pregnancy brain.

Guys, I keep having nothing to write cuz I am in pre-baby bliss. Sometimes I think about writing something on this blog and all I can think of is how Wayne is so funny and wonderful and how work is ok and I'm so glad to be healthy and have a healthy little fetus (knock on wood) and a cute little apartment in a cute neighborhood with funny old Italian people downstairs and how I'm seriously so blessed.

Not much fun to read.

So, I thought it might be more fun to document my various pregnancy obsessions because for me, pregnancy hormones create obsessions.

1. ERASERHEAD

It was over this trippy film depicting the most horrifying parenting story ever that I first realized I was pregnant. Before I knew what it was about at all (because it takes a while to get what's going on) I turned to Wayne and said, "Hun. I seriously think I'm pregnant. For reals."
"Babe, at one point you were convinced you had a brain tumor." (This is not really true.)
Of course I was RIGHT (about the pregnancy). And this film with all of its grotesque imagery stuck with me forever since the hormones were already flowing. And some parts are so quotable: (Who doesn't love David Lynch?):
"Just cut it up like a regular chicken?"
"Yup. Just like a regular chicken."

2. TWIN PEAKS (Phase 2)

I'll probably never get over Twin Peaks. It's the best TV show ever. Wayne and I first kissed over an episode of TP when I was dressed like Audrey and that sealed it in my heart forever. It was during my first trimester that we rewatched most of seasons 1 and 2.

3. THE PIRATES OF PENZANCE

I know that musicals aren't for everyone, but I'm willing to argue the timelessness here. Did you know that this premiered in 1879? If you think that something like an old musical about pirates is lame, then you won't be surprised. But the humor is fresh.

It is either a funny fact or pure destiny that both Wayne and I grew up on the genius movie version of this play. We celebrate it by sometimes singing passages in the morning over breakfast. (Yes, we allow singing at our table.) Wayne's family still celebrates Frederick's birthday when it pops up every leap year.

4. DIVORCE ITALIAN STYLE

So, we watch a lot of Italian shiz in our house, but this one is my favorite so far. So freaking funny. Better than What about Bob (which i think is pretty amazing). I even learned some Italian so I could quote it. I don't know how to spell what learned how to say, so you'll just have to hear me in person if you want proof.

5. ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE

Gregory Orr wrote the most beautiful poem by this title. It makes poetry feel easy and Greek myth seem valid. Please read it.

6. BLACK SWAN GREEN

Jason Taylor is the best friend I've ever had during my subway commute. I still miss him all of the time. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed reading fiction so thoroughly.

7. THE SHINING

Our baby wouldn't stop kicking when we watched this because of all of the pumping adrenaline. Scary stuff. I got really into all of the conspiracy theories about what Stanley Kubrick is trying to say through subtle symbols throughout the film and we even went to see Room 237 for our last NYC dinner/date. I check under the bed every night to make sure Wayne hasn't got an axe.

The End.

riot for life!

Here's the news: I want to give birth at home with a midwife. After months of not even feeling sure how I felt about medicated v. unmedicated child birth, I want to take the most granola/hippie/new age option that anyone in my family has ever taken. It's a new development. I just received a letter in the mail from my insurance company stating that my future care at Mt. Sinai Hospital is all approved and ready to go. Pushed, by Jennifer Block is the culprit. It's not a book about how to give birth and the author has never had a child. It's basically just an investigative report about how in the US, women's desires and preferences in birthing circumstances are routinely undermined for a series of complex bureaucratic, industrialized reasons. Very seriously, I'm convinced that the reproductive rights of women should be focused on childbirth options much more than abortion. Did you guys know that midwifery is prohibited in 10 states and unrecognized in many others? I didn't.

Here's just one lovely passage from the book:

"[Dr. De Angelis], a solo practitioner, to maintain his standard of living in suburban Jew Jersey...and pay out an annual $90,000 in malpractice insurance, [has] had to double his case load. Which means halving the time he spends with patients in an office visit. And he's irate about it. "You tell me what other profession has to pay $300 just to go to work every day! The bottom, line, the bottom line is the care for the patients. And as a consumer...[she] gets 5 minutes in the office. And when the consumer is in labor? It's a vicious cycle. I can't sit with that patient. I have to go back to the office... This is not a way to practice medicine...Why do women put up with this? I have no idea. You know, back in the 80's when I was in residency, there was a feminist movement. The women back then wouldn't have tolerated this."

Let's start a revolution guys. Let's take to the streets.

I've still got to find a midwife. Wish me luck.

natural woman.

In a dream three weeks ago, I was urgent to get from California from Utah. I didn't know why I had to go, but I did, and I had to get there fast. It was a big, life/death/family situation and I was panicked because I didn't have any money to buy a plane ticket, (I remember checking my account balance online and it literally said "$0") but driving was going to take too long and of course I don't own a car anyway. Luckily, my parents had just bought a crop-duster style biplane from a garage sale loaded with gasoline! (Problem solved, right?)

 There was only one seat in the plane, so all I could do was get advice about how to fly it from people who'd done it before. My mom kept saying "Laura, it comes more natural than you think. You'll know what to do." For a minute, I felt pretty excited. I was like,"Wow. I'm gonna see this whole western stretch of the country from a bird's eye view. That's gonna be amazing." And then those feelings would oscillate with other things like, "Wait. Up is down and down is up? Like on a video game? What about air traffic?"

 "Yeah hun. That's it. You've got it. And don't worry about traffic, it's not busy that low in the sky." "But how do I take off? How do I land? Couldn't I die?"

Yup. Childbirth has been freakin' me out lately. Every female in my family who's ever given birth told me independently and only when asked that they'd all done it medication-free (or at least made desperate attempts to). I knew the women in my family were really hearty and cool, but I felt just a tiny surprised that they were all independently united in this without banding together to put pressure on me to follow suit. So I've been talking and reading and watching birth videos online(!!!) and everyone, I AM SOLD. Seriously. If I can get away with it, I might wanna catch the kid myself. Although I have not yet run a marathon, one time I headed out on a Saturday and ran 20 miles just myself. I can give birth like any old farm cow, right? That's what I'm tellin' myself for now.

In other news, please read the book, "Black Swan Green" by my new favorite author, David Mitchell. Don't worry, the title is not representative of its genius. I miss it all of the time since I finished it last week because it's the best subway commuting companion I've ever had.

21 weeks.

My mother is the most fantastic belcher in the world. She can really rip one if she thinks she's alone. I used to think it was at best, unlady-like, and at the very least, authentic, but now I get it because I'm pregnant. Those who haven't and never will house a human parasite won't get it, but burping (especially in the first trimester) saves you from throwing up. It's just mandatory. You feel sick until you do it right. I used to walk around in the crowded streets during my lunch break, trying to burp with all my might, hoping all the honking successfully sheltered passers-by from possible disgust.

Seriously though, get this: MY MOM WAS PREGNANT FOR ALMOST SEVEN YEARS OF HER LIFE. How can you blame her for burping? How can you blame anyone for anything at all who, without medication successfully squeezed seven solid bodies out of her uterus and into the sterile hospital air? And that's only the birth part, which is probably the easiest. My appreciation has certainly expanded as I gauge the details and complications of her achievement, divided by seven (.1428571). I say all of our moms get a free pass because this is all way harder than they made it seem.

Truth is, it makes me feel a pregnancy wimp.

I now require:

8-10 hrs. of sleep every night and naps every Saturday/Sunday

Endless supplies of yogurt, milk, mandarin oranges, and cereal
(don't make me eat or cook anything else, please.)

11 minutes to run just one mile

Hundreds of yards of fabric for my nesting plans that ever so slowly come to actual fruition

Daily chocolate

At least one whining session per day

Thank my lucky stars for Wayne, who takes responsibility for his part in this by facilitating all of my pregnancy needs in the midst of his horrific qualifying exam prep (and for putting up with the unlady-like burping).

back with a vengeance.

Life changed enough that the path to repurposing my blog is now clear: Marriage to the atheist of my high school dreams provides endless supplies of new content if I can just spend some of my free time typing things out instead of cuddling him over episodes of Twin Peaks. Yes. Life is wonderful excepting for the stomach flu I contracted last night. But even then, I've successfully managed to keep down the following items: 1 glass of EmergenC, a bowl of cereal, 1 cup of Melograno special Italian tea, and an entire glass of water. I'll be better just in time to do some last minute Christmas shopping tomorrow, hop on a plane to Salt Lake the following day, lounge with the fam at a ski resort for Christmas, and make it to my own retrospective wedding reception a few days before New Year's. I'm not sure it gets much better than this.

moving forward.

Ok friends and family,

It's official: This blog is through. All of my writing efforts will now be poured into a graphic novel style memoir that I'm taking way seriously. We'll see how it goes; I'm excited.

The good news is that I have a new blog as equally egocentric and revealing as this one and possibly even more immature: I will be joining thousands of high school students across the world by posting a picture of myself daily. You will find my visual diary here: socialexplosion.tmblr.com.
I hope to expose weather conditions, love affairs, scenery, events, haircuts, and weight variations throughout the years.

It's been fun guys. Thanks to everyone who's ever bothered reading.

just a boring blog entry.

I cut my hair again. Big fat surprise.

People who've known me for years didn't even notice. My fresher Brooklynite friends were so excited to see my real self that they stopped singing momentarily to blurt their approval during branch choir practice when I walked in early for church the following day. It's great to have such overwhelming approval about peeling a layer back.

I don't know what to say. New York is a weird place. Brooklyn is a weird place. Everything in my apartment has been carried in by my arms. Except the stuff my roommate carried in. And the couch. I paid a long-haired smoker with an old van like the one my mom used to drive us around in $60 to move my lovely craig'slist purchase over the threshold and into my tiny abode. He was nice.

This hands-on lifestyle and obligation to forge my own sanctuary forces me to grow up. It juices out my maternal instincts. I've started cooking again. It's become my biggest hobby. I bake only for birthdays and work/church functions. Otherwise, I'm freezing soup, packing home-made granola bars, and pecking at the spinach salad I stuff into the same ikea tupperware I bring to work for lunch everyday. Oh, and oats. I'm obsessed with eating them raw and with jam and cinnamon and milk and honey and yogurt. I don't know why.

Running, on the other hand, makes me feel like a gangster. I own this place. Ask anyone who witnesses white puffs escape my mouth at 7 o'clock every morning. The numbers are few. I've pounded the gray gum sidewalk spots in every direction. I've battled the hills in jewish, chinese, and russian neighborhoods. The cold can't keep me in.