.

I'm pregnant enough now where people give up their seats for me and young kids at the grocery store want to lift my bags. However, I'm also pregnant enough where my damn feet hurt and I really do need it. Laugh out loud.

I'm am almost 30 weeks now, but here's a couple 27 week photo (six months incubated)...

Here's clothed and looking much more pregnant...

These are the days of our lives...

The little dude in my belly is all over the place. How big could he possibly be? I feel him from my ribs to my pelvis. He rolls and kicks. The intimacy of it is such an internal joy. Such a complete satisfaction.

Having him growing up in my insides makes me feel so grown-up. Not on an intellectual level--I'm not just saying things. I mean I really feel different.  Like I am on the cusp of a new identity. I'll never come back from it. I know this. I welcome this. I fear this.

I had a beautiful day today, unpacking boxes and shuffling the office around. The presence of my brother helps quell the loneliness. It takes the edge off my desperation. Normally, when Dave gets home I'm like an abandoned puppy. I can't even stop myself from chewing on his leg. So I am grateful that conversation with other humans has calmed me thus far. I imagine Dave is grateful too although he's so damn sweet he'd never admit he noticed my child-like attention needs.

It also makes my pregnancy more real, to actually be around people who can see that yes, it's true, I'm actually pregnant. I don't have to status-update on Facebook to remind you. You see it every day. That's another reason I loved my sister's visit. That's a reason I enjoyed my Phoenix visit. And that's the reason I'll enjoy that barbeque tomorrow. When it's more real in the world, it feels more real to me.

I finally found the cord to my camera in one of the boxes I unpacked. I have much to show you!

Dependence Day

It's been gloomy here in San Diego the last few days. I wonder where the sun is. Doesn't this city know that it's summer? 

I worry about the changes in my life. I have moments where I feel out of control. Last night I started crying for every reason in the world and none at all.

With my brother moved in, we are making room for him. Not just in the house. We are adjusting our hearts, our time, our space. I've been spoiled with Dave; we've carved out a world for us.  But that's the thing about that: it just doesn't work for everybody. I can't get my way all the time.  I think it's good my brother challenges me.  He won't let me pick out the violet bath towels for the bathroom. I huff and puff. I let go. We settled on cerulean blue.

I'm not sure if he's happy about our compromise. He's been in his room all day. I think I might tap on his door. No. I think I'll let it go.

He bought a stand mixer last night at Macy's. You know, one of those fancy ones that make you want to bake cakes? Today, he ordered three vanilla beans online. He's plans to make a red velvet cake, thick with cream cheese. I anticipate this cake with pregnant furry. I too look to that machine excitedly. I have vanilla buttercream dreams.

I made a flag cake for fourth of July. My first cake from scratch EVER. The cake reminded me of my Grandma, who used to make them at the lake cabin on Lake Melissa in Minnesota every Independence Day. She just turned 90 years old. I wonder how proud she'd be of my flag cake, inspired by those sparkler and bonfire nights by the lake? Where the fireflies flit around the lampposts and the sounds of our young squeals echo as we sprint down the wooden dock in that long ago past.

The Unexpected

I realized the other day how much I need this. How Much I Need this written word diary. This cry into cyberspace. I realized that I can't talk right.

What I say typically has nothing to do with how I feel.

But This. This cry into binary code delivers me somehow. I need you blog. I'm sorry I doubted you.

--------------------------

My sister and my niece surprised me this weekend. I didn't know they were going to visit. They flew across the country to see me. When I saw them I cried. And my weekend become wonderful. Already wonderful though. My brother snug in his corner bedroom. His presence here and permeating already.

My sister and I fought though. Like cry so hard you want to throw up hard. I even threw a Sprite can at the wall. It exploded and fizzed unto the walls. I have never done that before. Sure, I have lost my temper, but never punched or thrown things.

I come by it honestly perhaps. After we made up (that's too simple of a sentence), my brother sis and I named off all the objects that had been thrown by each member of the family, including my mother. I now, the self-proclaimed non-thrower, now I join the club. I have to admit, it was the perfect expression of how I felt at the moment. I am somewhat ashamed by how good it felt.

I would tell you about it, but it wearies me, and plus my sister reads this. Rest assured though, we all think we're right and justified and that knowledge only flusters us so.

Why though, at 31, are we still fighting? What is it about the sibling relationship that challenges us so? 

365 degrees, Going Once

Sometimes when I don't write for awhile, I find it even harder to write. Because time has passed and things have happened and my mind is filled with things to say and details to fill you in on. I think about breaking them down into bullet points i.e.

* Moved into new house
* We love it.
* The cats love it.
* Went on a trip to AZ
* It was fun.
* I'm like six months pregnant.
* I'm huge.
* I still feel kinda hot though.
* Brother moves in with us in about a week.
* I'm excited and kinda scared too.
* I love change.
* I hate change.

But I thought I disliked diary posts, even though that's what we're all really here for. And sometimes I think if you just detail your life, people find that more interesting than being all creative and write-y.

I don't think I'm leaving here. This blog. But I do find myself wondering what I'm doing here. What am I trying to accomplish. If anything. Maybe I am leaving. Let me think.

I recently passed my year-o-blogging mark, my 365 degrees, and I don't think I'm doing what I came here to do. I mean, I did do it. But I am looking for something else. I have a different idea of what to do. And I'm wondering if I should just leave this here. And move on to my other thing. It's blogging. But it's not blogging like this. It's more like career blogging. Which seems more practical. More useful. And a pet project of mine. I don't see the use in this anymore. Is this like a blogging crisis or something...idk. I've learned a lot here though. We'll see...

I'm not ready to leave this yet, but I needed to tell it how I felt.

The Late Late Show

I'm writing this now as Dave sleeps, the washer machine whirs, the cats look on questioningly, and the twinkle lights in the tree are the only muted yellow light in the living room. I'm not sure why I'm here now. I guess I can't sleep.

I'm thinking about San Diego. It's been a year now. A year here and not there. In Phoenix. It's been only a year and I know already that I won't ever be moving back there. Although I miss odd things like crazy...our fave pizza place, the ceiling of our old apartment, the summer heat like an oven, the azure blue pools, the clean uncracked streets, the proximity of my father.

But you know when you just know right? You just know...
And we already know. Why? No idea. Do you believe in fate? Destiny? Pre-destination? A guiding light, hand, power, force, god perhaps? I do.

I didn't have a very religious upbringing (thank god ;-)), but I do believe in God. For lack of a better word. That relationship I have with that mystery force is Real to me. Comforting. I shovel prayer into it so we get closer. I Believe. In Love. In Goodness. In Grace. In Truth.

But sometimes after the Small Things lull me, like putting my hands together before sleeping, I contemplate the Big Things...like 'What's it all about? Where are we going?' And while I feel like I know it's going to be o.k...I have to say that, The Truth Is, on the specifics...

i don't know  
you don't know  
we don't know.

Hey There Change-y Pants

I love moving because it feels like you're moving...

You know, like life itself is propelling forward; the very substance of your surroundings morphs. Things are changing. Change is tangible.

I love change, maybe that's why I'd label myself a progressive. I always think things could be better. Even if they're good now, why not strive for Totally Awesome? Conservatism seems to hinge on the very notion that, hey everything's ok, leave it alone you big changer change-y pants. Why you always gotta reach for the sky, can't you be happy with What Is?

Why? Because most of the time, What Is is pretty good, but there's a few tweaks that will prolly make it better. And I Believe. We Should. Make It Better. Always.

------------

My brother is moving here to San Diego, did I tell you that? In a matter of weeks, my younger brother, who now resides in Minnesota with our mother, will be setting up shop in our hilly town, living in a nice corner room in our house for an indeterminent amount of time. I can't tell you how ecstatic that makes me.

I feel so removed. I feel so cut off, limbs like arms beyond my reach. I miss my family. I miss the life that will never be: me baby-sitting my niece on warm Saturday afternoons--her arms reaching for me as I enter through doors. The me that would pick out paint colors for the nursery with my mother. The me that would help my sis with summer garage sales. I mourn for all that.

But one memory I won't cry for now is the me that sees my son reach out for his uncle on any given Wednesday. The me that drinks cold beers with my brother at the table on a Saturday night, while he whips me at another game of cards. The me that knows I'm not completely alone here.

I think that my brother will stay a very long time here in this cool coastal town. And I think we will too. That makes me happy. These roots extend like arms around our hearts.

Little Paper Hearts

I am so avoiding what I have to do right now. I need to be knee-deep in my closet, curled up on the floor, going through boxes I haven't gone through in a year. I need to look at every little picture and note in them and say, "oh how cute, i remember that." And then I need to re-pack it again. Box it up. Move it to the next place. And then, not look at it at all until the next time we move. These little sentiments are so important right?

Sometimes I imagine my children going through my memory boxes of poems and old love letters, little torn and faded envelopes of a past life lived. A life that they will never know of me. A me that they will never see. I imagine them being surprised, maybe even a little guilty for not knowing these little parts of a person they will come to know as mom, Mom, MOMMM!!!!

Then I think of my own mother and her lives she lived before us. Who was she really? I imagine her laughing, beautiful as ever, gliding across stages in her dance leotards. I imagine men loved her and I imagine she enjoyed their attention without effort, being adored came natural to her. But this is the mother I've imagined. In truth, I will never know her as the her before me. What dreams will my children conjure up?

Then, I imagine I've died abruptly and Dave has to sift through my old memories. I'm embarrassed with this. I start to throw away things that cheapen my love for him, like when I claimed to love others before him. What did I know of love then, before I married you my love? I burn these adolescent poems. I imagine as we gather up homes against the backdrop of our new family, with each move, I'll throw away more and more of these cheap little paper hearts. Leaving room only for my one true beating, breathing heart....You.

Moving Blahs and Hurrahs

So we are moving in about two weeks. We rented a house nearby the we love love love. It took us atleast three months to find this house rental. Who knew that the house rental market in San Diego was so fierce? We lost a few houses due to not applying within days of its posting. So we learned to be vigilante. I would be seeing houses within hours of them posting. Other applicants be damned.

Once we found houses to view based on budget range and location, I choose a house based almost solely on intuition. I wait for my insides to go, "Yes, yes, YES...THIS IS IT!  It could be perfect in every way, but if my bells don't go off, I don't move.

Also, Dave and I agreed as a couple that we won't ever try to "convince" the other person to like a house. There were a few I really liked, but Dave wasn't that smitten. The same thing happened vice verse: Dave liked a house or two and I just wasn't feeling it. Conversation over. Next. Until both of us were in agreement (without any nudging on the others part at all), that's when we sign papers. We looked at over 20 houses before deciding on this one. We find that we get the best results when we do that.

In the end though, even with our "system," it's still all a gamble isn't it? Will we like it? Love it? We will be here for at least three years before we start thinking of buying...did we make the right choice? I think so...

Needless to say though, right now I am so excited about it. We've been in San Diego for one full year now, and I can't say that the apartment we live in I'm head-over-heels for. We found this place quickly; we weren't able to use our "system" because of time constraints. And I must say, I've missed our adorable apartment in Phoenix more than once. I am thinking/hoping that this will make us feel more at home here. Better get packing!

Team Blue

IT'S A BOY!!!!  (Did I mention how I knew that? I like sooooo knew that...) 
P.S. My mother, the witch, changed her vote prior to the ultrasound. She knew. Of course she knew. Or. She changed the course of history... that's soooo par for the course.

(My mother used to tell us that our real mother was in a flower pot. On the porch. You see? There's proof--she's even admitted her witchy ways!!!)

Anyway, back to our little boy. My son. My son whose in my belly. He's so real to me now all of the sudden. I visualize him and make dreams for him. I talk to him more. I rub my belly and try to soothe him. I played him Jack Johnson yesterday while I did the dishes. I picked the tunes especially for him--he feels like a kid who might like Jack Johnson.

I feel him now. I mean, literally. He does backflips in there. It is THE coolest thing EVER to feel him bump around in there.

I'm so excited to know now for sure that he's a little boy. These types of things define your family. Now, I know, my first born is a boy. That creates a certain type of dynamic in a family. It shapes things. Futures.

I don't get those peeps that decide not to find out. Like I SERIOUSLY can't wrap my mind around it. They're like, "It will be a surprise." But, I mean, isn't it a surprise when you hear? Whenever you hear it?  I started crying when the ultrasound tech told us. Dave's smile was a smile I have never seen him wear before--the joy of knowing what your family will look like. The knowledge. It was a beautiful, beautiful moment. And then, when we told everyone, the reactions were filled to the brim with excitement.

There's so many uncontrollables/unknowables in labor, in new parenthood. Such as, how will labor feel? Will the baby be healthy? Holy shit, I'm gunna be a mom? How long does labor take? Will I be able to breastfeed right away? How will my partner react? How will our relationship change once the baby is here? My body? My boobs? Omg, What the f**k am I gunna do with a KID?!

The ONE thing you can control, is knowing what gender you might have. You can figure out what color to paint the nursery. You can register for cute clothes and blankets. You can pick a name. You can talk to your baby, BY their name, therefore bonding with them. Knowing the sex takes away one question mark in the big question mark of parenthood.

I've also heard the whole "I'm old-fashioned" argument. Pshh, Lame. Back in the day, they HAD to wait till birth to find out the gender. Reminder: They also didn't have cell phones or toilets Back In The Day. Do you want to pee in a pot too? I didn't think so...

I run into these girls everywhere though, that don't want to know. I nod and smile politely as they explain weakly, "We want it to be a surprise." Ugh, it will. I promise you, whenever you find out, it will be a surprise. There's no reason to wait until labor. Seriously, no GOOD reason to wait until labor. It seems like very unnecessary anticipation. Isn't the miracle of birth exciting enough? You don't get a cookie or a prize for "holding out," ladies.

And I know there's plenty girls reading this who are probably reeling now in defense. They themselves chose the "wait till birth" route as their co-workers and friends and families rallied around them for almost an entire year, with their old wive's tales and their bets and their guesses (which, um, could have been solved with a simple 'yea or nay' from the ultrasound tech).

Others reading this are reeling in defense of their loved ones who have made this decision. And so I semi-apologize for my outspoken passions. Maybe if someone could show me/tell me any other GOOD reason that might make a lick of sense to me. Then, I'll gladly change my tune. Until then, in my head, I'll be shaking my head.

But of course, to each his own...I do still love my girls who have done this (of course I have friends and family who have chosen this, don't we all? Sigh). But while I still love you, I just don't love your behavior ;-)

Here's my 20 week shot. Halfway done!!! As a disclaimer: I do take these shots in the a.m. before any food or anything, so that I show myself in the best light. I also stand nice and tall and fix the lighting in iPhoto. So for all those "I sorta hate you" notes I got on my last post, I want to assure you that if they were taken at night, it would look atleast twice as big as this. I'm just too vain to show you all that...

Today is the day before the day that...

we find out about our little baby--BOY or GIRL? I am just itching with anticipation. So much so, that I want to eat my arm. I want to just tear the flesh clear off with my teeth. Stare at the wall while I chew the rubber and fuggetaboutit.

Oh my gosh that's gross.

I am writing this because I want records. Records that, I, Darcy K---, believe it's a boy. I want to be right about this because I think I have just sick intuition that typically just knows all sorts of fun/interesting/sad things. So--if I'm wrong--my world will probably crumble, cave in on itself. For those of you who know (love?) me, I ain't so good at being wrong. Not my strong suit. So pray for me, that for me, I might be right, so I don't have to reevaluate my entire life. (PLUS, Dave and I super-dig our boy name.)

Let also, the record stand, that my mom and sis kinda swear it's a girl. And that's the only thing that bugs me about this entire thing, because they are like witches or something and have voodoo intuition powers of their own that probably change the course of history to their liking. Or at least to mess with my worldview. Just to mess with my worldview. Because they have a sick sense of humor. Which I tend to like, ok delight in, 'cept when I happen to be the receivee.

To close, I have some pics of 18 week belly. I am now 19 1/2 tho, and since this pic, have "popped," which really means my entire wardrobe is f**king useless. Soon, I'll be 20 weeks, my baby will be half-done, 1/2 ready to meet the world, and you'll see--pregnancy is upon me. For now, here's the last "honeymoon" preggo pic.

San Francisco Snippets

What to say? You are beloved, frenzied, urban, and hip. You make me marvel at humans (look what we've done)...

Your downtown teems with the homeless, the toothless, the piles of stacked concrete and glass, the saturated color, the clipped wind, and the loud sharp ring of those quinnessential cable cars. I was sometimes scared; I was alive in my bones.

We trekked all over that city, holding hands. I loved being with you, having your full attention, your whole being. It was the most fun I've had since our honeymoon--exactly one year ago. We are the best travelers together. (together. we're better. always).

Until the next time, here's some pics from my Pentax Kx DSLR...she loved San Fran as much as we did....

 

  

                  

On this paper heart i pledge...

Dave and I are headed out tomorrow to San Francisco for an extended weekend. It's been one year since we tied the knot. One year since we committed, in advance, to a lifetime together. Of all the eight years we've been together, this year, in my heart, has been the easiest. Not that it was ever hard to love Dave. No, it's always felt like coming home. And yes, the first couple years, we had bumps, growing pains, as we merged. But then the months smoothed into years and I was yours--turned inside-out by our love--and truly, hasn't it always been easy? But this year, yes, has been the best...

I've always been practical I guess, guarding my heart from disaster. Even as our lives braided around each other, a tight knot of friends and family and love. I still kept myself safe. I didn't even realize it--the epiphany coming like a slow dawn this whole year. But I know now: I let go up there on that beautiful day on that beautiful lake. That day. April 18th, 2009. Something shifted in the heart when I said, "I promise to love you forever and ever." The formality of it--the food, the dance, the dress--that was just a bonus. Mostly, I remember pledging myself to you. To us. I'm all in, baby. I'm all in. A complete fall. That commitment has freed me to feel the most profound connection to you. The effect: like a giant ripple, deepening my love for everything.

This love

Cracks my heart open

and pours out my pores.

This love gathers

youmeyoumeyoume

and expands.

Dear heart,

I love that you

ignore the boundaries of the body.

Don't come back.

I'm not afraid. to let you.

Be.

Operation Self-Discipline

So Dave and I are experimenting a bit with our lives. He's working his ass off. And due to the results of his hard work, we were able to free me from my bullshit pursuits (i.e. jobs that get me no nearer my dreams). It's been two months. Let me tell you about it...

I am bird. Taking my creativity into my palms, making it mine day in and day out. Yet. When your days are yours and yours alone, you can't just bask in the sun. You'll rot inside. And so. I've launched Operation Self-Discipline. Some days I win. Some days I fail.

My New Work Life

1) So, each day, I must write. Not blog. Write. For at least one hour.

I am working on a collection of twelve short stories. Fiction. I have almost two done. I think the first one sucks. I am in love with the second. Each day makes me more hopeful. Stronger.

I also take time each day to study writing. I read short stories, break down their structure, highlight and underline. I also read writing advice books--internalizing what sounds right.

2) I am putting paintings up on Etsy. I sold two paintings, just posted a third, almost done with the fourth. When I post it, I'll post pics. That's a promise. I just want my store to be more full when I unveil.

Each day I must also put time into my art. At least an hour. I swear, when my music is on and I have that brush in my hand, I'm so at peace--so in love with the world.

I try to study art daily too. Read the manual for my new DSLR camera. Ugh. So dry.

3) Healthy eating and exercise. See-saw on the healthy eating, but much better than a year ago. I also attend prenatal pilates twice a week. Prenatal yoga hopefully starts next week.

4) Volunteering. I volunteer at least once a week with Voice for Children. I work with a girl in foster care. I "help" her by simply being there. This whole paragraph seems gratutious. But truly, it's important to me to do something NOT for me.

And there it is.

I feel so blessed to have this opportunity to focus on writing and art (let alone health and altruism). It is the actualization of a lifelong dream. The process itself fills me to the brim with gratitude. I believe that dreams are possible. I believe that if you put in the time, you can manifest your goals. I thank God that I have a husband that believes the same thing. And that he believes in me.

On the downside, I'm hella lonely! Not only do we still lack a thick social network here in San Diego, but without work, I'm by myself ALL THE TIME! Due to my preggo situation, I can't even comfort myself with booze.

And so, it's Friday night--I turn to you!

A Pregnant Pause

I can feel spring. She's so light and pretty. She's the color of hot pink. She's flooded the atmosphere. She's always my favorite. I feel light too. Like running. Like air.

It's the same spring. I slip back into my body. The darkness lifts. Why was I ever so silent, moods wrapped like nooses around the insides?

It's a different spring. I have you in my body. In my belly. In my torso.

They say you are three inches long now. They say you can suck your thumb. They say your eyes are becoming your eyes.

Sometimes, I wish I could feel you. You feel so abstract to me. I want to feel something profound. I want to know you.

At other times, I feel like I know everything about you already. And you're you. And I've known you for thousands of years. I've loved you for lifetimes. I've held you so many times. I can't wait to see you again.

I wish that I dreamt of you.

Instead, I dream of cigarettes. Not a week goes by in the astral plane that I don't scramble behind a tin building with my stolen booty and chain smoke. In these nightly flights, I'm even still pregnant. But I'm deviant. I relish each puff. I'm sorry for that, my dear. I may not have control over my mind, but as for my body, I remain smoke-free.

What are you doing today, my love? Do you sense my thoughts, my dreams for you? Does the tap of the keys soothe you?

I am almost fourteen weeks now. I miss wine. I miss an icy cold beer on a hot spring day. I miss long baths. I miss drowning my mornings with caffeine. I miss the me that is leaving. It's impossible to keep her. I think it's o.k. Of course it's o.k. It's more than o.k.

Sleep late, my love, we have a long journey. We're done with the first trimester now. We sigh in relief.

To whoever you might be, I pray that I can help you be Who You Are.

Oh for the Love of Health

I'm trying hard not to think about things like what silly people say about health care reform. That's about as deep as I can go there without screaming. Don't you know? What are they so afraid of?

Wait. I want to tear my face off. When I have to fight so hard to explain things that make perfect sense to me. Such as 1 + 1 = 2. (I have to start there with people.) I have to tell them that you shouldn't cross the street on a red light. Because it's as basic as that to me. What don't you get?

When I have to fight so hard to explain things that make perfect sense to me. In my (our) America. I want to lay down my guns when I see you screaming, "I don't want you to save me!" I want to stop fighting, because I think, in the long run, who gives a good goddamn? If you don't care about you, then why should I care about you?

When I see how many people aren't listening. When I see how many people are misinterpreting. When I see how many people are full of fear. When I see how many people are armed with propaganda and lies and untruths. When I see how many people are o.k. with that. Those closed fists. Those closed hearts. I think to myself: America is screwed. Oh my god, we are so screwed...

I don't want to fight for 1+1=2; it shouldn't be so hard. Sure, it passed. For that, I'm grateful. But what happens now? When 1+1=2 is open for debate?

I think then about my children. Where will we go? To protect. From you and you and you there too.

Oh America. You have it so good in so many ways. Why are you so dead-set on f**king it up?

An American Tale

I have lived in three places in my life:

1) Fargo, North Dakota (ages 0-18)
2) Phoenix, Arizona (ages 18-30)
and presently,
3) San Diego, California (almost one year)

Now that I live in San Diego, a third location, it's become harder to explain the past to strangers. In Phoenix it was simple. People would ask, "Where are you from?" And the easy answer would be, "Fargo, North Dakota." I grew up there. I moved from Fargo to Phoenix. Point A to Point B. All understood.

I even earned a little respect. In a weird way, Fargo seems exotic to most people in this part of the country. It's freezing and off-the-beaten path. Most people don't know anyone from North Dakota, so already, you earn some cred. In fact, most people don't know anyone whose even traveled there. The best you get is someone who might have traveled through there. So, people are mildly interested. They might even ask you questions.

Plus, thanks to the Coen brothers Oscar-winning movie "Fargo" circa late 1990's, the town name itself strikes a chord of positive nostalgia that most people easily convolute with their feelings towards me. I damn the day that "Fargo," the movie, fades from national consciousness.

But now that I've moved to San Diego, I've lost some of my geographical mojo. When people hear that you've just moved here, the typical question is, "Where from?" Well, I moved to San Diego from Phoenix.

This answer irritates San Diegans. Phoenicians are not a well-respected group of people here in SoCal. Due to their five-hour-drive proximity to each other, most Phoenicians have been vacationing in San Diego for decades. These "Zoni" tourists crowd their pretty beaches, hotels, and restaurants during the better parts of the year. Phoenicians, understandably fleeing the desert during the 110-degree-plus summer days, treat San Diego like their own personal day spa.

On the flip side, most San Diegans, have also traveled to Phoenix at one time or another during their lives due to something unforeseen, like a cousin's wedding or free tickets to a Coldplay concert. When they return, they don't have much nice to say, cept' Phoenix is flat and dry and hot and beige. They feel towards Phoenicians something like mild pity.

So when I tell them I moved here from Phoenix, they politely nod and mumble, "oh." But what they're really thinking is, "What a surprise. Of course you moved here from Phoenix. I sure wish you hadn't. Sigh. Are there more coming?"

Sensing their disdain, I attempt to thwart their perception by quickly adding: "But I grew up in North Dakota."

But this falls on deaf ears. People can only combine two cities at a time for you, not three. You're like a nomad to them--a rootless gypsy.

When your persona is made up of three parts (part plains, part desert, part coast), people don't have any idea who you are. And that makes them uncomfortable.

In San Diego, it's like my North Dakota roots have disappeared. I can't say I like that. I can still feel the bone chill of winter in my teeth. I can still feel the summer sting of a mosquito on my leg. I have a dry sense of humor that I guarantee you came from the bonfires of my youth.

I'm not from Phoenix. I lived there. For over a decade. And yes, it lives in me too. Those hot desert nights seduce me. That pastel sunset leaks into my dreams.

I empathize with those military kids, who when asked where they're from, they say, "I grew up in a military family. We lived all over." We kind of toss them aside, don't we? We consider them unknowable, rootless. We learn that we've learned nothing about them by asking the question.

But I imagine if we did get to know them, over beers and fries and backyard barbecues, these kids are conglomerates of where they've been. I imagine they have pieces of all over etched in their bones. I imagine they themselves feel parts of themselves in each place they've resided. Just like I do.

I realize that where I've been has something to do with who I am, but I haven't learned how to explain these nuances quickly. Perhaps, like the military kids, I'll one day give up trying to draw out the map for strangers. I left my heart here, here, and there too...

Oh never mind. I'm here now. I'm right here...

A Farewell to Boobs

I've taken to binding my breasts, much like the ancient Chinese practice of foot binding. The purpose of this exercise is to stop their out-of-control growth spurned by my current condition of pregnancy, or in other words 'growing a human being inside of my insides.'

Granted, other than the ambitious growth of my upper lady humps, I've been exceptionally lucky in the arduous task of human growing. In these past 11 weeks, nary a mouthful of vomit has projected itself. My moods are smooth as butter. And my belly only really shows when I eat too much pizza. However, do not envy me. I have not been spared.

Almost immediately after the two pink 'you're preggo' lines crawled into our lives, my boobs blew up. Like balloons. I said them, "Girls, stop it, you're getting ahead of yourselves...you have nine months. No need to rush." They were uninterested in my pleas.

This wouldn't be such a tragedy if I began with smaller breasts, say an A or a B cup. Sure, then I would welcome the increased blood flow to meh jugs. But I am a C cup. And not just any old C cup, a perfect C cup. I LOVE my boobs. I'm not joking. When Dave first saw them years ago, he gasped. If it sounds like I'm bragging, it's because I am. (I will share this: my ass is flat. Feel better?)

I didn't always have them. I earned them through prayer. You see, I was a late bloomer. In sixth grade and all the way through middle school, I was breastless. Skinny and big-toothed. The first time I wore a bra to school, Danny W. grabbed the thin rung of fabric under my shirt and snapped it hard against my back, "Why are YOU wearing a BRA?" Everyone laughed.

Or how bout' when I cried at a birthday party attended by atleast twenty of the coolest kids in 7th grade and Aaron S. taunted loudly, "Hey Darcy, did that board come with your shirt?!" Everyone laughed.

And so I turned my pain to God. I made deals like, "if you give me boobs, I'll be good forever." I was earnest and consistent in my prayers. By the end of ninth grade, God delivered. And they were glorious. Not too big, not too small, proportional, and well-shaped. Even Danny W., my former arch nemesis, eventually commented. He said, nodding in the direction of my chest, "Those sure turned out all right." Instead of punching him, I beamed.

So you can imagine my panic when my perfect C's ballooned into D's during the very early weeks of pregnancy. The fear only multiplied when fellow procreaters warned, "It only gets worse." I almost started crying when one of my best friends told me she got her breasts done after her two babies were born because they quote, "looked like cow udders."

I've even heard stories about out-of-control nipple growth. To calm myself down, I consulted my mother, who has a talent for diffusing my fears: "They go back to normal after pregnancy right mom?!" In this case, she merely shrugged (in other words, your boobs might never be the same hon).

So I've turned vigilante; I've started a war with my changing body, in the hopes that I'll stave off any significant change. I figure this too-small sports bra that I'm wearing as a binding mechanism will cut off the blood supply, and my body will just forget about them. Trick my body into circumventing normal pregnancy breast changes. Hey, it worked for the Chinese--just look at their tiny feet!

Let's face it though, my cleavage is borderline lewd. And worse yet, perhaps it's God's inevitable payback. I mean honestly,I haven't really held up my side of the bargain of the "being good forever" breast exchange. Woes me.

I'm gunna just hope and wish and pray that when it's all over, I get my boobs back. It must happen somewhere, to someone. Right?! (Please tell me if this has happened to you. I need real empirical data girls.)

The worst is when people say, trying to console, "But look what you're getting in exchange? A beautiful baby!"

I say, "Oh shove it! You ain't never seen meh boobs."