My Wonderful Mommy

My mother got the stamps for me. They were delivered yesterday and will make it into the basket as planned.

All is well.

If I Was the Queen of the World I'd Flood It and Send Sharks with Frickin Laser Beams on Their Heads Swimming into the Nation's Post Offices

For many of you, that's all the title you need. You've been there, so you know.

For the rest of you, allow me to explain.

Every year at this time, Stevie's school holds a big fundraiser for the Make A Wish Foundation. Part of the funds come from a silent auction, and the big prizes are the class baskets. Each class is given a theme and the parents contribute items that go with the theme, which are all put into a decorative basket and auctioned away.

Stevie's class theme is the elusive "holiday". Being a Christmas card sender, I bought several packs of kid-friendly cards and planned on rounding out my donation with holiday stamps. I went to usps.com and saw that there are really cute "holiday cookie" stamps this year that would be just frickin perfect with the cards! I tore out of here a few minutes before 4 yesterday, hoping to pick up the kid and make it to the Hometown post office in time to buy the stamps and drop them off before today's big basket-stuffer deadline.

Figuring the post office closed at 4:30, I was happy and full of holiday and charitable cheer when I pulled up at a trim 4:17. I unbuckled and unswathed the boy, marched him inside . . .

. . . and was faced with the decidedly unhappy and uncheerful site of freshly closed metal curtains. The post office in Hometown closes . . . at 4:15.

What the hell kind of closing time is that?

Sure, they sell stamps in vending machines, but they're usually just boring old flags, and this machine wouldn't take credit cards! Just my precious cash. To be fair, they did have one little book of holiday stamps, but they were "holiday ornaments"--they looked liked those old, German-looking Santa Clauses, packed in tissue paper, and they might actually scare some children. I bought some anyway (look for them on YOUR holiday card!), but the package is too small to be seen in a big basket, and I really think that the stamps are going to be a big draw at the auction, so size really does matter. (Not that I ever said anything different.) After all, the price is right on the stamp, so people can bid at least the price of the stamps and know that they're getting their money's worth. If, that is, they don't mind sending letters with creepy Mr. Roger's Neighborhood puppets in the Land of Makebelieve-looking Santas on them.

Noticing the "8" (and no other numbers) in the opening time, I decided I would swing by there on my way to work today. So I kind of killed time this morning, getting donuts for the boy, dropping off some stuff at my mom's figuring that, since the closing time is 4:15, surely they must open at 8:00 to give working people a little bit of time to get there in the morning since they sure as hell don't give them time in the afternoon and, after all, these are well-paid federal employees who are here to serve my every postal need.

I pulled up at a little after 8, unbuckle, unswath (just like pirates!). They open at 8:30.

Fuck!

One more shot. There's a post office in Big Suburb just beyond the road my Big Office is on. I'll drive to B.S. (10 minutes), drop off the kid (10 minutes), get gas (5 minutes) and be at THAT post office when it opens at 8:30! Brilliant plan! This gets me to work later than I wanted to be, but I'm wasting all of this precious work time now so it's obviously not that big of a deal.

I pulled up at 8:31 and was encouraged by the sight of two other folks going into the building. I will get those stamps! I will drop them off in time! Because I'm just that sort of person! I am the mom who listens to what her kid wants to be for Halloween, conceptualizes a common sense way of making the costume, buys the necessary components (from two stores!) and creates the costume! I am the mom who fills the house with the smell of freshly baked apple pie, or chocolate cake, or beef stew, and makes her own icing for the store-bought cookies. I am the mom who thinks of clever, cheap (but not TOO cheap), and useful ideas for overly-broad fundraiser basket themes and executes them, IN TIME, to the delight of all! This task has been appointed to me (who else is going to do it? Kevin? HA!) and if I don't find a way to do it . . . .

It opens at 9:00.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

The Surprisingly Stressful Non-Stress Test

First test was . . . reactive! That's a good thing. Mark's heartrate rose at the proper times, meaning that there is a good connection between brain and body function, and that he is getting enough nurturing and nourishment from the placenta.

It took a long time to get a proper reading, though. When the nurse hooked me up, he was asleep. When she came in 15-20 minutes later, the readings indicated movement with no subsequent rise in heart rate (a bad thing). So she "buzzed" him with this grey plastic microphone-looking thingy and woke him up but good! I felt bad for my little guy--as soon as it went "bzzzzz" he JUMPED! After that I could hear a difference in his heart rate when he moved. I sat in the lounger, pushed the button when he moved, and gradually relaxed.

The next test is Friday, and then Tuesday, and then Friday . . . every three days til he decides to make his entrance.

Worthless Post

Maybe not worthless, but certainly not profound. A few things swirling around in my world:

1. The Leaves. I can't believe how pretty this season is. My eyes are drunk but still can't get enough! I look and look and look and it's as if I can't comprehend how truly lovely is this loveliness. I wish I was in a better position to go hiking. Hiking in the fall woods is definitely one of my Top 5 All-Time Favorite Things to Do.

2. Speaking of the incredible discomfort of this pregnancy . . . my pelvic bones are still grinding ("it's only going to get worse!" my doctor says) and now I'm beginning to have Braxton-Hicks contractions. These contractions are sorta like practice contractions--your body preparing itself for the good times ahead! Usually painless (or relatively so), they kicked my ass this past weekend. By Sunday evening, my ab muscles felt as if I had put them through a workout so severe, so medieval, that they had just decided to shred themselves and be done with it. I must say, though, that the combination pelvis/ab revolt makes for some comical attempts at getting up from the couch. Usually I just roll over onto the floor, start on all fours, and push up from there. As graceful as a cave troll--that's me! As the leading manufacturer of poorly cut maternity clothes in a variety of scratchy, horrible fabrics claims, "Motherhood is Hot." What total bullshit!

3. Today is Marky's first "non-stress test". I'll report on that later.

4. I stayed up til 11 last night watching Return of the King (I'm sure some of you have picked up the unintentional LOTR references by now!). I totally know what happens in each of the 4 endings but watched them til the bitter end anyway. That big battle scene at Minas Tirith is just too good. I don't know why I enjoy watching battle scenes, given the fact that I hate war and all. I guess it's because it's just so bizarre, such a crazy thing to do. Why didn't the WWI soldiers prolong the fabled Christmas Truce of 1914? Why not let the idiot generals and leaders fight it out amongst themselves. Were things THAT boring down on the farm? I bet the farm looked a hell of a lot better after a few days in the trenches! Anyway, Peter Jackson and crew did a phenomenal job on those movies. Castle sieges are particularly intriguing, and I find myself scheming about stronger gates, get-away caves, and other such nonsense. I went to bed thinking of what must have happened to Tolkien in the Great War that would lead to LOTR. There was a lot of really great literature, poetry, art, and even comedy that came out of that experience. I dreamed about LOTR last night. And, finally . . .

5. Speaking of LOTR, it did help me form the idea for the quilt that I want to make for my friend The Artist in exchange for one of her paintings. I must abandon this Worthless Post now and find some images of Lothlorien. Bye!

No Particular Place to Go

Yesterday, in an uncharacteristic way, my boss was going off on a book he is reading during a meeting. The book is called "Leap of Faith" and is about how religion and, specifically Islam, is a wasteful enterprise that has taken far too much of humanity's time and energy and will only lead to more problems. This sounds like a book I would like/agree with, but one that promises only more stress if I actually go ahead and read it, so I won't.

I've been saying pretty much the same thing for years.

The other day on NPR they had a preview of coming stories. One of them involved the criticism of Harriet Miers who, from all accounts, deserves to be criticized. NPR was talking to some Christians who supported her and one woman said (paraphrasing), 'I think she's [Harriet] a wonderful person and that this criticism of her is the work of the devil'.

Argument over! Nothing kills a debate over who should be one of the most powerful people in the government like bringing up satan! Unless you resort to comparing her to a Nazi or something, which she certainly seems to be on abortion issues, anyway. Well, I think. Who knows? Apparently nominees to the Supreme Court shouldn't have to answer questions. Bush likes it that way, too: "I think it's important to bring somebody from outside the system, the judicial system, somebody that hasn't been on the bench and, therefore, there's not a lot of opinions for people to look at." —On the nomination of Harriet Miers to the Supreme Court, Washington, D.C., October 4, 2005

Back to religion. Kevin was watching a Nova show about--what else?--science. I caught a snippet of an interview with a scientist who scientifically calculated the effects of a hurricane on New Orleans and guess what? He was RIGHT! And he was visibly upset about not being taken seriously, saying that scientists in this country just . . . aren't taken seriously. I caught that comment on my way to bed, and I took a quick inventory of everything in my life that was a result of science. Think about it! Had smallpox lately? No?

Must be god.

Really. Will I ever live to see a time where ridiculous religiosos don't say shit like "god is punishing New Orleans" and overlook the 7th hurricane about to slam into Republican-stronghold and family wonderland Florida? When people who take Nyquil for colds and get vaccinated against Pertussis decide to forgo science and turn over their CANCER to god? Must I travel all the way to Europe to escape this crap?!

I'm rambling. I just don't get it, never will, and don't care to. But I will say this: a lot of people make the argument that science has made bad things, like the atom bomb and lead paint. I say that the results of scientific inquiry are neutral and it is people who make them bad. Much like religion. My beef isn't with the believers, although I think their beliefs are mystifying and their religious affiliation no more than a factor of geography and nurture, but with what they do with those beliefs. When it comes to my made-possible-by-science XM radio, hands off, fascists!

The Hazards of Advanced Maternal Age

So yesterday I go to the OB for my monthly visit--I'm 32 weeks along now--and he tells me that my baby is at a heightened risk for being stillborn due to the bad results of an AFP test and the good results of the follow-up Super Ultrasound. The AFP is a non-invasive (outside of one of my veins) blood test that can indicate a variety of things, including Down's Syndrome.

After the AFP, there was a 1-in-93 chance that my baby would have Down's. That's pretty high compared to all mothers and even those 35-and-up, whose babies face a 1-in-250 chance. So I went in months ago for this intensive ultrasound where they check very closely for signs of Down's, and those results were normal, and my Down's baby risk went back to 1-in-200. I could have had an amniocentesis and found out for sure, but there is a 1-in-300 chance of a miscarriage in that definitely-invasive procedure. If you don't kill your fetus with the procedure, you have to decide what you're gonna do if, in fact, the baby has Down's. Do you abort in the second trimester, after you've felt the baby kick and he's even getting close to viability just because he'll have Down's? You can't tell how severe the Down's will be. I'm pro-choice and all, but I was a bit squeamish about that. We chose to forgo the amnio.

What do we do with this new information? Starting next Tuesday I need to go to the OB clinic twice a week for external fetal monitoring. They'll wrap up my belly and I'll press a button everytime Marky kicks. What they want to see is his heart rate increasing during movement, which indicates that his brain is sending the proper signals to his heart, something like "you're kicking now, so the heart needs to go faster." They'll monitor him long enough to get a good reading--anywhere from 10 minutes to an hour--which might involve waking him up with an alarm clock-like buzzing sound if he's not moving enough. If he responds well, great! If not, then they'll do another Super Ultrasound and, if that goes badly, they'll get him out of there.

I tend to not freak out about stuff like this. My instinct tells me that things are good. However, the doctor--in a concerned way--DID say this: "It would be a shame to get you this far and then lose the baby." "Lose the baby." Three words that every mom just loves to hear! And I can't help but hear them.

What does all this have to do with my age? Did you know that 35-year-olds are automatically considered "high-risk" due only to their age? Risks for everything (outside of financial well-being) go up. Despite all of that, having babies at this age is becoming more and more normal.

The question facing Kevin and me now is 'do we have another?' After our one adoption experience, we appreciate the whole biological child thing a little more! And despite a lifetime of railing against those who have more than 2 biological children, thus going beyond the replacement level of fertility and adding to the world's overpopulation problem, I must say that I'm still considering a third! It blows me away to say that. Up to this point, Kev and I had planned to do the "I carried the babies--YOU do the non-invasive snip-snip" dance of sterilization. Now I'm not completely sure about that. If heredity is any indicator--and so far it has been--I've got 5 more years of fertility before hitting menopause, and then just another 15-20 years before breast cancer. The hardcore reality and permanence of sterilization is, well, something to think about.

I bet we go through with it, though. There are still a lot of kids out there to adopt, and we learned some valuable lessons in that arena. We'll see. Right now we've got to get Mark through another 7 1/2 weeks.

Quickie Update

1. Just 6 more payments to go to flat-out own 18 acres in central Missouri. That's just under $2,000! Not bad. Feels good!

2. Getting ready for the big Fall Party tomorrow. Kevin and I have been working the last two nights to get everything cleaned up and cooked and ready. Seems like a lot of prep for a party--and it is--but it's just a little more than what we would normally do (mow, clean the house, make dinner). I guess that being on a time schedule makes it seem like more--and the fact that everything has to be spiffed up at the same time. It all has to come together, man. And we have to keep the damn chickens off the porch for a day! There's a scene in The Color Purple where Whoopi's abusive husband and his farm is going to hell without her around. They partially illustrate this by showing chickens running all over the place--even up on the porch!! Well, winter is coming on and we just happen to have a covered, south-facing porch that is very inviting to chickens. And chicken poop. Our ranch is going to hell. Oh well.

3. We're definitely almost ready to meet Mark. My nesting behavior continues as I strive to get the Big Cleaning done so I can spend my time off getting to know Mark and getting ready for Christmas. I say "almost" not because we're not excited--we are--but because we have nothing for him! No clothes, no bed, no diapers. If I gave birth today we'd be scrambling! Still, it's not so daunting. This kind of stuff comes together quickly.

4. Speaking of Big Cleaning, I finished cleaning out my kitchen cabinets the other night. What an odious chore! We have a mouse problem. I really hate mice. A lot of people think they're cute and even make PETS out of them! They picture mice as a bunch of Stuart Littles running around in plaid vests. They're not. I have discouraged my child from watching that ridiculous movie. If I fill him with hate for mice, I will be pleased. They are filthy, quickly reproducing rodents that poop and pee all over your kitchen towels, your utensils, your plastic wrap. They eat your candles, ruin your work gloves, and transfer entire bowls of dog food from the dog dish to your tool drawer! They die in traps and are quickly forgotten, only to be found in a half-decomposed state, forcing pregnant women to overuse bleach in an attempt to restore some sanitation and freshness to a normally lovely kitchen. I hate them. I started hating them when I lived in my cabin and they turned a perfectly good 5 lb. bag of flour into 4 99/100 pound of flour with a couple of turds in it, or, in other words, garbage. I'm serious--there was an entire bowl's worth of dog food in my tool drawer! And they managed this in a couple of days! Kevin just thought Dottie was really hungry.

5. That's it! Have a great beautiful autumn weekend!

A Point of Light

Wouldn't it be nice if everyone was as honest about their shortcomings as this guy (quoted in an edweek.org column--italics added)?:

At the same time, some advocates of evolution voiced concern that, with their perceived indifference to the religious sensitivities of many Americans, scientists may not be the most effective spokespeople for Darwin’s theory. Professor Miller, a star witness in the pro-evolution camp, summed it up succinctly: “We suck. We suck at communicating evolution and many other aspects of science.”

I think one of the biggest problems facing our society is our relative lack of ability to take responsibility for our misdeeds. This problem extends to those in the highest offices across our land. The two that immediately come to mind are Bush (always) and the ex-FEMA nepotism chair M. Brown (current example). Whatever happened to "The Buck Stops Here." I miss those days, and I wasn't even alive.

Now, I'm not casting the first stone here. But I have found that fessing up is very liberating. It's certainly less stressful than worming your way out of something. It also puts any other involved party at ease and frees the air for moving on. Whenever I hear one of those "This I Believe" essays on NPR I wonder what I really believe in enough to write about. This might be it. I've often said to people that instilling a sense of responsibility and accountability in children is one of the more important things a parent can do for a child (and a teacher for a student), and one of the more important things to cultivate in yourself. This reminds me of a story . . .

Yesterday was one of those glorious fall days--overcast, sprinkly, mid-50s. The change of season was announcing its presence with comfy authority. My little family puttered around the homestead all day, each of us fairly absorbed in our own tasks. Stevie is remarkably self-sufficient and really destroys the arguments of those who say that kids prevent you from ever doing your own thing. He spent the day watching nature videos, playing with Legos, drawing pictures of bugs, creating habitats for live and plastic creatures with sand, twigs, and Tupperware--the usual. I sewed. At one point, I went into the living room and involuntarily gasped when I saw that Stevie As Artist had decided to "decorate" his father's first segmented turned bowl with red permanent marker. Not only was this highly unusual behavior--his usual medium is paper with one plain side that I bring home from work--but it was his father's first segmented turned bowl! This was like "decorating" one of my quilts, or The David (love how I put those two things in the same sentence? ; )I brought this bowl into work last week--it's small and lovely and Kevin was going to send it to his great-uncle (a segmented turned bowl artisan). In a calm but still "oh, nooooo" sort of way, I asked Stevie "Why?" ("I just wanted to decorate it.") and told him that he needed to take the bowl out to the workshop, tell his dad what he had done, and ask daddy if he would be able to sand it off.

To my delight (yet sadness for Stevie's sudden heavy load), Stevie immediately said "ok" and, lower lip protruding, head down, shoulders slumped, he gently took the bowl, went outside, called to his dad, and upon meeting in the driveway, showed him what he had done. Picture a sweet, meek little pup approaching his new owner, tail tucked far beneath his body, the dark outline of a pee stain on the carpet behind him. I watched from the window slightly teary-eyed as this little George Washington presented his father with the newly enhanced bowl and couldn't tell a lie. I can't emphasize how low this kid's head was hung! Kevin took the bowl, scooped up his now crying son, and assured him that with a little Goof Off! it would be just fine. His intentions were good (and artistic--but I can see that we have to work on a creating a more simple aesthetic, at least when it comes to woodcrafts), he didn't know, and everything was going to be all right.

Oh, if only more adults would act like that 5-year old.

Trying to distract myself from My Corporate Job

1. "My Corporate Job" is surely a good name for something: a punk rock band, a wry book from yet another cynical and smartass Gen Xer, something.

2. Do people who go so far as to have the metal Christian fish thing with the cross in it feel pressure to not speed? This mini-van driving Christian was doing 60+ mph on The Parkway this morning (speed limit is 45)--I know because they have one of those mph-radar screen things to try to shame people into slowing down, or else make them paranoid about their excessive speed flashing in big yellow letters for Big Brother to see. Do public Christians feel more compelled than others to obey traffic laws?

3. President Bush has made 7? 8? trips to the Gulf region in 6 weeks. What does he do there, and how much do those trips cost? This is from an article in USA Today: ". . . compared to the $56,800-per-hour the Air Force estimates it costs to run Air Force One." That's a lot of money.

Years ago, after watching a National Geo video about the preparations for a state dinner at the White House, I fantasized that, when I am president, I will forgo such costly delights and either not spend the money or give the money to WDC schools or something. Jimmy Carter didn't blow a bunch of money on his Inaugural Ball. I will set a similar example by being thrifty with taxpayer's money. If only an atheist female who doesn't enjoy lying and has no ties to wealth could make it . . . .

4. I made the best apple pie of my life this weekend--flaky homemade crust and everything. And I made curtains and pillows and stayed up until 1 a.m. cutting strips for my next two quilts. Sitting on the floor for that long absolutely crippled me in my 31 weeks pregnant and suffering from some oddness in my pelvic bones state, but it was worth it. Oh how I long to be a domestic goddess.

5. Can NFL coaches fine their players for showboating in the end zone? If so, they really need to get on it. I am so glad that college players aren't allowed to do those stupid dances and hold up stupid signs and otherwise act as if they were the only player who made this score happen.

Late for School

I visited my adopted town's high school and middle school yesterday in an attempt to "stay current" on what is going on in classrooms today. Short answer: They're not using technology and hardly using their textbooks, so what I'm doing for work everyday seems a bit unnecessary.

Anyhoo, Kevin usually wakes me up around 6:30 by coming in the room (why do I always hear him coming?) and whispering (why whisper when you're trying to rouse someone?) "It's 6:30." Counting on that, I slept away stress-free. And then I hear his first words to me that day: "It's 6:50."

Whhhhhaaaaaaaa??!!?!?!?!

I needed to be sitting in the office at 7:30! Which means I needed to leave the house at 10-15 past 7. Which means I know have about 20-25 minutes to get ready. Kevin reasoned that I would be able to sleep-in a bit since I was just going to the local school. I'm not a horrid girly-girl in the morning and don't need more than 30 minutes to go from shower to gorgeous, but 20? Mmmm, that's stretching it. I rarely have to look at the clock in the morning and like to keep mornings stress-free. Not this morning.

If you want to feel like a teenager again, be late for school.

Once I arrived (right on time, baby!), I sat around in the office for 10 minutes waiting for the principal to come and get me. Again, just like when I was a teenager! Then I started my day of visiting. I ended up visiting 4 teachers in 7 periods and the overriding thought was . . . "I miss the kids. I can do better. I want to get back to the classroom."

Of course, doing so would mean going through the hideousness of getting an updated teacher's license and quitting my fabulous and much-loved corporate job.

No problem.

I am on a "make-it-to-April-and-then-see" life schedule. April is when I get my bonus. If I don't get fired before then, I can make it. It helps that I'll be on maternity leave for 6 weeks and can take another week of vacation, too. We'll see.

Can a baby shower lead to crushing depression? Yes!

Yesterday I attended the last baby shower that I will ever attend. No, I'm not predicting my death. I am, rather, predicting a happier life.

It seems like most intelligent women who reserve at least some of their time and brain space for non-baby-centered pursuits abhor baby showers and, yet, they still exist!

For all of you unitiated out there . . . it's customary for someone, usually a close girlfriend or family member, to throw you a baby shower. She asks you when you're available, you tell her and give a few tips on who to invite, and she does everything else. Everyone arrives on a weekend afternoon bearing pastel-infused gifts, and the intelligence-insulting activities ensue. BUT, no matter how obnoxious the activities, one thing I CAN say for the blessedly few baby showers that I have had to attend is that they move along. Thanks to the massive experience of those "core women's women"--you know who you are . . . mom--they are regimented! You get there, you eat little mints and tiny sandwiches, and then everyone sits, plays a few silly games, and the mom-to-be starts opening her presents. Mom holds up the gift, everyone goes "aaaawwwwwww", one person takes a picture, the gift is passed to everyone in attendance, and another person packs it up in the original box. All the while the mom is opening new presents. The core women bark out orders. They note who gave what. They carefully re-pack. The cycle repeats. People relax, knowing that they will soon be out of there and on with their day.

Yesterday's festivities were different. First of all, they were thrown by the mom-to-be herself. My problem with this has already begun. The festivities were held at a shi-shi restaurant/bar in the arty district of town. Different is good, but giving people an empty restaurant to roam around in lengthens everything. It's terribly unfocused. It started at 2, but there were people spilling in until around 3, and for some reason we didn't even start eating until then. Did I mention it was a potluck, so I had to make and bring something? Did I mention that I brought chocolate-walnut pie with a mug full of chocolate sauce, and that that chocolate sauce spilled (unbeknownst to me) while I was trying to wrangle it, the pie, my bag, a large present, and my son across a busy street? So I entered the party 1. in a bad mood and 2. covered in chocolate. Of course, the chocolate also spilled into my bag, covering my phone, wallet, and checkbook in--you guessed it!--chocolate.

Because there was a lot of room to ramble, the eating was unfocused, too. There was no scrutiny--no public pressure--to stay in the room, to eat, to get through this task. And because the only other person that I knew (besides mommy) was late, I sat, lonely--so lonely, at the bar, drinking water, miserably trying to catch some of the football game, avoiding the dreaded small talk with strangers at all costs.

Side note: I really don't want to get to know new people. This sounds callous, but I can assure you that I am quite lovable. So why so stand-offish? Because I have enough friends already. I love my work friends and happily get together with them at at least half of the work-friend social happenings. My best friend Ted and I have been friends for 20 years and don't have any need for small talk or formal gatherings. We can even ignore each other sometimes. I know that there are many fascinating people out there, but what good would it do me to strike up a conversation with a couple of women at a baby shower? No doubt they live in Central City, and to see them I would have to leave my house and drive for nearly an hour. There's no history there, and no point.

Back to the shower. The pile of gifts was growing, and I was anxiously wondering just when mommy would start opening presents so I could get the hell out of there. Answer? A little after 4! TWO hours after the party started! On a lovely fall Sunday afternoon! Urgh.

To make matters worse, the hostess-mother was doing everything herself, from lugging in the wine she bought for the winners of the quizzes (matching Bible parents with their Bible children! I got "Joseph and Mary------Jesus" and "Adam and Eve------Cain, Abel, and the other one". That would have been all, but I was a few seats down from Mommy's Christian daddy and I was blatantly cheating off of his paper!), to fooling with the damn camera. If we calculated the time we lose to figuring out how to work digital cameras and teaching others to use them, it would be very disquieting, I'm sure.

So she finally sits and starts opening, only nothing is getting passed, there is no system for taking pictures although they must be taken, and mom herself is carefully repacking everything herself and triple-checking to make sure that the right person got credited on the List. The quilt that took me dozens of hours to complete was shown upside down and repacked. Having nothing else to stay for, I mumbled to an acquaintance that I was going to go find my kid and slipped out into freedom.

The mommy is a friend of mine. If she reads this, that may change. However, I have this to say in my defense: The shower ruined my day. It was so bad that I had a bad dream about it last night! I don't like the idea behind them. You can't get out of them! If you do, you're basically dissing that person's baby. I love my friend, and I'll love this baby as I do her first baby--to whom I've voluntarily given a great deal. I was happy to make the quilt. I'm happy to babysit and help however I can. Just never, ever ask me to formally, involuntarily shell out the time, money, and chocolate pies to attend an event that I can't just duck out of and that my husband won't come with me to, meaning that I drive for nearly 2 hours in a pissed-at-husband fume to sit in a bar and talk with no one and grow increasingly distressed and wish that I was home cleaning my house or sewing or doing pretty much anything else besides getting annoyed at the whole idea behind forcing people to spend money to support your life choices. (Thank you, Sex in the City.) And was I pissed at my husband for not making the sacrifice? He knows I'm not going to divorce him if he doesn't go. Or was I pissed at him for being more enlightened and OK-with-himself for not attending such disagreeable activities? Hmm.

In the interest of full disclosure . . . what about my own showers? When pregnant with Stevie, several of my students (and future core women) got together and gave me a surprise baby shower. It was very sweet, casual, and modest--and on a Friday afternoon (so they have a few scheduling issues to work out). Similarly, my fellow female teachers threw me a surprise wedding shower at about the same time. It, too, was modest and sweet, and totally unexpected and unnecessary. This time around, my aunt, whom I see a couple of times a year, wanted to throw me a baby shower and, at first, I said OK. However, on the way to the shower yesterday, I asked my mom to tell her no. It would be beyond awkward in many ways to accept such a gracious offer, and I don't want to make people feel obligated to come and pay up, . . . and I don't want to give up another lovely fall afternoon.