What are you looking at?

Rejuvenated

That's the most fitting word to describe my three-day weekend, because it was. The shenanigans began on Saturday morning when I spent two hours cleaning out the various nooks and crannies of our apartment--tupperware bins filled with shoes, shelves stuffed with books, VHS tapes confined to our storage unit since Luke moved in, and a closet featuring items that've been one size too small on a certain female someone for, oh, two summers now, items I had fervently vowed to fit into "come next year." All of it was sorted and distributed between the employees at Goodwill and my unsuspecting friends and family. There is no better time to clean than right before a visit home, because there will always be someone who'll want those white capris I never had any business wearing in the first place, a sibling itching to get her hands on "classic" movies like What About Bob? and It Could Happen to You. As for the shoes? Well, the purging was so thorough that I can now fit all of my footwear into our apartment. So long, Wicked Witch of the West heels. Farewell, three-dollar cork wedges. Some lucky bastard will provide you with a more fruitful life than you ever experienced with me.

When I surveyed the amount of material items I had decided I couldn't live without, I was surprised at how good it felt to rid our household of things that were essentially holding us back, and I talked Luke's ear off the whole car ride to Chicago about how liberating it was to only have things that truly meant something to us, and how it makes much more sense to center gifts around experiences instead of things, because the high I get off a salon pedicure is worth more than any CD I could find under the Christmas tree, and how our life would be richer if we surprised each other with annual passes to the zoo instead of DVD box sets and mindless video games.

That was Saturday. On Sunday, we found ourselves at a Best Buy in Merrillville, practically running to the first available check-out aisle to purchase the long-awaited Nintendo Wii. Sneaky materialism, blindly we succumb to thee!

In our defense, though, I did say it was perfectly acceptable to have things as long as they weren't just occupying empty space, and Luke's been foaming at the mouth over this system since it was first released in November, and I am personally tickled pink over having the ability to download and play original Nintendo games like Super Mario Brothers and Ninja Gaiden, so really, this is a win-win situation for the entire family. And we are all about the family.

Other superficial activities included getting a much-needed hair cut and scoring a new blowdryer. I am officially cut off until this baby starts spilling over the waistline of my pants. Which apparently is another topic of conversation in and of itself.

I don't know why, but I am still constantly amazed at all the attention my belly generates. When in the presence of family and friends who aren't graced with my pregnant aura on a daily basis, their first order of business is to demand that I lift up my shirt so they can see "what's going on in there." What follows is some sort of mmhmm sound from the back of their throat and an "Oh, yeah, that baby's definitely poking out!" exclamation that always, always gets under my skin, because then I have to inform them of the nine pounds I've lost since April and how I'm still wearing my regular clothes and even those are sagging around my stomach and how the baby they're seeing is actually the double gut I've carried around since I was thirteen, thanks so much for noticing.

If it sounds like I'm afraid of looking pregnant, it's due to the fact that I'm ABSOLUTELY TERRIFIED of looking pregnant. My body is going to change in ways I can't predict and can't control, and those changes will affect my eating habits, sleeping habits, choice of wardrobe, and sex life for who knows how long? Just because it's "worth it" doesn't mean I'm unreasonable for wanting to hold on to the familiar for as long as I can.

So, other than the occasional internal conflict over the physical, the weekend went famously. There were lots of pickles--my current favorite food--and lots of naps. Luke and I settled upon first and middle names for the baby, both male and female. I also finally started REALLY preparing for my blogging class this fall. I just learned that book orders are due in the first half of June, so Friday night was spent combing through Amazon.com for potential texts I can skim over the next couple of weeks. Ninja Gaiden will just have to wait.

I also turned twelve weeks yesterday. Can you believe it?

Tragic Love Friday: Postcoital

Ah, Friday. Was there ever a better day?

This week has been long, what with staying late to oversee shooting for some marketing videos, lamenting over the unruly state of Luke's and my apartment, and following All My Children via message board threads until I was finally able to catch up on my recordings last night. But all of that is done--for now, anyway--which means it's time to prepare for the weekend, a weekend that will include a much-needed haircut, visits with family, and a Memorial Day that will probably be spent close to home. We're also waiting to see on a two-bedroom apartment currently on hold for us within our complex, and if all goes well, we'll be moving at the end of June.

Actually, no matter what we'll be moving at the end of June, but I'm really hoping this particular unit works out because it's in the building right next door and we wouldn't have to rent a truck.

But enough about boring old me. A girl was raped last week! How could the following chapter possibly live up to that?

The answer is it can't. But you'll read it anyway, won't you?

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CHAPTER EIGHT - JENNA

I rubbed my eyes and stifled a yawn as I started to put my work away. It was three o'clock on Wednesday morning, and I was dead tired. I had finally finished the Folgers presentation.

It had taken me a week to find all the materials and resources, and after that, I was always working on it. The result was two outlines, three poster graphs, one five-page report, and five poster boards that illustrated a way to advertise the coffee on TV. It was all extremely professional-looking, and I was proud. The presentation was scheduled for Thursday.

[If Jenna's done all this, what the hell was left for her boss? Who would've thought an administrative assistant with no college degree and no previous advertising experience would have so much responsibility on her plate? Girl needs to join a union, stat!]

Michael was awake when I crawled into bed a half hour later.

"What are you still doing up?" I whispered, fighting to keep my eyes in focus. He pulled me to him and kissed my neck.

"I've missed you," he murmured, burying his face in my hair. "You're never home."

[Yeah, Kay and I talk all the time about how my wife is a workaholic and never has time for her family. Bastard.]

"Neither are you," I pointed out, pushing him away. "Please, just leave me alone tonight, Michael. I need at least four hours' sleep for work."

"Jenna...." I gazed into his eyes.

[Did you realize that "eyes" without an "e" is "yes"? You learn something new every day.]

He seemed so sad, sad and lost. I could tell he wanted to talk, but my head suddenly felt as heavy as a truck. It fell on the softness of my pillow. "Tomorrow," I mumbled and closed my eyes.

* * * *

I felt exhilerated when I got to work that morning, presentation in tow. It was held in a special case so it couldn't get bent or dirty. I slid it next to my desk. Mr. Crawford asked to see it, but I refused. I wanted to see the admiration in his eyes when he saw it with the representatives tomorrow, for the first time.

[In real life, they would do a trial run-through, and the head honcho would not so much be taking "no" as an answer from his secretary, but hell, the only thing lil' Frema knew about advertising was what she saw on Melrose Place--in eight-second intervals, of course, because she always had to change the channel when a parent was suspected to be in the vicinity. At the very least, I'm thinking Crawford would have the secured the presentation in his office. But whatever.]

Only Agatha remained silent. I smiled sweetly at her that day when I left work with nothing to take home with me. Take that, bitch.

[Save them fightin' words for the tramp seducing your husband.]

At home, I was surprised to see Katherine was already there. [I have a daughter? Cool!] "Hi, hon," I said. She was in the living room on the couch, in a raggedy sweat outfit, and bundled in blankets. Her hair was stringy and dull-looking. She was staring at the TV, which only showed static.

[The only piece missing from this Cry For Help puzzle is a gun to her temple and a note stapled to the collar of her shirt.]

Her eyes met mine briefly, then turned back to the TV screen. "Hello, Mother."

My daughter was scaring me. [You fucking think?!] "How was your day?" I finally asked. No reply. "Answer me, Katherine."

"My day was lovely, thank you for asking." Her tone wasn't sarcastic; it was flat, with no emotion. I didn't know what to do, so I touched her cheek. It was burning. I quickly pulled away. "Kath, get rid of those blankets. You're hot enough."

"No. I'm cold."

"Do you think you're getting sick?" I asked her. Her eyes locked with mine.

"Yes, I think I'm sick. My body feels heavy and I'm sweaty all the time. My eyes sting, and it hurts right here." She put a clenched fist over her heart. "It hurts a lot," she whispered and closed her eyes.

"Oh," I breathed, relieved now. "I bet it's the flu. You'll be OK, Kath, but I know that doesn't help. You can stay home from school tomorrow if you don't feel better tonight."

"I'll go to school," she replied, all emotion leaving her voice again. "Don't worry about me. I know you're busy."

"OK, hon. Just rest," I told her, leaving the room before she could reply.

[Parenting test number 389,234: failed!]

I checked the contents of the pantry, and decided to make a pot roast for dinner. I wanted tonight to be special. It'd be the first time in two weeks I'd have a nice, sit-down dinner with my family. I also wanted to be with Michael, just the two of us.

After I had the roast, rice and vegetables started, I made sure the house was clean. "Kath," I called, "come keep an eye on the food while I take a shower."

"OK."

I took a long time, soaking first in a perfumed bubble bath, and then rinsing off in a shower. Once I got out, I put on a robe and went through my wardrobe. I ended up putting on a blue silk shirt [why is lil' Frema so obsessed with silk shirts?] and a pair of jeans I'd bought a few weeks ago. I curled my hair and left it loose. A little makeup prettied my face, and I was finished.

"You look real nice, Mom," Katherine commented.

I smiled. "Thanks. I hope your father agrees with you."

Lucas and Leigh [I have twins? Awesome!] came home an hour later. Luke whistled and Leigh winked at me. "Please don't aggravate your father tonight," I said. "Let's act like a family."

Two hours later, dinner was ready and Michael still wasn't home. [Geez, what is it now, like nine o'clock?] The twins were hungery, and my oldest was acting like a zombie. A half an hour later, the four of us sat down to dinner. Oh, well. At least I can catch up with my kids.

[Offspring: the best consolation prize you'll ever have.]

"How's school, guys?" I asked.

"It sucks," replied Luke.

"Watch your mouth," I snapped.

"Mr. Allan was fired for touching Annie Marshall's chest," Leigh said with a mouthful of food.

"Oh God! That poor girl!" I cried. She shrugged. "Annie's a slut. She probably asked for it."

[My goodness, have Jenna and Michael raised polite, socially responsible children or what?]

"Shut up, Leigh," yelled Katherine. "That girl didn't know what was gonna happen. He made her trust him!"

"You don't even know her," Leigh replied, "so stop yelling at me."

"I don't have to know her. It's people like you who make things worse. He got her, so now she's a slut. Everybody's talking about her, even her friends. How would you feel?"

"Kath," I said softly, "leave your sister alone. It's not her fault." Leigh was wiping tears from her eyes. Katherine closed up and picked at her food.

[Um, how about saying those same words for Annie Marshall so your youngest daughter doesn't grow up blaming the victim?]

"I think I'm gonna try out for a sport next year," Luke said, to break the silence I think.

"Good. I think you'd be good on the soccer team," I offered.

"I'm not hungery anymore," mumbled Kath. She cleared her plate and I heard her door slam a moment later.

"I'm going out," declared Leigh, sniffling. "I'll be at Claire's house."

"Fine." I closed my eyes and gently massaged my temples. [Parenting is, like, so hard!] "You can go out, too, Lucas." They were gone in a flash.

[I hope they remembered to grab a tooth brush, because at this hour, they may as well spend the night. Also, at twelve years old, I NEVER informed my mother that I was "going out." That would have earned me a raised eyebrow and a guarantee I'd pass the evening watching Family Feud.]

I cleaned the kitchen quickly, waiting for Michael to come through the door, or at least call. Nothing.

He's probably tied up at school with conferences, I thought at 8:30. It's happened before. Even though dinner was a flop, the night could be a success. I smiled to myself as I put on a short black lace nightie and turned down the bed.

I watched TV. I thought about my presentation. At 10:30 I got tired of thinking and changed into a tee-shirt and sweatpants. I rid my face of all makeup. I left the nightie on the floor where Michael would be sure to see it. I closed my eyes.

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So, nothing terribly exciting today, but you did get a chance to see the Spencer family in all its alarmingly dysfunctional glory. Where's Dr. Phil when you need him? Or hell, even Jerry Springer?

Testing 1-2-3 Wednesday

Yesterday I had a follow-up doctor's appointment to check on my recent weight loss. Turns out another three pounds have gone by the wayside since I was in last, but since my appetite is slowly starting to return, the physician I met with saw no reason to take any further action. I heard the heartbeat again, whooshing away at about a hundred and sixty beats per minute, and we talked about the ultrasound I'll be having in roughly eight to ten weeks.

She also brought up the idea of prenatal testing. Hmmm.

I know that testing can be important for many types of women. Those of certain ethnicities, for example, or who are over 35, or whose family histories include physical or mental disabilities. I know that testing can determine whether or not your baby is predispositioned to genetic defects and provide couples with an opportunity to make critical, sometimes heartbreaking, decisions prior to delivery. I know it and appreciate having the choice. But I don't want it.

My reasoning? Neither Luke's nor my cultural backgrounds are prone to anything out of the ordinary. Experiencing my first pregnancy at 27 years old is far enough from 35 to categorize this gestation as low-risk. I'm healthy. Our families are healthy. Everything should be fine. But if for some reason it isn't? Well, I don't know that we'd do anything about it, anyway. After all our talk of wanting a baby, we've been given a baby--a miracle, a gift we've done nothing to deserve. We will take this gift and care for this child the best way we can, for as long as we can, whether it's eighty-three years or twelve days or six minutes or just nine months in utero. Even the best testing can't guarantee anything, even the best testing can be wrong, and I would hate to play God based on the number of dots or squiggles printed on a piece of paper, then wonder for the rest of my life if I should've left things alone. I'd much rather take each day as it comes and prepare for the worst when there is a legitimate reason to do so.

Tell me, parents out there, what's your take on or experience with prenatal testing?

Edited to add: In reading through your comments, I realized my post reads as if I believe the only reason to move forward with testing would be to determine if termination is "necessary," which isn't true at all. There are many afflictions that can plague babies but don't prevent them from living long and happy lives, and many parents want to have that information. Again, though, for me, it wouldn't help. How does one mentally prepare for something like that? As far as medical arrangements are concerned, Luke and I have chosen a hospital that's well-equipped to handle any complications with my labor and/or the baby's arrival, and if specialists are required, we can receive recommendations at that time.

I briefly considered going through with the first-trimester screening, a non-invasive way to detect chromosomal abnormalities, but to have a test done simply because it was non-invasive didn't sit well with me. Since ultrasounds between eighteen and twenty-two weeks are routine and have the capability to provide physical evidence of a problem, that's enough 411 for this mother-to-be. Finding out the gender? Will be icing on the cake.

What can I say? The baby likes to shop

Gasp! A post on a Monday? Can this be? What's the special occasion?

I'm so glad you asked:

For the next two weeks, I'll be spending the majority of my week nights acting as a production assistant of sorts as we shoot scenes at the lab for a handful of promotional videos, and seeing as HR is cracking down on the whole "no open-toed shoes at work" rule, I had every reason to run to Baker's in search of comfortable flats. Which I found yesterday. And dearly love. The sacrifices I make to advance my career, I swear.

(The last time I had ballet shoes, I was ten, they were beige, and I wore them with pink socks. To say this new look is much improved is a bit of an understatement, don't you think?)

Since I was already at the mall, I figured I may as well redeem the twenty-dollar coupon I recently received in the form of a heartfelt, emotional postcard from my dear friend, New York and Company. The end result? Well, let's just say I didn't cry on the way home.

Do you see those beautiful, work-appropriate, drawstring pants that do not require the suffocation of my stomach via tummy tube? (Can you tell I'm not a fan?) They're a little roomy right now, so I figure I've got at least a month before I'm too fat to squeeze into them. The other pair has little snaps I can leave undone when paired with a loose-fitting shirt. Plus, I can wear all these babies again this time next year because all the baby weight will have totally melted away by then, and if you try to insinuate otherwise I will totally ban your IP address.

Tragic Love Friday: Parental discretion advised

Before I get into the rationale behind the advisory, first I thought I'd make up for my lack of posting this week and do the "Eight is Enough" meme as suggested by the lovely Fraulein N. Don't say I never gave you anything.

Eight Random Facts About Frema

1. Last night, Luke and I watched two more episodes of Big Love courtesy of Blockbuster Online, and with only two more to go until the season finale, there's been nothing so far to indicate that Nicki is anything more than a sneaky bitch. You guys done tole me I'd find at least a trace of likeability in her character by now. Where is it? As it currently stands, Barb is my favorite wife because she's the only woman in that marriage whose behavior isn't remniscent of a seventeen-year-old's.
2. Sometimes, when I'm bored, I like to make my thumbs kiss.
3. I recently had my first dream about life post-partum, and in it, Freke was a boy. Is God trying to tell me something? Did anybody dream about their baby's gender and have it be true?
4. The dishes I mentioned in Wednesday's entry are still sitting in the sink.
5. This morning I flossed for the first time in a month. My gums were so surprised they bled all over my teeth.
6. Luke and I still have yet to order any professional prints from our wedding day. Last year.
7. Tomorrow I plan on treating myself to my first salon pedicure since the wedding.
8. I don't really care for the name Nancy, but Luke and I have tossed it around as a potential girl's name because we love the idea of using a moniker derived from a literary character.

I'm supposed to tag eight people for this, but I'm feeling really unmotivated today, so do it if you want to do it and let me know so I can pop in and read all about your weirdness.

Now, regarding TLF: By now it should come as no surprise that lil' Frema had one heck of an imagination, fueled by the likes of V.C. Andrews, nonetheless. So when I say that today's entry is graphic, I'm not kidding around. If at any point you feel like you have to stop reading, go ahead. However, at the end I'll have some thoughts regarding the pivotal scene, so I'd appreciate you sticking it out. Either way, though, I won't be offended.

Are you gripping your desk in excitement, poised on the edge of your seat? Good. Let's go.

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PART TWO

CHAPTER SEVEN - KATHERINE

As it turned out, we ended up taking a cab to the dance. Kay was out, and Auntie (Kyle's aunt and I had quickly grown close, so I felt comfortable calling her that) had to work. I didn't mind.

[My dad drove a cab for his father for a few years when I was a kid, but the first ride I actually remember happened when I was coming off a late shift at Navy Pier and the idea of spending forty-five minutes in public transit and walking through the door at midnight was so unappealing that I shelled out twenty dollars for a six-minute trip down the expressway. And it was worth every penny.]

To my surprise, the school's gym was set up really great, with the video screen near the wall. Things were in full swing by the time we arrived. "Are you ready to work that body of yours?" Kyle asked. He did a little shimmy. "I'm pretty good."

[Who else is singing, "People don't you know / Don't you know it's about time / Can you hear the jammin' pumpin' / While you taste a piece of mine?"]

"I'll do my best to keep up," I replied.

Kyle really was good; very good, and I did have to work at it to keep up, but I managed. [At this age, all of my dance moves were variations of Around The World--you know, where you move your feet in the shape of a triangle? I also did a lot of shoulder-shrugging and "air-pushing" hand movements, like I was trying to propel myself off the floor. But didn't every teenage girl?]  After an hour, I had to stop. Miraculously, a slow song came on, and Kyle led me to the middle of the dance floor. He wrapped his arms around my waist, and my arms locked around his neck. I laid my head on his shoulder.

"Katherine," he whispered. I looked up into his eyes, and that was answer enough. He bent his head and I closed my eyes.

Kyle's kiss was unexplainable. It was better than sunshine. It was sweet and passionate and tender. [And also against God's plan!] I never wanted it to end.

When it was over, we just stared into each other's eyes. "I've wanted to do that since I first saw you," he said softly.

I smiled. "I hope it was worth the wait."

"It was worth everything."

We kissed again, and somehow we ended up outside the school. With our arms around each other, we wandered down the street and came across a park. Kyle made himself comfortable against a tree. I snuggled up next to him. Together we stared into the sky.

[OK, maybe it's due to the fact that I went to a private, all-girls school, but there's no way we would've been allowed to ditch a social function so early. Administrators were stationed at all the doors to prevent any sneaking off.]

"Why do you think that people think that stars determine your destiny?" I asked.

He thought for a moment. "I guess because we can't control the stars. They do what they want and we just watch. That's how destiny is."

"What do you think the stars have planned for us tonight?" I dared to ask.

[When I was fifteen, I asked my first boyfriend (yes, Nick) what he wanted to think about when he was lying on his death bed, and he said, "Loving you." Then we made out in my parents' stairwell. Good times.]

"Let's find out," he breathed in my ear, and kissed it. Then he kissed my neck. I felt his teeth sink into my skin, and I moaned. [Um, ouch?] He came down on me as I landed on the grass.

I didn't feel real as we kissed and touched each other. I wanted to protest as Kyle pulled my sweater over my head and held me, but I also wanted him to continue. Voices were screaming inside that I wasn't ready, this was wrong. As Kyle removed his jeans, I thought of the picture of the young girl and her baby. The girl had looked happy, yet wistful. What would life have been like for her without a child to weigh her down?

I wouldn't be put in her position. Forcefully, I pushed Kyle off of me before he could take off my pants. We were both breathing hard.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and there was a sharp tone in his voice. That's when I knew, more than ever, I had made the right decision.

"What we're doing," I answered, my head spinning. "We've only known each other for a couple of weeks. This is way too fast, and I'm not ready." I made a grab for my sweater, but Kyle grabbed my wrist roughly.

"That's it? You kiss me, you tease me and now you're not ready?" Kyle's voice was rising. "You know how I feel about you. I wouldn't hurt you."

I was scared. "I want to go home, Kyle. Now." When he didn't reply, I got up and started to run. I heard Kyle's footsteps behind me. He was faster than I, and he jumped on me. We fell to the ground. I tried to crawl out from under him, but he was also stronger. He turned me over so that I was facing him. I was shaking, and I felt like I would vomit. I wish I had. Then maybe he wouldn't have gone on to do what he did.

"Help! Help!" I tried to scream, but it only came out as a whisper. Kyle slapped me and then clamped a hand over my mouth. Using his other hand to hold my wrists above my head, he continued where he'd left off before. My pants had slid down to my thighs when Kyle had jumped on me, and my suspenders had been removed in our moment of passion, so it was easy for him to tug them off of me with his teeth. He was working his way down my body.

I shut my eyes, tears streaming down my cheeks, and I couldn't stop trembling. Please, God, kill me so I won't feel anything ever again, I prayed silently.

God must have had the day off, because Kyle entered into me with the force of a wild animal. I felt numb. Even when he got off of me and went to gather his clothes, I made no attempt to leave. I wiped my eyes and curled into a fetal position. A few minutes later, he returned, not only with his clothes, but mine. He threw them down in a heap next to me. He knelt down and started to whisper in my ear. "You bitch. You fucken tease. Thought you could screw with me without screwing me? You're just like the others," Kyle snarled. "You're--" His voice made a funny noise and he couldn't continue. Cursing to himself, Kyle tossed something in the grass and stormed off.

[If Adult Frema ever thought about rewriting any of the excerpts featured in our tragic love story, it would so be this one.]

Slowly, slowly I sat up. I put on my clothes after checking for rips and tears. My pants had rips, and my white sweater was covered with dirt, but that was it. I tidied myself up as best I could and hoped that my parents would be asleep. As I got to my feet, my hand closed around something. I gazed at it, confused and angery. It was a 20 dollar bill.

"Go - to - hell!!!" I shouted, ripping it to shreds. Then I shivered and sighed. It was going to be a long walk home.

[Oh, dear readers. So much to say about an ultimately horrible experience for these two kids. Reading this as a grown woman, I'm smacked in the face by all the flaws in the writing. Lil' Frema went for a stereotypical, violent rape that was definitely not in line with Kyle's character. If I could do it over, would I keep the rape as part of the story? Yes. But Kyle would never have slapped Katherine, not ever, I know this in my bones, and he never would have said such horrible things to her afterwards. My budding-adolescent self just wanted to get the biggest reaction out of her peers, and this was the way to do it. That doesn't excuse Kyle's forcing another person into sex, but.... I don't know. If I were to write this today, the scene would be much more subtle; perhaps Katherine would never let on that she was so uncomfortable, or Kyle would have misinterpreted her feelings and proceeded anyway. What can I say here that doesn't make me sound like an asshole? I don't know. I just don't know.

Also, when passing these notebooks around to my friends at school, they read the money thing as Kyle paying her for sex, when I assumed it was obvious he was giving her cab fare. How did you see it?]

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Next week will be easier on your stomach. I promise.

Obligatory Wednesday

The last few days have been considerably kinder to me than in recent weeks. I'm able to eat more, hug my toilet less, and get to work earlier than ten o'clock. However, I've been so tired come nighttime that all I can do is zone out on the couch, nevermind there's a TLF soundtrack to create and blog materials to research and a sink full of dishes that aren't going to clean themselves, you know.

I also need to ponder why I'm still losing weight.

WEIGHT ON 2/28: 135.6
CURRENT WEIGHT: 130.4
TOTAL PREGNANCY POUNDS GAINED: -5.2

It's not a huge deal, I guess, but when I think about how I usually float between 137 and 139 pounds, it becomes more significant. A doctor's appointment is scheduled for next week to check my progress in this area, so hopefully I can at least maintain my current weight until then.

Things haven't been too exciting since I last posted. Luke returned from a three-day trip to Louisiana on Friday night, and we decided to exchange anniversary presents a few hours early. I received the Cherish figurine from the Willow Tree line (love love love Willow Tree!), and my husband was presented with a scrapbook of mementos documenting our courtship, wedding, and honeymoon. Since traditional first-anniversary gifts are paper, I tried to include all sorts of related items: movie stubs, concert tickets, the message slip documenting my first phone call to his newspaper, even the check I wrote to pay for him at the bachelor auction. All that and pictures, too! I came up with the idea on Thursday night and immediately scampered off to Target to buy the necessary supplies. The muse of craftiness kept me and the baby awake until two in the morning cutting and pasting and cursing and farting, and the muse of exhaustion woke me up just long enough to turn off my alarm so I could call in to work. It was worth it, though, because Luke seemed to like it--maybe not as much as lil' Freke and I liked it--but it was appreciated nonetheless, so GO ME.

We spent the afternoon feasting on pasta at the Macaroni Grill and shaking our heads in disbelief at Spider-Man 3; Luke is much more generous with his review than me, but I didn't like it, not the plot, the personality changes in Peter Parker, the one-dimensional take on the villains, or the predictable death at the end (I'm not even going to count that as a spoiler, because at least one person has bitten the dust in every Spidey flick thus far). It pains me to say these things, because I truly loved the first two movies, and I adore Tobey Maguire, but still. Thumbs down, Sam Raimi.

On Sunday, we visited our first maternity store. That was, um, interesting.

The clothes, for the most part, were beautiful, and looking around, I actually became excited thinking about all the classy outfits I could wear. Hell, I'll probably look more put-together in two months than I do right now, simply because my ever-changing shape will make me self-conscious enough to put forth extra effort in how I present myself. I found my first tummy tube, delighted at the idea of wearing my pre-pregnancy pants a few weeks longer, and pulled no fewer than eight tops into the dressing room to try on. And when I saw the belly belt hanging on the wall, I almost squealed like a pig. It was the ultimate dress-up dream.

Until I put it all on. Then I felt ridiculous, because wearing the belt gave the impression that my stomach was popping a boner instead of housing a human being, and anyway, I have no baby belly to speak of and therefore no business buying clothes that only come with a ten-day return policy, because who knows where I'll gain weight? Who knows how fat I'll get? I could have a ginormous ass and flabby arms or I could be all belly or I could gain a little bit everywhere and in general look like a chubby hot mess. So I bought the tummy tube, a pair of lounge shorts, and a sleeveless yellow top that I should be able to fill out sometime before August and dragged Luke back to the car, where I cried a little bit and sipped on the shake I would later regurgitate the minute we got home.

If that's not enough of an update for you, we also shopped around for a new cell phone provider. Feel free to share your thoughts on Cingular, Verizon, and Sprint, though I've been a Cingular customer for about three years and haven't been terribly impressed with the service. I also spotted the resident baby geese loitering around our apartment building today and got Luke to take this picture:

This so belongs on a Jones soda bottle.

Tragic Love Friday: The stars at night are big and bright (clap clap clap clap) deep in the heart of Incest

Save your gasps, Kyle and Katherine don't do it--today. I just really wanted to plug that song in my title.

I also just kind of want to get on with this installment without a lot of chit-chat, because I stayed up until two o'clock in the morning working on my first wedding anniversary present for Luke, and now the baby hates me. Honestly, kids are so demanding.

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CHAPTER SIX - KATHERINE

"So he actually asked you today?" Shannon cried.

"Yup. I thought he'd never get up the nerve. Figures he'd ask me the day of," I said, but I didn't mind.

It took a while, but Kyle finally asked me to go to the school's video dance that night.

[Please tell me my high school wasn't the only one to sponsor these. I still remember hopping around the gym to that masturbation song from Green Day in my oversized flannel and generously hairsprayed bangs.]

"You really like this one, don't you?" Shannon asked.

"Yeah, I really do. Kyle's like a kid and a player rolled into one." [And you know what they say about players. Don't hate, participate!]

"Well, I hope it works out."

"Are you going tonight?" I asked. She shook her head, and there was a sad look in her eyes. I felt guilty, knowing I'd neglected our friendship since I met Kyle. Impulsively I gave her a hug.

"I'm gonna get you someone to loosen you up," I promised.

"Are you saying I'm too uptight?" she said, her voice challenging.

"No...but you do kind of walk like you have a pine cone stuck in your butt," I teased. [It's OK, Shannon. Just blame it on rheumatism, like Julie Andrews did in The Sound of Music.] She laughed and waved as her bus pulled up. "Call me. I want to know everything," she called, sticking her head out the window.

"Shannie, it'll be 11:00 p.m., and it's a Monday night. Your parents'll freak."

"So don't ring so loud. [?] And I hate it when you call me Shannie!"

On my way home, I began to get excited. If things went well tonight, I had a feeling that, by tomorrow, Kyle and I would be going out. He'd be my first real boyfriend. I'm not the greatest in the guy department.

[I hear you, girl. I didn't get my mack on until I was 15, but hey, the guy was a senior in high school, so that scored me some extra coolness points, right? So what if he weighed eight pounds and had a cold sore?]

[Oh, man, that is so not an image you want to recall when you're trying to keep down the waffle you had for breakfast.]

When I got home, I was surprised to see my mother there. She'd been putting in long hours at work for some presentation she was making on Friday.

"Hi, Mom?"

"Huh? Oh, hi Kath. How was school?" she asked, rummaging through her briefcase.

"Fine. You're home early."

"Just for a minute. My boss wanted to see my progress on the presentation, and so I came to pick it up."

[Because people always store important work projects outside of the office.]

"Mom, Kyle asked me to the school dance. It's tonight. Can I go and be home by 11?"

"Kyle?...Oh, the boy you're tutoring. How are you getting there?"

"His aunt. Dad met her," I added before she could ask.

[I seriously doubt Cassie would serve as a co-conspirator in this incestual charade. Lil' Frema, what were you thinking? Also, what is Kayla thinking, permitting her son to escort HIS SISTER to an after-hours social function with limited adult supervision?]

"On a school night?"

"Please?"

Mom sighed. "Fine. You can go." She checked her watch. "Now I have to go or my boss'll be spitting nails. Tell the twins there's money for pizza on my dresser, and that your father's going out and won't be home 'til late. Have fun tonight." She hurried out the door.

[Oh, Jenna and Michael, please produce more children who you can ignore and leave alone to fend for themselves, with only a pizza to console them!]

I was on my way to my room when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Katherine? It's Kyle."

"Hi. What's up?"

"I forgot to tell you what time I'm gonna pick you up."

I laughed, and the two of us worked out the details. We talked for about a half an hour, until finally I said, "If you want me to look pretty tonight, mister, you gotta let me go."

"Missy, you couldn't look anything but pretty. I'm glad you're coming with me tonight," he added suddenly.

"Me, too. Bye," I whispered.

"Bye."

"Hang up now!"

"You first."

I laughed. "No."

"Yes!"

"Bye, Kyle," I said and hung up. As soon as I did, Lucas and Leigh came through the door.

"Mom and Dad wont be home til late. There's money for pizza on Mom's dresser. I'm going out," I told them and finally made it to my closet. After a few minutes, I decided on a white knit short sleeved sweater with black suspenders and black and white striped dress pants.

[Shut up. She looks cute, dammit!]

At four-thirty I started getting ready, and an hour later I was done. Kyle wasn't coming until six-thirty, so I had time.

I tried reading a book, but I gave up after 20 minutes of being on the same page. I filed my nails and flossed. I practiced smiling in the bathroom mirror.

[God, I love this girl. She's just so damn NORMAL.]

Ten minutes before Kyle was due, I remembered that I needed perfume. I smelled too...innocent. Maybe a new scent would make Kyle think I was more sexy than sweet. [Honey, you're wearing slacks to a dance. I'd start there first.] My mother had the perfect kind - SENSUALITY, hidden from me because she knew I loved it so much. She'll forgive me this once, I thought as I entered her room. I found it in a shoebox in the corner of her bottom dresser drawer. I dabbed some on my wrists and on my neck. I was about to put it back when some papers and a photograph caught my eye. I scanned the paper on top quickly. The word 'adoption' came up frequently, and I saw my parents' names. Were they thinking of adoption? I kinda figured out that they were having trouble conceiving, but I didn't know they were planning on adopting. I personally didn't feel comfortable with adoption. Could a parent REALLY love a child that wasn't flesh and blood? I didn't think so. Not the same, anyway.

[Katherine, you truly are Kayla's daughter, because only one of her offspring would neglect to find her own name on a set of adoption papers. Also, Jenna? Mad props for stashing a perfume you know your kid lusts after in the same place you keep confidential papers.]

I put the paper back in place, not bothering to finish reading it. Mom and Dad would tell us when they were ready. I laid my eyes on the picture. It consisted of a girl and a baby. The girl had blond hair, so bright it was almost blinding. I couldn't really see her eyes, though. They were half-closed and looking downward at the baby in her arms. It was a pretty little girl, who looked very much like the older girl. She gave the camera a toothy grin. I was going to examine it closer when I heard a knock at the door. Kyle.

[Surely Jenna and Michael took tons of pictures of Katherine the moment she became theirs. How could she not recognized her OWN DAMN SELF?]

I threw the picture in the box and slammed the drawer. I gazed at myself in the mirror and gave my reflection the thumbs-up sign.

[cough DORK cough]

I felt breathless with excitement as I went to answer the door. When I opened it, I melted.

Kyle looked wonderful. He had on crisp black jeans and a white silk short sleeved shirt. His hair shone, and fell over one eye. He handed me a single rose that had a violet ribbon tied around it. He grinned as I stared at the rose in my hand.

"I just happened to pass a flower shop on the way here, and I thought I'd look around. It looked so lonely, and I know you love violet, so..."

"It's lovely," I cried. "Leigh!"

"Yeah?" she asked, coming into the kitchen.

"Put this in a vase for me, please?" I handed her the rose, but I took the ribbon and tied it around my wrist.

Gazing at Kyle, she nodded.

"Shall we go, madam?" he asked, offering his hand. I took it willingly and nodded.

I was sure the night would be magical.

END OF PART ONE

-------

Who among us can't remember what it feels like to be a teenager and go on a date with a person who makes you tingle all over? That's how I felt about senior prom. And it was magical.

Too bad it won't be for Katherine.

Four Questions and a Spoiler Request

A couple of weeks ago, Silly Hily posted a five questions meme on her blog and invited those who were interested to volunteer for some as well. Since Hilary is one of my favorite bloggers, I thought, what the hell? Plus, with the exception of Tragic Love Friday, it's been Baby Central around here, so I thought it would be welcome relief from play-by-plays of how often the toilet water splashes my face when I throw up.

Here we go.

1. Let's get the serious question out of the way first: Do you think NBC went overboard with the VA Tech "package" that the killer mailed them?  I mean, do you think we really needed to see that sick, sick "man" pointing a gun at us through our TV or newspaper?

This subject has already been covered in depth by other bloggers, so I don't have anything original to add, but I will say that the station played right into the gunman's hands. This kid knew the media would eat it up, and eat it up they did. I think the newspapers were even worse, though, with their treatment of the photos on the front cover. There's nothing like pulling off the wrapping of your daily paper and coming face-to-face with a gun.

2.) If you were on a deserted island right now and could only have one of the following three things, which would it be:

- A package of Saltine crackers
- A 12-pack of Sprite
- Your mom! (snort snort)
- Bonus: Something else ('cause those were just funny to me). What?

Seeing as Sprite and Saltines have done absolutely nothing for my nausea, and also seeing as my mother can barely stand to leave the confines of my parents' building, let alone hop on a plane to a tropical paradise, the bonus wins, hands down. If we're talking food, grapes have been a primary source of nourishment, Snickers ice cream bars rock my socks off, and Ramen Noodles is the only brand of soup I'll eat right now, much to Luke's chagrin. Non-food items would include the PeaceFrog pajama pants I throw on the minute I get home and my copy of Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself, which I picked up last night. I've kind of sworn off the pregnancy books lately, and it's been nice to distract myself with some young adult fiction. Judy Blume is one of my favorite children's authors because she does such a good job of really nailing the emotions and thoughts of pre-teens. I remember reading this particular book, coming to the section where Sally is sent home with lice, and feeling amazed that other kids were going through this same thing. My siblings and I were exposed to lice on a number of occasions in grade school, but I had never seen that topic addressed in a book before, and I have yet to see it since. If I ever wrote a young adult book, I would want it to be as honest and real as this one.

3. Since I gave you a bonus on that last one, it's time for you to give me a bonus (and the rest of the Internet for that matter). You have already given one TLF spoiler (two pregnancies, neither make it full-term, neither Jenna), how about another? Pleeeeeease (seriously, I'm begging)? I'm a spoiler whore, what can I say.

Who am I to hold back on an adoring TLF fan? We're almost halfway through the sequel right now, and the plot is finally starting to pick up speed. Remember in last week's entry, when I mentioned that the characters will go on to do horrible things to each other? Well, Jenna does one of those horrible things, but it's not to Michael or Kayla or Cassie. Instead, she sends Katherine to the ER, where a shocking discovery is made.

How's that for a spoiler?

4. If Luke came home tomorrow and said y'all had to transfer to another city because of his job, which city would you want him to say (other than Memphis because of me and Elizabeth...duh)?

This is an interesting question, because before Luke and I found out about our upcoming addition, we'd been talking in great length about returning to the Chicagoland/northwest Indiana area to be closer to our families. We still want to do that, but plans are on hold until the baby arrives and we're in a better position to explore our options. So part of me wants to say someplace like Valparaiso or Chesterton so we can make that dream come true.

However, the more adventurous part immediately thinks East Coast, either Vermont or Connecticut. But I don't think I could handle being away from everyone we love for longer than a few months before I would totally lose my shit, which makes me glad this question is hypothetical.

5. You and Luke are looking at houses. Fill in the blank:

"We found a house we sort of liked. I mean it had the right amount of bathrooms and bedrooms and was in a good school district but I was SOLD when I saw it had..."

I never grew up in a house. My entire life before college revolved around apartment living, so the idea of owning a home has always been appealing to me. Not that my parents aren't homeowners themselves--they bought the building they live in now when I was ten years old--and I learned from Sex and the City that it's possible to own a space without buying the entire property, but there's something about a home that radiates a sense of permanency. I rented a house with a roommate in Rensselaer for about eight months, and I loved being able to roast Smores in the backyard, greet trick-or-treaters with bowls of candy, and rake the leaves on a sunny autumn day. I loved having enough space to exercise to Richard Simmons videos in my living room. I loved the huge windows letting in all that light.

(Stay with me. I do have a point.)

In that house, the features I loved most were the hardwood floors in the bedrooms and the built-in bookcases in the recreation area, which David and I nicknamed "the fun room." It was the first time I'd ever lived in a place with hardwood floors, and I thought it added a certain touch of class to the place. And the bookshelves? Well, it was pretty damn nice not having to waste money on non-assembled crap from Wal-Mart and then spend two hours connecting all the pieces together, only to have the back fall out on you and shelves bow in two months later.

There was also a laundry unit located off the kitchen, and two bathrooms. Do you know what a family of seven could've done with two bathrooms? That was pretty nifty, too.

If my answers didn't put you to sleep, read on to see how you can score your own rockstar interview.

1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me." (If I don't have your email address already, either leave it in the comment or email me at [your e-mail])
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

It seems like only yesterday I was ten weeks' pregnant

On the day Luke and I learned I was "with child," one of the first things we did was race over to the computer to determine a due date. We stumbled across babycenter.com, which asked a couple of questions about the first day of my last period and the average length of my cycles and then voila! A December 10th due date.

Three days later, I met with my ob/gyn nurse for the first time, who used that fancy little calendar wheel shaped like a pack of birth control pills to place my date of delivery at November 29th. Since she had collected extensive information on my menstrual history, I shrugged my shoulders and didn't give it much thought. Until today, that is, when the doctor noticed my cycle length and discovered that the nurse hadn't taken my 38-day visits from Aunt Flo into account.

"So that means..."

"Instead of being ten weeks and five days pregnant, you're actually only nine weeks and two days," he said. Which puts me back to a December 9th/10th due date.

In other words, I have to deal with this first-trimester crap for THREE MORE WEEKS. Oh, the horror. Words cannot properly express my sorrow.

It also means I'll change weeks on Monday instead of Friday. This kid is lucky I'm flexible.

Other then that enlightening piece of information, the visit went well. Luke was subjected to an up-close-and-personal view of my first prenatal pelvic exam, through which it was revealed that I have a wide V bone or whatever the hell it is you call it, which will be helpful when it's time to push this darling miracle out of my special place, and the internal exam showed that my uterus is a bit larger than what's considered typical for nine weeks, so basically we have to wait for the first ultrasound to see when this baby might want to come out. The doctor asked about my weight loss and reassured me that I can skip vitamins altogether right now if I can't keep them down, since the most important thing I can do is increase my fluid and caloric intake, in that order. He recommended lots of milkshakes, and really, who am I to refuse doctor's orders?

We also got to hear the baby's heartbeat, though we were warned that nine weeks is sometimes too early to pick up anything on the monitor. He squirted some jelly on my lower stomach and pressed. We all waited. I kept my eyes on the ceiling, already consoling myself with the knowledge that we could try again in a couple of weeks at my next appointment, scheduled specifically to see if I was making any progress in the weight gain area.

Finally, after a couple of minutes, it was there.

Whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh. Like my uterus was busy washing a load of whites on its lunch hour. Only it wasn't a load of whites, it was my little baby. A hundred and seventy beats per minute, the doctor said. Luke and I locked eyes and smiled.

Pretty effing cool.

Your mom strips my membranes!

Today is a big day for the Frema-Useless Clutter household. This afternoon, we're going to hear the baby's heartbeat! Seeing as I can barely keep anything down and that I've already lost about five pounds of my pre-pregnancy weight, it'll be comforting to know my poor dietary habits haven't affected lil' Freke's prenatal development.

(What do you guys think of "Freke" as a nickname for the baby? I'm not into the traditional "peanut" or "sweet pea" or any of the other various food-inspired pet names most people use. Silly Hily came up with "Freke" as a creative way to use combine Luke's and my names until we find out the baby's gender. If your first impression is, "Not so much," how did you/would you refer to any children in your womb?)

Anyway, since I promised myself I wouldn't wait until Wednesday to post, here is a sampling of the assvice stories I've received so far. Remember, they don't have to relate to pregnancy or parenthood, so keep 'em coming!

Rachel was warned about the "dangers" of spicy food:

When I was pregnant with Kaylie, alot of the women I worked with at the time always had something to say about the food I was eating.  If I was eating something spicy, they would tell me I was going to "burn that baby up".  Yeah, because the spices from the food that is going into MY stomach are going to somehow leave my stomach and travel to my uterus and set my unborn child on fire!

Meanwhile, Liza's barrista gave her a helpful hint about caffeine intake:

My favorite pregnant assvice story is really about unbelievably poor customer asservice.

There is a Big Chain Coffee Place in the building where I work. And while I cut back on caffeine while I was pregnant, I never did give it up. More power to people who do, but I was not one of them.

For most of the pregnancy I had a cup of tea or coffee at home and about every other day, another at work. One day in month 8, or maybe even month 9, I went down to get my usual grande skim latte. After I placed my order, the (male) manager looked at me and pointedly said, "Decaf, right?"

At first, I was actually confused, and wondered if he had me confused with another regular customer. Then it hit me that he was actually trying to not sell me caffeinated coffee because I was pregnant.

And poor Britt was presented with an Indecent Proposal for the new millenium:

Since I carried my baby a week past my due date, I had to listen to everyone's assvice on how to go into labor. I was advised to do everything from jumping on a trampoline to standing on my head. Proper research indicates that such things only work when you're already in early labor which I was nowhere near. In fact, to this day I still believe that my body is incapable of going into labor on it's own. I'd be sitting here 13 months pregnant if I hadn't been induced.

The most shocking and unusual of the assvice I received was from a woman at church who told me that I should have my husband strip my membranes. This assvice came only two days after my doctor told me that he wouldn't strip my membranes because I wasn't dilated far enough yet. The woman told me that her husband did hers while receiving instructions from a midwife over the phone, and she went into labor within 24 hours. She told me that it's very easy to do and that she would send her husband to my house to help, if I wanted.

So a woman offered for her not-doctor-husband to come to my house and fiddle around with my girl parts. I politely declined.

Ya think?!

Tragic Love Friday: Where the grass is green and the single moms are slutty

Today, for the first time since Easter, Luke and I are going to take off for the weekend to visit our families. While part of me is excited to be around people again, the other part is already lamenting not being able to flop around on the couch in my pajama pants falling in and out of sleep during episodes of Murder, She Wrote. I'm at 10 weeks today and still not feeling any better, so the car ride should be interesting. The last time I threw up en route was at the age of nine, when my sister, next-door neighbor, and I overdosed on Flinstones Chewables (yes, I knew better, but they tasted like candy!) and had to go to the hospital to get our stomachs pumped. Hopefully, this trip will be vomit-free.

(Incidentally, I'm taking Flinstones Chewables once again because I can't keep the prenatals down, and man, do kids have effed-up notions about what qualifies as candy. Blech.)

Anyway. On to TLF.

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CHAPTER FIVE - KAYLA (CONTINUED)

When I woke up, it was four-thirty. Time to get ready.

First I hopped in the shower. Then, in my robe, I looked through my closet for something to wear. I decided on a long-sleeved red shirt that almost reached my knees, black stretch pants, and black ankle boots. [You must forgive Kayla's choice of ensemble. Even though it was 1994, lil' Frema still had a special fascination with all things eighties.] I pulled my hair in a clip, but left some strands loose to soften my face. I put on a little make-up.

"Do I look alright?" I asked my son nervously.

"Yeah, Mom. Where ya goin'?" Kyle grinned. "Or should I say, who's the lucky guy?"

"Just a friend, nosy," I said with a smile, and ruffled his hair. "Did Katherine go home?"

"A while ago.... Mom, how do you know when you're in love with someone?"

"Is there someone in particular you're thinking of?" I asked. [It couldn't possibly be Katherine, even though you hang out all the time and just did this weird creepy portrait of her that you won't even show your own mother, because after all you guys are just good friends and God isn't so cruel as to allow siblings to be attracted to each other!]

"I just wanted to know," he said, and looked at me earnestly.

I grew thoughtful. "Well, you know you're in love when you smile when the person's name is said. When you see her, you're stomache feels fluttery and you want to vomit, but it's a good feeling. Everything looks like you're seeing it with someone else's eyes. You learn new things about yourself because she'll point them out to you. You'll feel so happy, you won't know what to do with yourself." I squeezed my son's hand. "Love is like nothing else in the world, Kyle. I can't wait for you to feel it."

[Thank you, Kayla, for your deep insights. I guess my relationship with Luke is a sham, then, because I haven't smiled at the sound of his name since 2001, back when I was scheming to date him.]

"Thanks, Momma," he whispered, and to my surprise, gave me a fierce hug. Then he went to his room.

Momma. He hasn't called me that since he was seven years old. I sighed. How I missed having a little baby in the house. If only--

DING, DONG. [Look! Foreshadowing has come a-knocking!]

Michael. I grabbed my jacket and purse and opened the door.

"Hi," he said. He looked great in jeans and a tight white t-shirt. He smelled of aftershave.

"Hi, yourself," I said, smiling. "Where do you want to go?"

"I don't know. We'll figure something out in the car." [What happened to the movie they talked about seeing in the grocery store? Ugh, these two are killing me.]

After we drove around for a while, we decided to go to "Garry's," the local bar.

[Always an appropriate destination for a married man and a single mom.]

The place had a pretty good crowd. There was an empty table in the corner in the back, but I wasn't ready for a heavy discussion yet. I wanted to have fun. I looked around and saw a pool table that nobody was using.

"I play a mean game of pool," I hinted.

"Is that a challenge?" he asked, grinning.

"If you want it to be," I replied. He was already walking over to the pool table.

So, for a while, we played pool. I beat him easily. It was fun, and it helped us to loosen up with each other. After the game, we had a drink at the bar. We were quiet for a while, and I decided to break the ice.

"Tell me what's on your mind," I said.

"It's not just one thing," he replied. "It's everything."

"Talk to me," I whispered.

[Oh, gag me with a spoon.]

He sighed. "I don't know where to start. At the beginning, I guess. We were young when we got married, and thought we could handle any problems. The last year hadn't been great for her, and she began to close herself up. I didn't know it, then. Love made me blind to it. I thought that my love for her would change her. We had Katherine from the very beginning of our marriage, and the twins came later.... We were happy, so I couldn't figure out why she'd wake up and cry the whole night. She got the shakes often. Sometimes she'd stay in our room with the door locked for days."

I brushed tears from my eyes. I had done those same things so many times. [Apparently there was something special in David Donovan's sperm that had the ability to reduce lovers to muted versions of their former, colorful selves. But Michael's can produce twins. Who's to say which is better?]

Michael noticed my face and grabbed my hand.

"Jenna's better now," he said. "It doesn't happen that much anymore."

"She might be sick," I said, a lump in my throat. "Did you get her help?"

He shook his head. "She won't go to counseling. She doesn't need it, anyway. All she has to do is open up to me. She wont, and I cant try."

"Cant or wont?"

"Both. God, Kay, it scares me that I don't love her the same."

"Love doesn't stay the same," I replied. "It's supposed to change."

"For the better, though. I'm not even sure if what I feel is love or not." Michael smiled. "I'm not giving you a chance to talk, and I want to get to know you better."

All this time, I was aware that he hadn't let go of my hand.

[Now that I've adequately portrayed myself as a noble, wounded husband, wanna fuck?]

"There's not much to know," I said lightly. I slipped my hand out of his and the sleeve of my shirt went up. Michael's eyes widened as he stared at the faint scar around my wrist. The area was black and blue. I reddened and bowed my head. "It's not recent," I said softly.

He grabbed my hand again and stood up. "Let's get outta here. I know of a place where we can go." I nodded.

[You wanna be where you can see our troubles are all the same. You wanna be where everybody knows your name.]

Fifteen minutes later, we came to a stop. It was a vast field, a blur of green that took my breath away. There was a small brook that seemed to go on forever, and a hill with flowers everywhere. "It's beautiful," I breathed. He grinned and grabbed a blanket from the truck.

"You can find these types of places anywhere in Iowa, but you should see the way the sun sets over here. It's like nothing else in the world."

I had said that same sentence earlier to Kyle earlier in the day, when he'd asked me about [being in] love [with his sister].

Michael spread the blanket out near the brook's edge and we sat down. He looked at me intently, and with concern. I knew he was waiting for an explanation about the scar.

"Life's not easy for me," I began. "Every morning, when I wake up, I hate the idea of going to work, being with people who mean nothing to me, worrying about bills and my son. Knowing that when the day is over, I have to sleep so I can get up and do it all over again. Living isn't fun. It's just something that I do, without any feeling. It eats at me from the inside.

"A few years ago, it was hell. I was fired from my job, so Ca - my sister supported us. Kyle had to be taken out of private school and had to go where the teachers were high and gang fights were normal during lunch. We couldn't afford to pay all our bills; soon our water was shut off. Sometimes we had to drink toilet water and boil it to make sure it was sterile. We--" I had to stop for a minute until the lump in my throat went away.

[You need a moment, too, don't you? To laugh your ass off. Go ahead. Lil' Frema doesn't mind.]

Michael was breathing heavily, and it sounded as if he were holding back sobs. [Not exactly the one-night stand you were hoping for, huh, buddy?] Closing my eyes, I went on.

"It was too much for me. I felt trapped inside myself. I had to get out." I gazed at my wrist. "I didn't slit them both, just made this one more of a gash. When I saw the blood, I felt at peace for the first time."

"Who found you?" he asked, grabbing my hand again. [Boy, he's touchy-feely this evening!]

I shuddered and whispered, "my son. He was only 11 years old."

[I can just imagine the Mother's Day card Kayla got that year. Dear Momma, thanks for botching your suicide attempt so I could stumble across your near-lifeless body when I had to go number one. That image will be burned in my brain forever. Love, your psychologically damaged son.]

Michael pulled me to him, and I leaned my head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me. "I wish you hadn't done that," he said.

"You didn't know me; anyway, it doesn't matter now."

"Yes it does. Everything matters."

[You see, my marriage has a special clause allowing for affairs with women whose emotional impairments are equal to or worse off than my wife's. Jackpot, baby!]

We gazed into each other's eyes.

"What happened to your husband?" Michael asked.

I smiled sadly. "You know the saying, 'three times a bridesmaid, never a bride'? That's me." I laughed softly. "I don't think I was meant to be married. Too many limitations."

Michael shook his head. "No. When you're married to the one you love, there are no limitations." [Well, except for sleeping with other people, but who follows that one, anyway?]

"Are you?" I asked. "Married to the one you love?"

"It doesn't matter tonight." He tilted my face and kissed me, at first tenderly, then with more passion. We fell down, my mouth on his neck and his hands in my hair. For some reason, David popped into my head, along with the day I found out I was pregnant for the first time. [Hello, Random. We meet again.] I pulled away.

"This is too fast," I told him, "and you're too confused." He nodded, and we went back to his car.

"Are you mad?" I asked as he drove.

He smiled and shook his head. "I hope you're not mad at me." He cleared his throat. "I want to see you again."

"OK."

Soon, he was pulling into my driveway. [Your mom pulls into my....oh, nevermind. I think we did this one already.] He walked me to my door.

"Jenna's staying late at the office tomorrow. Can I see you?"

I could already see a pattern: sneaking around, an hour here and there. But I didn't care. [I'm a dirty whore!] "Pick me up at five," I answered breathlessly. Michael kissed me. "See you tomorrow."

I didn't go inside until his car was a tiny dot on the road.

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So. Now we know a little bit about how Michael, Jenna, and Kayla spent the time between part one and the sequel. We also get a crystal-clear picture of just how little Jenna is regarded by her husband and former BFF. However, in Michael's defense, it sounds like Jen's gone batshit crazy. It's a miracle he hasn't cheated on her before! And Kayla sounds desperate for someone to love her. Girl's had a hard-knock life herself.

As the story goes on, these and other characters will go on to do horrible things. But just like in traditional soap operas, I like to think there are redeeming qualities in each person that make you understand where each one of them is coming from.

Or maybe I'm the Queen of Denial.

If Lucy Ricardo had worked, this is how she would have announced her pregnancy at the office

Before I disclose the full details, it's important that you know I originally circulated a bare-bones version of this entry via e-mail to family and friends because I thought the content could possibly get me dooced. However, Isabel has since guaranteed my job security, and it really is a pretty harmless little tale, so I'm going for it.

Transport yourself to last Wednesday afternoon, a point in time in which only three people at work knew about my pregnancy because I was afraid my "condition" would result in a harsher critique of my performance.

(In that respect, men really do have it easy. Luke was able to spill the beans to his co-workers shortly after we found out because he doesn't have to worry about anyone keeping an eye on how many trips he makes to the bathroom or how many days he has to work from home because he can't make the twenty-five-minute commute without dry heaving behind the wheel.)

Anyway, I'm sitting in a meeting for which I was the last person to arrive. We're making traditional small talk about the weather and local construction and what not, preparing to outline a production schedule for some promotional videos, when suddenly my boss is mentioning that the wife of one of my co-workers--the co-worker himself being in the room--recently received a horrible sunburn at the beach while on vacation, and she's eight months' pregnant. Then he turns to me and chuckles, "But you don't want to hear about that," which sends a ripple of subdued laughter throughout the conference room.

HOLY CRAP HE KNOWS. He knows! I could feel the redness in my cheeks as my mind raced to pinpoint a time when I might've given myself away, eventually concluding it must've been the previous Monday when he used the extension in my office, the day I ripped off the flap of my sample box of prenatal vitamins and positioned it by the phone so I would remember to contemplate other options with my ob/gyn nurse. What other possible reason could he have for directing that line to ME? What does this mean for my job? I knew I had to broach the topic with him as soon as possible, but he left the meeting early, and by the time it was over, he was gone for the day.

Crap. Crappity crap crap.

The next morning, I decided to nip the problem in the bud and asked him to have a seat in my office during his morning rounds, requesting that he please close the door. I took a deep breath and donned a "knowing" smile.

"I have something to tell you, but after a comment you made in yesterday's meeting, I think you already know," I teased. He wrinkled his brow in confusion and looked at me, obviously intrigued. "No, what?"

And at that point I realized he didn't know, had no clue, but it was too late to come up with something else on the fly. I was about to out myself for no reason.

"That I'm having a baby?"

"No, no, I had no idea! Congratulations!"

"But," I sputtered, "that story you told about John's wife..."

Turns out that had been a topic of conversation just before I walked into the room, so what I interpreted as a sly administrative tactic informing me the jig was up was really just an inside joke he didn't want to relive twice. How a pregnant woman's sunburn becomes small talk during any company meeting is another matter entirely, but the point is, I'm an idiot. Thanks for playing.

So, ladies and gents with children, how did you break the news to your bosses? For the singletons (men and women alike), how do you think your employer would respond if you announced you were expecting a baby right now? Do you work in a family-friendly environment? Would you be able to pursue your career goals without any major obstacles?

Coffee Talk Wednesday

Somehow, it seems, through no official planning on my own, Wednesday has become our time--the Internet's time--for which I retreat from the worn spot on my couch to bitch to you about the insignificant melodramas that make up my life. I don't like coffee, but I did just gulp down half a glass of orange juice. What's your beverage of choice this evening?

Since it is Wednesday, first things first.

WEIGHT ON 2/28: 135.6
CURRENT WEIGHT: 133.8
TOTAL PREGNANCY POUNDS GAINED: -1.8

Pre-pregnancy Frema would be so proud of her bad-ass self for finally keeping her hands out of the Ben and Jerry's, but pregnant Frema is hoping the weight loss will justify the second-trimester cravings she plans on fulfilling the minute she can tolerate foods other than grapes, strawberries, select flavors of yogurt, toast, lemonade, Minute Maid juice boxes, and certain kinds of pizza. No milk, unless with cereal. No water, period. No Cheerios or Fig Newtons. Luke made bacon sandwiches for dinner last night, one of my very favorite foods ever, and I had to force it down. I don't think I've ever eaten so little in my entire life, and that includes my stint with Weight Watchers. My household is definitely ready for the first trimester to be over.

In the meantime, I regularly consult the five-dollar, cheapie Wal-Mart mirror in our bedroom hoping to pinpoint physical evidence that a condition other than an eating disorder is taking over my body, but there's still nothing visible to the naked eye, no matter how many times the well-meaning accountant at work compliments my stomach rolls. "I think someone's pouching out," she exclaims every few days, delighted, and every few days I reply, "Nope. That's just my gut. Seriously. It's that big."

The weird thing is that even though I've lost weight, my pants are somehow eating up all the extra space that should exist between my hips and theirs. Work slacks are fine because the material is stretchy, but jeans are another story. One day I said to hell with it and wore them zipped up but unbuttoned TO THE OFFICE, opting to cover the waistband with an oversized college hoodie from my undergraduate years. Pair that with a fro that's weeks overdue (not to mention weeks away from) a hair cut and a face that can't bear the feel of make-up and you have one smoking woman.

(The face thing is my fault, seeing as I've stopped taking my acne meds because I can only swallow so many pills in one freakin' day and have reduced the application of the topical creams to once every morning. I don't even brush my teeth before going to bed anymore. I'm afraid of my gag reflex.)

(Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?)

The icing on the cake? I had to schedule a doctor's appointment for tomorrow morning because it burns when I pee and there are undeniable signs that a yeast infection is camped out in my nether regions.

Is this TMI for coffee talk?

To wrap things up, I want to thank those of you who've sent in assvice stories thus far. I had originally hoped to post one on Monday, because these gems must be shared with the world, but you know, that would've interfered with the whole laying-on-the-couch master plan, so next week, definitely. Plus, I have plans to blog tomorrow! Two days in a row! I know! It has to do with the graceful way I announced my pregnancy to my boss last week. Just in case you were wondering if it'd be worth it to check back.

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Holy crap, this entry was posted for eight seconds before I realized I forgot to talk about American Idol. Can anybody tell me what the hell Blake is still doing on this show? I mean, his "rock star" rendition of Bon Jovi's "You Give Love A Bad Name" consisted of miming a record player and spitting on his microphone with his JT-wannabe beat box sounds. He has yet to belt out a tune but gets away with changing all of his songs into cookie-cutter techno recordings. And the judges eat him up, even Simon. Why, WHY? At this point, I don't even know who I'm rooting for. Melinda's great, but I don't think her sound is modern enough to sell albums. LaKisha is too diva-like, and Jordin is good but occasionally resorts to cutesy tactics on stage that irritate the shit out of me. What to do, America? What to do?