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.

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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.