Is that a brain?

Mark used to be a subscriber to several non-glossy, DIY, no-frills non-mainstream music magazines. One such magazine, which I do actually believe he subscribed to for the insightful musical critiques, was called Horizontal Action. You can probably guess the secondary theme for this magazine's content (particularly the pictures).

One day, long ago, his latest subscription had come in the mail. We had only just begun dating and I was over at his place visiting. I saw it on the coffee table and picked it up.

"Hmmm," I thought, "It's peculiar to put a picture of a brain on the front of a music magazine."

Later, it was explained to me that what I was mistakening for a brain, was actually a scrotum.
Common mistake, I'm sure.

Baby Peron

This is Baby Peron at 12 weeks.

The technician's first comment "This is a very uncooperative baby. It won't get in the right position for a picture."

My first thought, "It looks like Mark."

I told Mark I saw the ear. He said, "It hasn't got ears yet." I said, "I think it has almost everything already." But I think he wasn't convinced. And now I'm not so sure either. Perhaps I just saw some transluscency of the skull and the brain therin.

I somehow also imagined the heartbeat would appear as a huge glowing beacon, similar to E.T. Instead it was a subtle little beating light. B.P. seemed to be sleeping at first, and I wanted more proof of life, so I was relieved when its little arms began flailing around.

"It's going to be a drummer," I told Mark at dinner.

"Not a soccer player?" he asked.

"Did you see those scrawny legs? Nope. Drummer."

The Best Secret Keeper (or at least a much-improved Secret Keeper)

I have been known to have difficulty keeping some secrets. I am sort of surprised that people keep entrusting me with very valuable and classified pieces of information. They say, “Whatever you do, Melissa, don’t tell a soul!”

Well, I can avoid “telling a soul” if no soul ASKS. But as soon as someone looks me in my bare naked eyes and asks me out right if a certain suspicion they have is true…I cannot tell a lie. I falter, I cannot make an untruth sound cool and natural. My face goes red. I spill.

So no one believed that I would be able to keep my pregnancy a secret for the conventional ten weeks without spilling the beans. I did (mostly).

And a few things aided in my success.

1: My husband was adamant we not tell and he became distressed at any discussions revolving around the idea of letting the cat out of the bag even a week early. And I respect him deeply.

2: My friends are, for the most part, too tactful to outright ask a woman if she is pregnant. I have always been somewhat sensitive about my weight. Asking a weight-sensitive person if she is pregnant is like playing Russian Roulette (replacing the bullet with an explosion of self-loathing, a chain of vulgar words and an inconsolable cry-fest).

3: In truth, I wasn’t entirely successful. I broke my silence in just enough ways to ensure my success with the rest of the general public. This wasn’t a conscious decision, but I am certain it helped.

How did I break my silence? Well, I asked Mark if I could have ONE person, with whom I could talk all about my “state” from the very moment we found out. I ensured him this would mean he’d have to hear about it (and all the very gory details) far less. So I confided in my best friend, Hilary, who is also a doctor.And one day, I was writing an e-mail to Hilary regarding exercise and pregnancy. I began the e-mail by indicating how “far along” I was. So it began with… “I am five and half weeks pregnant….and the doctor says…..”

She replied with an article about Exercise and Pregnancy. I thought to myself, “Delia would enjoy this article. I’ll forward it to her.” Oh now, I foresaw that if I was not careful, this could completely blow my cover. So I was so meticulous. I forwarded the attachment, but I erased and changed the main subject of the e-mail and then I erased the body of the e-mail. I sent her the article and then I phoned her to tell her I’d sent her something.

Here is what I did not know. The internet browser that Hilary uses, attached the original e-mail I sent her (the one beginning with I AM FIVE AND A HALF WEEKS PREGNANT...) to the document. So Delia received a forward with two attachments. One was the article I’d intended to send her (but of course she didn’t open that one first). No, while she was on the phone with me, she opened the original e-mail I’d sent Hilary and she got very quiet on the other end of the phone and then she stated, “You’re pregnant!” I calmly replied (because I had practiced), “Delia, now you KNOW I can’t keep a secret. If I was pregnant, I’d tell you.”

I thought I was quite convincing. But she cried, “NO, I’m reading it right here!”

There was the bag….and the cat was gone. And I maintain, it was not my fault!

Regardless, for the rest of the world, they would have to wait until nine and a half weeks, which is the equivalent of ten weeks in my very overly-eager mind.

And that is a success in my books.

Sayings about Pregnancy...

You should never say anything to a woman that even remotely suggests that you think she's pregnant unless you can see an actual baby emerging from her at that moment.
~Dave Barry, "Things That It Took Me 50 Years to Learn"

Love and pregnancy and riding on a camel cannot be hid.
~Arabic Proverb

People are giving birth underwater now. They say it's less traumatic for the baby because it's in water. But certainly more traumatic for the other people in the pool.
~Elayne Boosler

A ship under sail and a big-bellied woman, are the handsomest two things that can be seen common.
~Benjamin Franklin

There are three reasons for breast-feeding: the milk is always at the right temperature; it comes in attractive containers; and the cat can't get it.
~Irena Chalmers

I'm Turning 30

Tomorrow is Queen Elizabeth II's birthday. It is also the day I turn 30. Today I had my very last meal as a 29 year old. It was a steak salad. It was pretty good, but had I realized when I was planning the meal, the intense significance of the event, I might have put more thought into it. I certainly would have added mandarin slices.

Anyway, Mark says turning 30 isn't so bad (he's 29). I said I think it classifies as "middle age". He says that's not true. I asked if 37 is "middle age". After some thought, "Yes", he decided. And when we turn 37, we will make "38" the threshold.

Mark is very busy these days taking a course, and since I am not in much of a hurry, we think we might postpone my 30th birthday to Wednesday.

Chilly has gotten even bigger.

Chilly is in town.
He's back from Seattle, where he works for Bill Gates. Julia is joining him to live there. But in order to make immigration thing easier, they're getting married right away instead of later. Well, they're getting married today at city hall AND again in the summer of 2009 with all their near and dear.

So, Mark went downtown to meet Chilly last night for a drink and to see how Seattle life is treating him. Apparently, being lonely has motivated Chilly to spend long hours pumping iron and therefore, become even more muscular than he is now. If you have ever met Chilly, you're probably shaking your head and mouthing the word, "Impossible." The man's biceps were always on the brink of bursting out of whatever shirt he was wearing. They were easily the size of my head!

So I said to Mark, "How big is he?"
"Well, picture Chilly..... and the Incredible Hulk..... I think Chilly's got the Hulk beat."

Love in Many Forms

Mark talks with Frankie in the mornings. He says things like, "Yes, maybe if you ask her nicely, she WILL brush you. I know it has been a while and I KNOW you like it. Try asking her."

Other times, she'll say, "MEOW" and he'll respond, "MEOW". She'll cry, "MEOW" and he'll retort, "MEOW"

When he's feeling less patient, he'll say, "Frankie, if you keep meowing like that I'm going to have to rip your legs off and barbecue them and feed them to you." ...MEOW...
"Frankie, keep it up and I might have to kill you. Do you know what that means, Frankie?" .
...MEOW....
"..to cease to be alive." (ever the teacher)

This morning he said, "Frankie listens to me more than she listens to you."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because she's my symbiot."

And then, on the topic of reincarnation, I asked, "What was Frankie before she was a cat?"
Mark said, "She was Dr. Muffar. That's why she's always yelling at us telling us what to do. The good doctor thinks she knows what's best."
MEOW
He continued, "I keep trying to explain that she's not as smart any more because she hasn't got a doctor's brain, she's got a cat's brain."

Careful what you say

I was at Quinton's Term 2 interview with Mr. Mao and Quinton's dad and stepmom. I remember Mr. Mao's eloquent and gentle way of saying Quinton, like all of us, needs to learn where to use the kind of language you'd use in a hockey dressing room and where it is not appropriate. Mr. Mao had a very gentle way also of saying Quinton needs to be aware that teenage boys get bad reps and it's important to always be aware of the kind of impression he is giving others (adults and peers). Mr. Mao was being very gentle indeed. Mr. Mao long ago learned the type of language to use in a parent-teacher interview.

Then just today, Mr. Mao heard Quinton boasting regarding his expertise with women. He was boasting to a group of grade eight boys. So he forgot which type of language he was supposed to be using (he was in a classroom at school). He used, what Mr. Mao would describe in Quinton's agenda as "profane language". However, this description was not detailed enough for Mrs. Quinton's-stepmom. She requested that Mr. Mao repeat exactly what was said to her over the phone.

Mr. Mao shyly obeyed, saying to Mrs. Quinton's-stepmom, "I get more ass than a toilet seat."
(One has to admire Quinton's use of metaphorical language for emphasis.)

The lesson is, never say anything you wouldn't want your teacher saying to your stepmom.