What're you lookin' at? | Ramblings from a self-proclaimed yada yada yada...ist

He agreed to buy the biscuits, but the baby had to beg.

Luke: <3
Frema: <3 <3
Luke: Hi, honey.
Will you be late today?
Frema: Hell no. I'll be out by 5:00.
Luke: OK. We're having steak for dinner.
Frema: Yum. And biscuits?
The baby likes the biscuits.
Luke: We don't have any biscuits.
Frema: :(
Poor little baby, with no biscuits to eat.
Luke: Poor baby.
Frema: There, there, sweet baby. Don't cry.
Maybe Daddy will pick up biscuits when he drops off his dry cleaning after work.
Luke: Maybe if Mommy wants biscuits she should ask for them.
Frema: Maybe if Daddy cared about his wife and daughter he'd buy the freaking biscuits.
Luke: Maybe you should stop talking in third person.
Frema: Your mom posts in the third person!
Luke: My mom posts in the first person.
Frema: You make my heart hurt.

Say hello to your friends

Oh my God, people. I am so tired.

This overwhelming sense of fatigue started when I woke up on Thursday--after going to bed at two o'clock in the morning--to update blogs, pack, clean, and shower before heading off to Chicago and has stayed with me ever since. My life battery, she's losing juice fast, and in addition to catching up on work and blog writing, there are seven episodes of All My Children taking up space on two VHS tapes demanding my undivided attention. There's also a husband who I missed very much and would like to spend some quality time with before I take off again this weekend for a family camping trip. Hopefully I can recharge before then.

But you didn't come here to listen to me bitch and moan, you want the 411 on BlogHer! (At least, I hope you do; if not, you're in for one boring week.) There's so much to talk about that one post couldn't possibly cover everything, so today I'll talk about the social aspects of the conference, while my next couple of entries will zero in on the sessions themselves.

Where to begin? I was so nervous on Thursday about meeting so many of the people I've connected with over the blogosphere. I feel most at home behind a computer, where I can craft my words carefully and Photoshop my acne, and I was afraid about not meeting everyone's expectations. But when Molly and I arrived at the W Lakeshore and caught Isabel, Stacy, and Lizarita chatting it up outside the glass doors, I felt myself instantly relax. I may not have met these people before, but I knew them. It was going to be OK.

For our first night in town, we all had dinner at Navy Pier and entertained each other with conversation. It was wonderful--no stumbling over words, no fawning all over ourselves, just talking like friends who hadn't seen each other for a while. Looking back at all the hustle and bustle that took place over the three days I was in Chicago, I so appreciate that we were able to sit in Charlie's Ale House for two hours and just be. And the spinach dip? Totally a bonus.

Left to right, starting from the back: Carrisa, Lizarita, Lizzy, Molly, me, Isabel, and Stacy

 

On Friday morning, though, the anxiety flared up again as I rummaged through my suitcase, wondering if I'd be dressed alright and how I'd make out interacting with actual strangers. When Molly, Lizarita, and I stepped outside to wait for the conference shuttle and I noticed all the skirts and heels, I thought maybe it wasn't such a great idea to don shorts and a tee shirt. I even had a sweatshirt tied around my waist, like I was a high schooler going away to summer camp. However, once at the Pier, I breathed a sigh of relief over seeing the wide variety of dress attire. And I'm pregnant, so comfort totally trumps sophistication. Right?

My big moment of geekdom took place after the last session of the day, "The State of the Momosphere," for which Lena of Cheeky Lotus, one of my favorite reads, was a panelist. After the moderator wrapped things up, I grabbed my camera and made my way to her like a groupie with a backstage concert pass to one of her favorite bands. I told her how much I loved both of her blogs and managed to give her one of my business cards without making a fool of myself. I also scored the picture you see below. I'm surprised Lena was even able to look me in the eye, what with all the oil patches radiating from my face.

Afterwards it was time for a cocktail party on Navy Pier's rooftop, where we all spent a couple of hours visiting. I was tired, hungry, and desperately needing a shower, but it was a great time. I talked to a few bloggers I never expected to meet, like Zoot! We bonded over Harry Potter, Christopher Pike, and our complicated history with Catholicism. Lucky for her I was able to swipe an oil-absorbent sheet at my cheeks and forehead first.

Another group shot, this time with the addition of Jackie, a fellow Saint Joe alum, and Angela of CPA Mom fame. They're the ones making a Molly sandwich.

Saturday was a little easier to get through, as there were only three sessions instead of four. I had lunch with my contact from Parents.com along with Emily from Not That You Asked and Lindsay of Surburban Turmoil, who also write for the Parents Web site. It was nice to talk about how the gig was going for everyone, and our editor assured us that the site's glitches will be ironed out soon, so those of you who've experienced trouble registering or commenting, please don't lose heart. Your call is very important to us.

Cool Moment for Saturday: Jessica of Kerflop came up and introduced herself! I've read her site since the birth of her daughter and commented a few times, but I had no idea she knew who I was. That rocked.

There's so much more I could say, but I'm not sure it's necessary. Some folks will roll their eyes over all the BlogHer posts and write the conference off as a hierarchial rah-rah love fest disguised as personal and professional development, but that wasn't my experience. I had a great time meeting everyone I came in contact with, regardless if they knew my blog, and nobody asked me to kiss their ring or curtsy before I spoke. I wish I'd been able to branch out a bit and meet a wider variety of people, but I also wanted to make sure I spent time with the bloggers I'd already established relationships with. Who knows when we'll see each other again?

But at least there'll be an "again." Freka can't wait to meet all her new friends in person.

Do you think the camera caught Lizzy by surprise? Fear not, Liz, this shot's much better:

Tragic Love Friday: Let the healing begin

If you're reading this post on Friday afternoon sometime after 10:00 a.m. EST, then it looks like TypePad's "Publish On" feature has done its job, because right now I'm not behind a computer at all, but instead finishing up one of my track sessions at BlogHer and probably thinking about lunch, because my God, does this baby get hungry a lot.

Anyway, I'm actually typing this on Thursday morning, at a time when I really should be thinking about the last of my three posts for Parents.com, but it's much easier to type from a notebook than produce original material, so you guys win.

-------

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - KYLE

The car ride home was extremely tense. I was torn up inside. First I find out that Katherine was pregnant, then her mother says that Aunt Cassie really isn't my aunt, and finally I realize that my own mother's fooling around with Katherine's dad. I was angery. Nobody was saying a word.

When Mom pulled into the driveway, I jumped out of the car and hurried inside, using my key. I slammed the door in her face and ran to my room, where I locked the door.

"Kyle Hart, open this door right now!"

I ignored her and curled up on my bed.

"I know I'm the last person you want to talk to, but we DO need to talk."

"About what?" I shouted. "My SISTER or your LOVER?"

[Judging by the flippant way he mentioned his newfound connection to his rape victim/love interest, Kyle must not understand the implications of his updated family tree yet. Why else would he be more focused on his mother's affair?] 

"Both." She sounded tired. "If saying I'm sorry could change everything, I'd say it a million times until I turned blue in the face. But it won't. It's time you knew the truth."

"Go ahead, then."

I"m not going to pour my heart out to a slab of wood."

I got up slowly and unlocked the door. She made herself comfortable in a spot next to the doorway and motioned me to join her. I shook my head and sat down again on my bed.

[I like to compare this part of the story to those transitioning segues in video games; you know, like when after you've beaten a particularly difficult level and Nintendo gives your brain a bit of a break by entertaining you with cheesy synthesizer music and backstory about whatever world it is you're fighting in. I'm specifically thinking of the original system's Ninja Gaiden, where in between levels, you learn more about the demonic statues Rayu is trying to find and destroy.]

As for our riveting tune of choice for this heartfelt mother-and-son scene? How about Tori Amos's "Professional Widow"? Could you GET more creepy?]

"Katherine's mom--Jenna--used to be my best friend in high school. We did everything together. She didn't have much of a family, so she became a part of mine. She helped me in a lot of ways." Mom had a far-away look in her eyes, and her smile was somewhat wistful; I knew she wasn't Kay, a grown woman anymore, but Kayla, a happy teenager.

"I had a boyfriend who I'd been with for a year and a half." She chuckled softly. "I thought he was wonderful. He had a way of making me feel so special! And loved! And oh, I loved him with all of my being. I pictured David standing beside me at the altar, and going to the Bahamas for our honeymoon."

David. My father's name.

"When I was 17, David broke up with me. I couldn't take it. I wanted him back so bad, it hurt, physically as well as emotionally. I hung onto his sister Cassie so I could try to get a glimpse of him. In the end, though, I really liked Cassie, and she became a very close friend." She paused for a moment to let the news sink in. My Aunt Cassie wasn't Mom's sister, but she was still my father's, so she was still my aunt.

"I wanted you to have some family, but I couldn't give you any," she said. [You know, seeing as I relinquished all legal rights to your sister and disowned my parents, even though they were kind enough to look after you while I was rotting in jail.]

"But Aunt Cassie's family no matter what." Mom shook her head. "Don't make any conclusions until I've finished."

"Anyway, I finally asked Jenna to talk to David and put in a good word about me. She didn't want to get involved, but I begged her until she said yes. A while later, I found out that she'd been secretly dating him. She said nothing happened 'til we'd broken up, but I didn't believe her, or even care. Our friendship ended like that," she said, snapping her fingers. "Soon she was pregnant, and the two of them got engaged."

"So David is Katherine's father, too?" I cried, feeling sick.

She gave me a Look and I shut up.

"By this time, we were divided. Cassie and I were friends, but not with Jenna. I never talked to David. Jenna stayed with David and hung out with Michael, her other best friend. Yes, my Michael," she added before I could ask.

"One night, David came to visit me. He was drunk, but only a little. We got to talking, and to...other things. We had sex for the first time." She sighed.

[Not really the way you hoped to explain your deflowering to your horny little son, is it, Kayla?]

"A month later I was pregnant. I already knew he wouldn't leave Jenna since she was farther along than I was. I would be cut short on child support and his attention. [And..other things.] I was out of my mind." She looked at me pleadingly now, and reached for my hand. I didn't pull away. "This next part is delicate. It was Cassie's idea, but I chose to go along with it. I thought then that everything would be OK. Still, though, I was scared out of my mind."

My blood felt like ice. "What happened, Mom?"

Her voice was shaky, and barely above a whisper. "Cassie picked me up and drove me to an ice cream place [what, no shout-out for the DQ?] where David and Jenna were. I got in the driver's seat, and when they came out and crossed the street--" She broke down, her face crumbling. "It was Jenna I wanted to kill, so David wouldn't cheat my baby; maybe he would've loved me again. And we hit her! I saw her go down. But the car only brushed her. David pushed her out of the way and got the impact." My mother's body shook with sobs. "Jenna's baby died, but she was OK. My David left me, too, and went to Heaven."

[You'd think the fact that she was pregnant herself would have caused her to show more remorse for killing an innocent life that hadn't even been born yet, but no, she still mourns the jackass who couldn't keep his dick in his pants.]

[I'm sorry, David, I didn't mean it. Love you! Mean it! RIP!]

I was shocked, but didn't speak. I let her compose herself enough to continue.

"Cassie and I went to jail. Her for three-and-a-half years, me for only three. She was a little unstable for a while [ha!], so she got longer for therapy. I got paroled." Mom squeezed my hand hard. "I gave birth after seven months in jail to a little girl."

"No," I whispered. She nodded.

"I named her Katherine Marie Evans, in memory of Jenna's baby; it would have been a girl, and she was gonna name her Mary Katherine."

"She didn't stay with you?" I asked. I felt a lump in my throat.

"The law wouldn't allow it, sweetheart. I couldn't keep her more than a year. My parents wouldn't take her, under the circumstances."

"Why Jenna?" I cried. "And where did Evans come from?"

"Evans is my real last name. I changed it later. And Jenna... She missed her baby, and wanted mine. Her and Michael--they took Katherine from the prison, but Jenna changed her mind. They got caught on the way from Wisconsin back to Illinois." She wiped her face. "They got married. When my year was done, I let them adopt her."

"My sister...my God!" I yelled. How could this happen?

Mom rushed on. "Don't freak on me! This is important. You've realized by now that David's not--he couldn't be--your father."

[THAT'S the important part?!]

After a moment, it hit me that she was right. I had had all the facts, but didn't want to piece them together. My father figure image had been shattered.

[Because every boy prays for a daddy who abandons him before he's even left the womb.]

"Yes," I whispered.

"About a month after I gave Katherine away, the pain was still as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. I fell into depression, and that left me open. Many people picked up on it, including two security men. They--they hurt me bad, sweetie." She smiled through a haze of tears and stroked my cheek. "Do you see what I'm saying?"

[Rape child, never meant to be! Rape child, born in minimum security!]

I saw.

"I'm sorry, Momma," I choked. She held me to her tightly.

[I think it's appropriate to change tracks, don't you? Enter "A Song for Mama" by Boyz II Men.]

"Never say that again," she said softly. "You saved my life and made me whole. Nobody but you could have done it. Not Cassie, Katherine, David, nobody but you. I'm sorry I lied. I just wanted you to be OK. I thought if we found your sister, we'd all be OK."

"I'm not mad." [Of course you're not. Your newfound guilt over being a product of rape has now overshadowed any of Kayla's heinous wrongdoings. Well played, Kayla!] I looked at my mother with shame. "Momma, I hurt Katherine, the way you were. That's why she's--" I couldn't say anymore. I begged for forgiveness with my eyes. I knew she understood.

[But you're still grounded! No sex for a week.]

She hugged me again, then stood up. "Why don't you go find your aunt? I know she needs you."

I stared at her.

"She's still your aunt, Kyle. Love made you her nephew." I nodded and went to Aunt Cassie's room. The door was open. I found her sitting on her bed, hunched over. "Auntie," I said. She looked up, and her face radiated pure joy at that one word. I gave myself to her opening arms.

[Journey, anyone?]

"I'm sorry about your brother," I whispered, "but I'm glad you're with me."

"Me, too, baby," she replied. "Me, too."

-------

Is Kyle redeemed YET? You people hold grudges for way too long.

Jumping on the 10 Seconds Bandwagon

I'm growing out my bangs. I miss Deal or No Deal. I don't like my stomach rubbed, pregnant or not. AT&T and Sofa Express are currently on my shit list.

I think every little girl should look up to Nancy Drew. Atlas Shrugged is one of my favorite books. Tragic Love Friday is nowhere near the same caliber, but if you were into Flowers in the Attic or any soap opera, ever, this is so your cup of tea.

I recently scored my first paid blogging gig, HOORAY FOR ME.

I wish I knew how to make that Technorati tag work so BlogHer could show me some love.

BlogHelp

At this time tomorrow, I'll be packing up my car and preparing to drive to northwest Indiana, where I will pick up my party companion and head into downtown Chicago for three days and two nights of eating, networking, and conferencing at BlogHer 2007, where I will learn about the ins and outs of self promotion, increasing traffic, and technical tricks that will probably make my head spin. I'll meet online friends I've been talking to for months--in some cases over a year--for the first time. I'll introduce myself to bloggers I've never heard of and others whose writing I absolutely adore. I've got a fun maternity wardrobe and savvy business cards and comfortable shoes for traipsing up and down the length of Navy Pier. Packing will be a snap. I'm ready.

But so, so nervous.

Last year I complained about the entries that followed in the wake of BlogHer, noting that the posts seemed to be solely comprised of pictures marrying women and alcohol, links out of context, and inside jokes the rest of us outsiders weren't a part of. I vowed that if was able to attend in 2007, I would do a better job of sharing what I believed to be the most appealing aspect of the conference: the ability to market yourself and learn more about the trends underlying this fascinating, still-new form of expression.

I'm nervous this goal will be overshadowed by a desire to impress strangers I may never see again.

Don't get me wrong; I'm so excited to meet my online buddies, hear their voices, dish out hugs, and take tons of pictures. I hardly consider them strangers. But I'd be going to this thing even if I didn't know another living soul. I have a class to teach, Web sites to polish, and a lot of information to learn. I want to learn it. I want to see how far I can push myself in this genre, because as much as I love TLF, fiction is no longer my bag, baby. I'm lucky enough this year that Luke and I can afford for me to go and the conference is only a three-hour drive from home, in the very city I grew up in and still love, and there are no children to worry about (yet, oh my God). The last thing I want to do is get so caught up in socializing that I miss out on something that might one day enable me to maintain a full-time writing career from home.

Below is a list of the sessions I plan to attend. The sessions are grouped into different "tracks," which are featured in parantheses.

Day One
10:45 - 12:00: (Business of You) Self-Branding and Self-Promotion
1:30 - 2:45: (Technical) Find Out Why Bloggers Care About Web Standards
2:45 - 4:00: (Technical) Technical Tools to Build Traffic
4:30 - 5:45: (Identity) The State of the Momosphere

Day Two
10:30 - 11:45: (Business of You) Blog to Book and Back Again
1:30 - 2:45: (Business of You) Professional Blogging: Ways and Means
2:45 - 4:00: (Business of You) Professional Blogging: Business Considerations

Aren't the topics wonderful? There are so many to pick from, but I think I'll glean the most insight from these.

Anyway, there's a lot to do before I leave. I have to pack, pretty my toenails, update my Parents blog with two more entries, and prepare this here site for my absence. I plan on posting a little somethin' somethin' tomorrow will even attempt to a TLF post for those of you unable to join in on the Chi-town fun. However, if TypePad goes wonky and the entry never publishes, you can't say I didn't try.

Spent but spoiler-free

It took me roughly six months to get through a teensy weensy paperback about the politics and trends of blogging. Between work, pregnancy, and my "stories," there was simply no time to read. Or, more accurately, no energy.

So the fact that I finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows before my 2:00 doctor's appointment this afternoon is no small feat. But I had no choice.

You all know what I'm talking about; people have been buzzing about this book for weeks. Photocopies of text posted to the Internet. Radio DJs reading chapter excerpts on the air. Assholes who would like nothing better than to ruin the fun for those eagerly awaiting the final installment of J.K. Rowling's magical series about The Boy Who Lived. The morning after the last Sopranos episode aired on HBO, you couldn't click through the stations without running into a news ticker about fan reactions, plot disappointments, etc. I didn't want my experience with this book tainted because some anchor felt like blabbing her mouth.

Luke and I, along with my sister Samantha and her husband Dan, who came for a visit this past weekend, went to the local bookstore near our apartment late Friday night and had books hand by a quarter after twelve. As we left the store, I saw patrons standing off to the side of the entrance, rooted to their spots, their fingers frantically flipping through the last several pages, and I was suddenly terrified they were going to recite the last sentence out loud before jumping into their cars and laughing their crazy heads off as they skidded out of the parking lot.

Luckily, we managed to pile into the Cobalt and zip back home with our literary innocence still in tact. For the rest of the weekend I avoided the computer and the television, and when I arrived at work on Monday, I left my newspaper encased in the plastic yellow sleeve. No way was I putting myself at risk.

Now I am finished (though I don't think I can count my time this morning as "working from home"), and my heart is at peace. I loved the book. I read through it quickly but thoroughly, at a pace that enabled me to really enjoy the Harry Potter experience one last time. Now I can surf the Internet and respond to e-mail without fear. I can prepare for BlogHer 2007, which has me so excited I can hardly sit still. I can treat my raging yeast infection.

Life is good.

Tragic Love Friday: RIP, incest/rape baby

Don't give me any crap, there's no way you can call that a spoiler. This kid never had a chance.

I realized something this week: For the next two Fridays, I will be on vacation. Next week because of BlogHer, and the following week for a three-day, two-night "girls only" camping trip for my mother's side of the family. What to do about TLF?

I'm perfectly aware that I can draft posts beforehand and program them to publish on the appropriate day, but I'm a little nervous that I'll do something wrong and everyone will be mad at me and my lack of technological skillz. Also, I actually have tried this before--typed up the installment and set it to publish at noon--but when fifteen minutes had passed and the entry still hadn't posted, I just went back in to TypePad and overwrote it.

Not to mention I'm still working on my blog book and trying to "find myself" over at Parents.com. Also, I'm in no hurry to see this sequel end. On the last day, I think I might cry, even though I'm sure the reader-inspired part three will be tons of fun.

I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm not sure what to do yet. I'm eighty-percent sure I'll skip next week since a lot of us will be gone. You have been warned.

-----

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - JENNA (CONTINUED)

"I'm sorry," she told him sadly. At me, she smiled weakly. "I didn't plan on us meeting again under these circumstances."

[Would the baby shower for her and Michael's love child have been more appropriate?]

I wanted to hug her and hit her at the same time.

"This is your son?" I asked, awed.

She nodded proudly.

"Did you know my dad?" Kyle asked me hopefully.

"Your dad?" He fumbled in his wallet and pulled out a photo. It was old. It was David.

"Please don't," she begged me. "It'll come out later, but not now."

"You've lied to everyone!" I shouted.

"I had to! I went through hell to keep my family!"

"About this family thing--you don't have a sister, so who the fuck is that?" I pointed to the woman beside her, who had kept quiet the whole time. Kayla looked at me sharply, and Kyle's face crumbled. "You lied? I'm not your nephew?" he asked the woman.

"Cassie!"

"You have wonderful timing," she informed me angerily.

[On Monday night, I had a dream that I was on the run in a third-world country where they wanted to throw me over a balcony and onto a mattress of suspected criminals. I ran into a dusty building and parked my ass behind a school desk, remaining still as a mouse, while police followed and searched every nook and cranny for a trace of my wherabouts. One of them was standing right next to me but was oblivious to my "awesome" hiding place until one of his smarter counterparts shone a light on my face. Then they wanted to throw me into a pit of fire. The mattress-throwing thing sounded pretty damn good then.

What does this have to do with TLF? Absolutely nothing. Moving on.]

"Jenna and Michael Spencer?" We all turned to find a young-looking doctor rush out of Katherine's room. "Come with me now." He headed quickly toward the room again.

"What's going on?" Kayla shouted.

"We're gonna lose her if we don't get that baby out."

"I'm coming, too! That's my daughter!" she cried.

[OH NO SHE DIDN'T.]

Michael disappeared with the doctor. I pushed Kayla away.

"No! She's my daughter! Don't come near her," I threatened. "You lost the right to call yourself her mom a long time ago." I left her standing there and burst through the door.

About seven doctors were working on her. She was stuck all over with tubes. My baby was conscious on top of it all. She saw everything, and was quite aware of what was going on. Or so it seemed.

"You've gotta push, Katherine," the young doctor told her. "Help us help you."

[And to think, this was written two whole years before Jerry Maguire.]

"I can't! I'll hurt her," she replied tearfully.

"You won't, I promise. You'll actually help her. We can try to save her if we can get her out."

"Why don't you perform a casaerean on her?" Michael asked sharply. "Time's being wasted!"

[I love how the man who couldn't recognize he was cheating on his wife with the mother of his adopted daughter is now clever enough to disperse medical advice.]

[Also, Frema, M.D. to the rescue once again!]

"Because it's dangerous," Dr. Brock answered. (I finally read his tag.) "But we now have no other choice."

My husband and I watched in silence as they gave her a shot in the spine. She yelled out. When they finally cut her open, I buried my face in Michael's shoulder.

"We've got it," Dr. Brock called a while later.

"She's here! Give her to me!" cried Katherine, weakly opening her arms.

I heard the doctor gasp, and I turned to look.

When I use the word "baby" to describe its appearance, I use it for lack of a better word. It barely resembled a human being.

I could make out the body, with two short stubs for legs, one longer than the other. The baby had part of one arm. Its head was totally deformed, and it had maybe half a skull. I saw two shut eyes, and I think a nose. Blood was wrapped around it like a blanket.

[*Frema takes a deep breath, rubs belly reassuringly, reminds herself she has not recently overdosed on antidepressants.*]

"I'm sorry," Dr. Brock said kindly to Katherine, his face a mask of pity. "She never had a chance."

"Give her to me," she repeated. He glanced at me as if to say, I can't deny her. He placed her gently in my daughter's care.

"Hi, sweetie," she said, caressing her face. "I'm so sorry I did this to you," she whispered brokenly. "You don't deserve this. I do." Katherine viewed the baby's body intently. "I hurt you bad, didn't I?" She started to cry. "You're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I love you, Katrina. I always did." She closed her eyes. "Pray for me when you get to Heaven."

[If your eyes aren't wet after that scene, you are made of stone. Hopefully, the batch of spinach dip I made for today's department pitch-in will see me through this difficult time.]

* * *

Dr. Brock escorted my husband and me out of the room. "I think she'll be OK, physically at least. She informed us that she took some of your pills," he added to me. "Are you on any kind of medication?"

"Sedatives, anti-depressants, and something to help me when I can't sleep," I answered guiltily.

"That induced her labor, and you could say 'part' of an abortion took place. That's why the fetus came out so damaged. Katherine will need about another week here." He added sympathetically, "I wish your Christmas could have been better."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Go on home. She'll be asleep the rest of the day, maybe part of tomorrow."

The twins jumped out of their seats.

"How is she?" Lucas demanded.

"Is Kath gonna be OK?" Leigh asked desperately.

I glanced at Michael, who nodded.

"Kath will be fine, but she's gonna stay here for a while."

"What about the baby?" I turned around and saw Kyle, wringing his hands and looking really nervous.

"I'm sorry," I said, and I meant it. "It was just too undeveloped to have a chance."

He took a deep breath; his chin quivered. "Could I see Katherine?"

"She's asleep now," I warned, "and they're only allowing immediate family in."

He nodded and walked quickly away. I suddenly realized that that was Katherine's immediate family. I felt sick to my stomache. It was a hidden blessing that the baby died.

I glanced over to where Kayla and Cassie were. Kayla had her head on Cassie's shoulder, her eyes closed. Cassie was stroking her hair. She had a faraway look on her face. I thought about going over to them. It had been so long! But the image of Kay and Michael hurt me too much. Let HIM comfort her. I also couldn't get over the fact that she told her son that David was his father. Lies!

"Let's go, kids," I said, leading them. "We'll come back later."

"I'm going to stay," Michael said softly. I glared at him. "I didn't include you in our plans, anyway. Have fun with KAYLA." He flinched as the twins and I walked out of the hospital. I felt utterly alone.

-------

And I am utterly hungry. Time for lunch.

The extent of my Spanish is limited to Tu mama lleva botas sin calcetines*

Frema: Hey, I just received an e-mail from Blogger--in Spanish, no less--and it lists your URL along with my old blogspot one. I have no idea why.

Silly Hily: That has to be one of the strangest things I've ever read.

An e-mail...from Blogger...in Spanish...with my URL and your old one?

But what does it all mean Bazzle?

Frema: Yes, with both of those URLS.

:)

I have no clue.

I've been thinking of deleting my Blogger blog since it's now obsolete. This is another good reason why.

Silly: No doubt. I would.

Frema: The thing is, I really want to know what it says.

Silly: And I guess you wouldn't know what the e-mail means b/c hello, you don't speak Spanish.

Frema: Right. I took two years in high school, so I can make out a few words, but that's it.

This would make a good blog entry.

Silly: Are you going to post the e-mail? Maybe one of your readers can translate.

Frema: I think I'll ask for translators to help. But not post it. Who knows what it says?

Silly: What's the word for bitch in Spanish? I can't think of it right now. Just make sure there's none of that in there.

Punta. I think.

Frema: Thankfully no such word appears in the text.

Silly: Whew.

* Your momma wears boots without socks. I gave birth to that gem my sophomore year. Genius!

I have a confession to make.

I think I thought I could have this baby and not gain weight.

Really! Despite the weight loss I experienced as a result of "morning" sickness in the early part of my pregnancy, my belly continued to grow, Freka continued to thrive, and my doctors continued to tell me not to worry. So I didn't. In fact, I relished it. I was a good ten pounds heavier than I should've been at the time we conceived and in no hurry to put on any more than absolutely necessary.

WEIGHT ON 2/28: 135.6
CURRENT WEIGHT: 136.4
TOTAL PREGNANCY POUNDS GAINED: 0.8

Holy automated scale, Batman! A positive number! I'm totally blaming the two bowls of Cocoa Puffs I had before I stepped on. The Snickers cheesecake I had after dinner last night may also have been a contributing factor.

Seriously, though, it was a little jarring. At my last appointment, my doctor said it's not always necessary to gain the standard twenty-five to thirty-five pounds, so long as I was subscribing to healthy eating habits. Which I was all for. Who doesn't want to be a tiny pregnant woman? But now reality has set in. I cannot gestate for nine months and stay within that coveted one-hundred-and-twenty-pound range I was striving for pre-conception. And that's OK.

Because I have new maternity clothes.

Before our trip to the Cheesecake Factory, Luke and I stopped by a couple of shoe stores and Mimi Maternity to find some things to wear for BlogHer next week. The cute, comfy ballet flats I bought in May are still cute and still flat, but they're not as comfy as I originally thought. Oddly enough, the bottoms of my feet are fine; it's the tops that suffer from the criss-cross of the tight elastic straps. As for clothing, well, I'm not down with the idea of rotating the same four tops for the next four months.

Every time I walk into Mimi, I am hopeful. Their items are classy and sophisticated and totally support the image of the "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful and with child" woman I always hoped to convey. However, they also charge eighty dollars for a damn top, so the most I've walked away with is their underwwear, which I don't even like anymore because they constantly fall off my belly. The high-cut Motherhood ones are much more my style, even if their sexuality is equal to that of a ripe peach.

Anyway, I don't know why I thought last night's visit would be different, because it wasn't, so Luke and I went to dinner and I ate my cheesecake, secretly hoping the sales pieces I found on Gap Maternity's Web site could arrive before I left next Thursday. Afterwards we hit a Target close to the mall so Luke could look for a new wallet, and I actually found some tee shirts that weren't unravelling at the seams or carting an outrageous price tag. So I bought four and wore one to work this morning, and oh my God, did I get the comments about how pregnant I looked!

But for the very first time, I didn't care. For the very first time, I felt comfortable in my new skin, wearing my new clothes and donning freshly trimmed hair. I wanted to get on with my bad mamma-jamma self.

You have no idea how scared I was that someone would walk in and witness me taking a picture of my own reflection in the company john. I suppose I could've blamed it on pregnancy brain.

Secret But Awesome Freelancing Gig Revealed

Last night I was finally given permission to unleash my Secret But Awesome Freelancing Gig to the Internet masses, so unleash it I will. Yippee!

Remember back in April when Amalah mentioned my pregnancy on Mom's Daily Dose? Well, my readership increased a bit because of that, and one of those readers just so happened to be an editor for www.parents.com, the Web site for Parents, American Baby, and Family Circle magazines. She approached me about writing a pregnancy blog (and when appropriate, possibly a mom blog) for their site, which was set to relaunch with a new format sometime in July. After some back and forth, the deal was sealed, and as of July 1st, I can officially call myself a freelance writer.

I will be posting three times a week at Parental Discretion Advised about the nitty-gritty details of my gestating experience, most likely on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday because I'm anal like that. There's five posts up there right now, the latest one published just last night, which is perfect, because while you're getting acclimated to the new blog, I'm going to take a few days to speed-read the second book I need to finish for my class, which will hopefully allow me to jump on Harry Potter's book seven bandwagon before any spoilers are revealed. Everybody wins!

Some notes to keep in mind for the new site:

• Parents.com relaunched with a new format last Thursday, and there are still various formatting kinks to work out. The color scheme is wonderful, but the blog headers won't be ready until next week, and right now the text margins are non-existent; things like that. So please bear with us as we work through those issues. If you yourself experience any problems, feel free to let me know and I'll pass them along to my editor.
• Since I plan on featuring this gig on my resume, I've ditched the Frema alias and decided to use my full name. I'm also attempting to keep Parental Discretion Advised free from any mention of my personal blog, so I ask that you please do the same. I'm sure eventually the two will formalize their commitment to each other, but until then, they're perfectly comfortable with an occasional romp in the sack over here.
• In order to leave a comment, you must register with Parents.com. I know it's an extra step, but if you enjoy commenting here, I would encourage you to do so "over there." We've had some great discussions about various topics on "What're you lookin' at?" The new blog wouldn't be the same without the benefit of your experiences.

And the most important one (to me, anyway):

• I am not shutting down this blog. I will continue to update this blog on a regular basis. I will continue to talk about pregnancy. TLF will continue to rock the house.

I don't think I can adequately communicate to you how important this silly little Web site is to me. I've spent the last three years fighting writer's block, hammering out my feelings on a wide range of issues, and building up a readership that I love and respect (yes, you). I have no intentions of abandoning everything I've created here. Last week I wrote four entries for Parents.com and five for this site. While not indicative of my future posting schedule, I hope it shows you that my dedication to one blog will not affect my passion for the other.

So far, the Parents.com blogs are amazing. The roster includes published authors, travel writers, and magazine editors (and one gal I already list on my blogroll; congrats, Emily!), and I'm really glad I didn't know that before I started writing, because crafting the new material would've been even more nervewracking than it already was. But I think I've found my voice, and I'll continue to finetune it, just like I do here. In the meantime, thank you all so much for listening to what I have to say, and being so supportive, and helping me to create an atmosphere that made it possible for me to expand my professional horizons.

Especially your mom. I couldn't have done this without her.

Tragic Love Friday: When worlds collide

Look at me and my mad posting-five-times-in-one-week skillz. Did you enjoy the ride? I hope so, because I don't predict it happening again anytime soon, at least not solely on this site (did you take that as a hint that new and exciting things are on their way? I sure as hell hope so, because otherwise, no offense, but you're really not that bright).

Anyway, in addition to my new Secret But Awesome Freelancing Gig, I also have a blogging class to plan for, a class that has not received nearly enough TLC. There are books to read, syllabi to plan, and assignments to plot out that will hopefully cause my students to pump their fists in the air with glee instead of groan over the injustice of receiving such an incompetent teacher. At this point in time, it could go either way.

Before I jump into TLF, though, I'd like to thank everyone for all the kind comments I've gotten over the last two days. Because I've been swamped with work, I won't be able to respond individually to everyone, but know that your support and well wishes mean so much, and there would be no Secret But Awesome Freelancing Gig if it weren't for you. If any of y'all are attending the BlogHer conference in Chicago in two weeks, I will have no choice but to crush you in a bear hug as a token of my thanks. Unless you don't like to hug. Then I'll leave you alone. As long as you don't put your hands on my stomach(e).

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN - JENNA (CONTINUED)

"How did this happen?" An attendant asked as he hooked her up to IVs.

"She - she was kicked and smashed her stomache. She's pregnant," I added brokenly.

"How far along is she?"

"I have no idea," I admitted sadly. He glanced at me sharply, and I quickly added, "She wasn't showing, so she can't be that far."

[How much you wanna bet this guy's next phone call is to Child and Family Services?]

The rest of the way to St. Mary Magdalene's Hospital was spent squeezing my little girl's hand.

Once there, they took her away to a room in the EMERGENCY wing. I filled out the necessary paperwork and told her nurse what I knew. Then I sank in a chair in the waiting room, waiting for my family and praying for my baby. For the first time in a while, I thought about Kayla. She didn't know what was happening; never would. That saddened me because I was sure that wherever she was, she still loved her daughter.

[That she does. And your husband, too!]

I also thought of Mary Katherine, my unborn angel. She would've been 15, just like my oldest. I wonder what she would've looked like, been like? Probably the spitting image of David. To think, so much would've turned out differently if I hadn't been hit by that car all those years ago. I would've married David and had Mary Katherine. He would've been paying child support to Kayla for Katherine, who probably wouldn't have been named Katherine. It sounded nice, but then Katherine wouldn't have been mine, or Michael's. Michael and I would never have admitted our love for each other, and Leigh and Lucas wouldn't have been born. Cassie... I had no idea what happened to her.

I sighed.

[Wouldn't it be fun if I rewrote that scene just to see what would happen? Maybe it'd go something like this: Kayla misses both David and Jenna and smashes into the Dairy Queen drive-thru window. Is discovered and hauled off to jail. Gives birth to baby girl, who she names Kaylene because she's self-centered like that. Meanwhile, David and Jenna are married and ripping each other's heads off in a cramped one-bedroom apartment with little Mary Katherine, who is born without thumbs because I love to tormet little children. David falls in love with Kayla's svelte mom figure and Kaylene's ability to properly fill out the finger holes in her mittens. He and Kayla engage in another night of passion thanks to the prison's flexible stance on conjugal visits. Kayla gets pregnant AGAIN. Michael is impressed with her fertility and proposes marriage, because we all know he's jonesing for a wife, and what other prospects does she have? Little does he know that Kayla has all the men, while Jenna is left trying to shed those last ten baby pounds. Jenna does something crazy, but I don't know what, because holy crap, how many stories can I work on at one time?]

"Momma!" I looked up and saw Leigh running to me, Lucas right behind her. They crushed me into a hug. "Hi," I said. "You guys doin' OK?" Leigh didn't answer but wouldn't look at me. Lucas just shrugged.

"Where's your father?" I asked hesitantly.

"By the payphones," Leigh answered.

He was calling his bitch. I stiffened. Well, great. I'd finally meet her.

Forty-five minutes later, not one woman showed up, but two. A handsome boy was with them. He was crying, hard. A woman with short brown hair met Michael in the corridor, and he embraced her fiercely. She had tears down her cheeks as well.

[These people really have no shame, do they? I mean, Jenna is RIGHT THERE.]

After a few minutes, they pulled apart and Michael nodded in my direction. The woman shook her head [coward], but he lead her to me anyway. I rose out of my seat and stood tall.

"Jenna." Michael looked almost embarassed. "This is Kay. Kay, my wife." He cringed at the word "wife," but I pretended not to notice.

"Lovely to meet you, Kay," I said sarcastically.

"I'm so sorry about Katherine," Kay said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She was shaking like a leaf. I took a closer look at her. Something was oddly familiar. "Has the doctor said anything?"

"He hasn't come out yet," I replied, looking over her shoulder.

"That's my sister with my son, Kyle," she offered as she followed my gaze. I raised an eyebrow.

"You're Kyle's mother? Oh, well in case Michael hasn't already told you, my daughter is pregnant. Since she and Kyle were such good friends," I commented sharply, stressing the word 'friends,' "it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened."

"Lord, no," Kay whispered, looking horrified. "That can't be."

"Are you telling me my daughter's NOT lying in a hospital bed with a baby inside her?" I yelled angerily.

[How many times in life does one get to pose that question? Not many, I'll bet.]

She wasn't paying attention to me. Her chin was trembling, and she kept blinking her eyes really hard. She clutched her stomache, and her breathing became irregular.

[For some reason this description reminds me of The Hand That Rocks the Cradle, specifically that scene where Claire is suffering from an asthma attack and can't find her inhaler because the bitch nanny, Peyton, hid them all in a blatant attempt to kill her off and steal her family.]

[Do I have babies on the brain or what? Also, paranoid much, Frema?]

"Are you OK? Is it the baby?" Michael asked her worriedly.

She was pregnant?

"Not the baby," Kay managed to say between gasps. "Oh God, what did I let happen!" She broke down completely, burying her face in her hands.

"Mom?" The boy - Kyle - was at his mother's side, the sister close behind. He looked at me curiously. His hair was so bright; like gold...

"Kayla," I whispered. She looked up at me and didn't answer, and I knew it was true.

"Son of a BITCH!" I cried. Michael pulled away instantly, shock on his face.

-------

I want to keep going, but I'm so afraid of the time when I have to post the last entry, so I'm putting it off as long as I can. In the meantime, consider this idea I have for a part three:

Remember that game telephone, where the kids sit in a circle and one kids says a message and every other kid has to pass it down to the one at the end, and that one is the one who has to say it out loud and see how close it is to the original message?

Well, my idea isn't like that one at all, but kind of. Part three could involve a group of people (preferably not children), but instead of repeating the message, each one would build on it.

Like this. Say I write the first entry for part three. Next week, it could be...Isabel. The week after that? Your mom David. After that? Pink Herring. Then Silly Hily. Then Audrey. Then Fraulein N. Then maybe back to me. And so on and so forth.

I'll be super busy this fall, what with work, teaching, freelancing, and gestating, so this would be a convenient way to continue TLF without the burden of all that writing falling on my shoulders. Plus, having new authors could take the story in interesting directions, directions I probably wouldn't even have considered on my own, and it really could be like a soap opera, with no end in sight. Also a plus, since it's not my writing, I won't bitch and moan about losing creative control. This will be TLF for the people, by the people.

(To make sure the plot doesn't completely run away from me, though, I would reserve the right to veto one plot point per entry and revise it in case a character's actions keep me from sleeping at night. The strike-through feature will come in especially handy for this, so you can see the author's original thought process, and I could explain my reasons for any changes.)

Potential downfalls? Well, you guys, I guess. This won't work if I don't receive a steady stream of volunteers, and there's always the possibility of somebody flaking out on their installment, thus leaving a big fat hole for that week of TLF.

What do you think? The future of TLF is in your hands--literally--so don't be shy with your opinion.

Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now

Prior to the miraculous news we received yesterday about our unborn child's reproductive organs, Luke and I had been quite conservative on the shopping front. We picked out a darling green onesie the week we learned about the pregnancy, I recently met the diaper bag of my dreams, and two weeks ago we scored some Winnie the Pooh sleepers and a trio of bibs. That was it. Everything else we had for the baby was bestowed upon us by generous family and friends.

Until now. Now, all bets are off.

In addition to these wee outfits (baby jeans! Has anything cuter ever existed?), we also found a manly diaper bag for Luke, courtesy of Eddie Bauer and almost hipper than mine. I was on the verge of suggesting we order the crib, you know, since we were already at Babies R Us, but then I remembered the unpaid Visa bill sitting on our kitchen table and thought it best to wait, at least until we got that puppy out in the mail.

Once home, I couldn't stop running my hands all over Freka's future wardrobe, thinking about her sweet little ultrasound pictures, or imagining what it would be like to hold her in my arms, her cheek pressed to mine, me stroking the back of her cute little baby neck (baby necks! Has anything cuter ever existed? SERIOUSLY). It was about that time Luke wandered in to the living room and raised an eyebrow, asking why I was hugging the baby's clothes to my chest, and honey, are you crying?

Damn right I am. I'm going to be a mother.

Even more amazing than peeing on all those sticks

There were two possible ways I could approach blogging about today's appointment.

1) Post a quick "It's a insert gender here!" and go into more detail later.

2) Write a lengthy entry and make you wait 'til the end for the reveal.

At first I thought I'd go with number two, until I realized that most people would just skim through the entry until they found the information they wanted, which meant all my carefully crafted prose would go to waste, and who wants that?

In the end, I decided to write the tell-all version right off the bat. But first...

Sugar and spice and everything nice, indeed. And this next statement might sound weird, especially since you're essentially looking at my daughter's ass (I think; some of these pictures are super hard to read), but she's absolutely beautiful.

------- ------- -------

It wasn't until Luke and I were in the car to make our 10:30 appointment with the ultrasound tech that I began to feel nervous. Up until that point I'd been solely focused on learning the gender, but once we were on our way to the clinic, I couldn't stop picturing worst-case scenarios about the progress our baby was making. I'm eating much better and have put on a few pounds since my last visit, but what if my lack of weight gain was due to the baby's lack of growth? Why hadn't I felt Freke move yet? What if, lying on that table with my belly covered in goo, we were told the baby had died?

Awful thoughts, but I couldn't shake them. My heart was pounding, my hands were clammy, and I thought I was going to lose the bowl of Fruit Loops I had for breakfast.

Once there, we waited about ten minutes, and then suddenly I was lying on that table, pulling down the waistband of my maternity pants, and breathing deeply in an effort to stay calm. Lisa, our technician, squirted the gel over my stomach (and it was hot! Yikes!), and went into her spiel.

"Now, I normally use 'he' when referring to the baby, so until I say, 'I think it's a...', don't take that to mean anything, OK?" she said.

We nodded.

"Also, I like to make faces when I'm reading the screen, but that doesn't mean anything's wrong, OK?"

Again with the nodding of the heads.

She was a pleasant woman, that Lisa, and the three of us chit-chatted about various gender myths as she moved the wand over my belly, typing notes on the screen and keeping an eye on the monitor the whole time. She kept it face forward, so I tried to crane my neck a bit to see what was going on, with no luck. I motioned for Luke to join me next to the table, and he grabbed my hand.

After a few minutes, a slew of pictures printed from her machine, and she tilted the monitor towards us. There was our baby.

She pointed out various body parts for us to see: head, legs, arms, spine, stomach, from all sorts of angles. I almost stopped breathing when I saw the tiny little heart muscle, beating just as fiercely as it had during my initial appointments through the Doppler. A hundred and forty-three beats per minute, she said.

Then we were on a mission.

"Let's see what we can find," she said, and proceeded to poke and prod my belly for a shot of the good stuff.

It was hard at first, but finally the baby moved into the proper position, and Lisa took a peek.

"Now, there's always a chance I could be wrong, but I think..." Her voice trailed off, and her fingers returned to the keyboard to type those fateful words.

"It's a girl."

And that was it. I started to cry, and I really went all out, with the chest heaving and shortness of breath and the blotchy red face. I couldn't believe it. I was so damn happy to see our baby in action, in person. It was the most miraculous moment of my pregnancy thus far. Not since learning about this little person's existence have I been so emotional.

Luke squeezed my hand and kissed the top of my head, and Lisa grabbed some tissues. She didn't comment on my tears, and I was glad, because I hate when people acknowledge my blubbering. It just makes the blubbering worse.

After about fifteen minutes of watching our baby in action, Lisa was helping me off the table and handing Luke our now-precious VHS tape. We went back to the waiting room for my 11:00 appointment and were ushered in just minutes later.

The actual appointment was great. Measuring within a four-day range of her December 10th due date, our little girl is doing marvelously, and there's no reason not to think I'll give birth to a strong and healthy baby.

Hi there, baby. We love you.

------- ------- -------

Now the only question is what to do about her Internet moniker. Freke no longer seems fitting, and I was considering Frekie, but that might be even worse. Freka? Frekette? Your suggestions are most welcome.

Desperately Seeking Gender

The waiting game is almost over, folks. Come this time tomorrow, Luke and I should know (hopefully) (God willing) (please, baby, don't be shy) whether our little Freke will have a penis or a vagina. Never have I been so excited to feast my eyes upon another person's reproductive parts.

As a young girl, whenever I imagined being a mother, I always envisioned having girls. Makes sense, right? After all, I was a girl and fairly certain I knew what to expect. Girls liked to wear frilly nightgowns and draw pictures of princesses and orchestrate steamy make-out sessions between Barbie and Ken in the back of her pink convertible. Girls tried to emulate Nancy Drew and the members of the Baby-sitters Club and watched My Little Pony cartoons before getting ready for school. They never pulled down their pants to pee on the sidewalk, and they weren't big on Transformers, though they didn't mind playing G.I. Joe. So long as they got to be Jinx.

When I first found out I was pregnant, I secretly hoped for a girl, using pretty much the same line of reasoning, albeit on a slightly more sophisticated level. In my twenty-seven years on Earth, I've gained a wealth of life experience that'll be handy for a daughter but not so much for a son. A boy of mine will never hear the story of my first period or my thoughts on tampons (um, ick). He won't care that I once hated bras and put off wearing one for as long as I could. My shaving tips will fall on deaf ears, because he'll be getting that lesson from his father. And how can any of my botched dating experiences bring some sort of meaning to his life? Does a son really want to know about his mother's run-in with STD testing, or should I lock up that gem in the TMI vault?

I picture having a daughter and I think of late-night talks over hot cups of cocoa, frenzied trips to the mall to pick out her prom dress, and bonding over matching mani-pedis on Mother's Day. Meanwhile, it's hard not to wonder if I'll be anything more than a spectator in my son's manly little life, pestering him to wash his hands, comb his hair, keep his hands off his crotch, thanklessly grooming him for some woman who's destined to turn him against me, because as we all know, a daughter's a daughter for all of her life, a son is a son 'til he takes a wife. Which isn't true all of the time, but let's face it. Don't most of you ladies take charge of family holidays, schedule your weekend plans, and generally hold final veto power when it comes to deciding whether or not the kids can spend the night with your mother-in-law?

I suppose there's hope if he turns out to be gay, but that seems an odd thing to pray for.

With time, I've grown comfortable with the idea of having a boy. As the oldest of five, I sometimes wished for an older sibling, and it was always a brother. I liked the idea of having someone around who wanted to watch over me but had zero interest in borrowing my shoes. Plus, my friends with boys seem to have such a good time with their planes and trains and automobiles. I can do that. I want to do that. I want to take whichever path holds the most excitement, the most adventure, the most promise for my child, and if that happens to be laden with snips and snails, then by George, I'll snip and snail with the best of them.

As we get ready for the big day, I'm less concerned about what this baby's gender is and more excited about just plain knowing what kind of person I'm carrying in my uterus. To begin putting a face to one of the names we've chosen, to stop using generic pronouns like "it," to buy clothing completely devoid of green and yellow undertones will be a welcome joy and help us prepare for the long journey ahead.

Still, though, just in case, would it really be so wrong for a boy to own a few Nancy Drews?

Apparently the camera's not the only thing that adds ten pounds

I delayed the inevitable for as long as I could, but it finally happened. At Luke's suggestion, this weekend we drove to an outlet mall about an hour south of Indy to spend mucho dinero on my first batch of maternity clothing.

Prior to Sunday, the only such items I had to my name consisted of a tummy tube I never really liked, a pair of lounge shorts, and forty dollars worth of Mimi underwear, the latter actually providing an immeasurable amount of relief to my underbelly, even if the waistbands do bunch up around my bikini line. Shirts hung off me like tents, and pants were a joke. It was like watching a ten-year-old attempt to fill out a 36DD bra.

Now, though! Now, I own a bathing suit, tee-shirt dress, three pairs of capris, one pair of jeans, four tops, and six more pairs of undies. And if Motherhood Maternity had featured any bras that weren't strictly designated for nursing, I would've grabbed a couple of those, too.

Who'd have thought a shirt with extra belly room could make such a drastic change to my appearance? Behold the evidence.

This picture was taken this evening, a profile shot of me at eighteen weeks along, donning a shirt found a couple of months ago on the clearance rack at The Limited. Sure, I look a little poochy, but a stranger with zero knowledge of my gestational status would just assume I'd enjoyed one too many bowls of Edy's cookie dough and move on with his life. (This stranger would be right, by the way, but now is neither the time nor place to discuss such delicate matters, and I'll thank you kindly to stay out of my personal affairs.)

...Here I am five minutes later, wearing one of my new Motherhood finds. Suddenly, the stranger who called me pudgy is now falling all over himself to open my door, carry my packages, and let me have his place in line, because clearly I am a Woman With Child. Also because this shirt lost two buttons after just one washing, so he'd have gotten a generous eyeful of my heaving, scandalous bosoms. A pox on Motherhood and its incompetent employees who can't properly sew.

Poorly manufactured fabric aside, it feels good to finally own my pregnancy shape and not feel so self-conscious about people commenting on my figure. I am a Woman With Child, dammit, and I'm not afraid to show it. Anymore.

Coming tomorrow: a mini-freakout as I wait to learn our baby's gender. Which is happening on Wednesday. Hopefully. Not that Luke and I are on pins and needles or anything.

Tragic Love Friday: Pop, pop goes the baby, baby

Pop goes the baby and the baby goes pop!

(Please tell me somebody else can name this tune and that I'm not alone in my fondness for early-nineties rap.)

Things continue to get better around here. Thanks to my recent raise and HR's willingness to compensate me from my original June 13th hire date, today's paycheck was padded with an extra grand. Whoopee! And just in time, too, because last month's credit card statement is due in the mail any day, and vacations and new furniture don't exactly pay for themselves. Plus, our DSL connection finally turned on last night, which saves me from the fury that is dealing with AT&T.

I'm really looking forward to this weekend. My sisters Samantha and Ryan are driving down today for an overnight visit, and Luke and I just need to hang up our pictures and set up our (read: my) knick knacks to stick a fork in this apartment. Well, except for a couple of boxes of Luke's stuff in our bedroom, but those are his problem, not mine.

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN - JENNA

It was pitch black when I awoke on Christmas morning. I climbed out of bed as quietly as I could, but Michael got up anyway. "Merry Christmas," he said softly, reaching for my hand. I pulled away and hauled the huge bag of presents out from under the bed.

"Let's just get this done," I said flatly. He sighed and followed me into the living room, where our Christmas Tree stood. I knelt down and gazed at the ornaments. My eyes fell upon a yellow star with a family portrait pasted in the middle. I held it in my hands. The picture was old; the twins were only toddlers then, and Katherine about six.

"Jenna, let's talk."

I stiffened. "We have some work to do." I started to remove the gifts and arrange them under the tree. He grabbed my arm. "Stop! Just stop!"

"The kids'll wake up," I warned.

"Fine." He lowered his voice. "You've been ignoring me for the past couple of months, and I want to know why."

"Figure it out."

"I can't! What did I do?" He was lying; I saw it in his eyes. He knew I knew.

[Oh, this man has some big, hairy balls, doesn't he, folks? He's too cowardly to own up to his mistakes, so he places the responsibility of revealing his affair squarely on Jenna's shoulders. Although really, it's probably less about that and more about the fact that lil' Frema didn't truly understand the complicated dynamics behind Infidelity, Guilt, and Troubled Marriages.]

"Do you honestly think I'm so stupid that I'm not able to figure out what's going on?" I whispered sharply.

"What is going on?"

[Huge balls. GIGANTIC balls. Fitting for a dickhead.]

"You ass! You fucking ASS!" I screamed. "You've been having an affair! Screwing some whore!"

"Now wait a minute--" Michael started to protest, but I silenced him with a look. "If you even try to deny it, I'll walk out that door so fast you won't even see my shadow."

[When I was a kid, I was always fascinated by interrupted dialogue. Take The Wizard of Oz. Right after Glinda places the ruby slippers on Dorothy's feet and instructs her to follow the yellow brick road, Dorothy says, "But how can I--?" and Glinda cuts her off, repeating, "Just follow the yellow brick road." For years, YEARS I tell you, I wondered about the question Dorothy had planned to ask. "How can I tell if I'm going the right way?" "How can I get home?" Until I realized that the line was part of a script and therefore probably never finished in the first place. Duh, lil' Frema.

Anyway, as I look as Michael's unfinished sentence, I wonder what he could possibly have to say. "Now wait a minute, I've never paid her for sex"? "Now wait a minute, I may be cheating on you, but really she's a lovely woman"? "Now wait a minute, my delicate ears cannot handle such foul language"? It's not like he can deny her accusation or even defend himself at all.

Moving on.]

A muffled sob got my attention. "Oh, god," I whispered.

"Lucas? Leigh?" called Michael, rising to his feet and heading toward their rooms. "Katherine?" I was fast on his heels.

Leigh was crying hard, and Lucas was with her, cradling her in his arms. His eyes were also teary. "It's OK," he kept saying. "It's OK."

Katherine was in the corner on the floor, embracing her knees. "They're doing it again, Katrina." She was shaking her head, staring intently at the empty space in front of her. "They think we're stupid, that we can't see what's going on. It really doesn't matter anymore, anyway." She smiled. "I miss you inside. I feel so lonely, knowing you're not with me, but it feels like you never left. You're my best friend."

[Talking to the spirit of your dead fetus. One of those pesky side effects Planned Parenthood failed to include in their brochure.]

"Shut up!" I yelled at her, confused by her blabber.

"Don't yell at her!" Michael retorted.

"Stop it! Please!" Lucas cried. "Look what you're doing to us!"

Everybody got quiet.

"You think we're stupid, but we're not! We see it. We know what's gonna happen! Why don't you level with us and tell the truth?"

"Baby." I reached for him, but he held on to his sister, who was gazing at him with great admiration.

"You wanna know what's going on? Your father has decided I'm not a good enough wife. He's found a wonderful slut to fill my shoes!"

"You don't talk that way about me, ever! Especially in front of MY kids!" Michael screamed, slapping me. I belted him right back.

"Oh! I'm sorry. They know the truth now!"

He yanked my hair. I yelped and kneed him in the crotch.

[How can they be lovers if they can't be friends? How can they start over when the fighting never ends?]

"Stop fighting. Leave each other alone!" Katherine came running, trying to intercede, but she had terrible timing. I had just been about ready to kick Michael's stomache. My daughter knocked him out of the way, and my foot crushed her in the belly and lower abdomen. She screamed and went flying, falling over Leigh's desk. Glass trinkets fell on top of her, splinters moving in all directions. Horrified, I watched as Katherine's stomache rumbled and burst, watery liquid gushing between her legs.

[How does a stomach(e) rumble? Let me count the imaginary ways.]

In no time, Michael was on the phone, talking to the paramedics. I knelt beside her. "I'm so sorry," I choked, my voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

She looked at me with sad eyes. "Momma, Katrina's coming after all."

"Who's Katrina?" I asked her. She closed her eyes.

"Don't touch her. The ambulance will be here in a few minutes," Michael said. He looked on the verge of saying something, but stayed quiet.

"She's pregnant," I whispered in shock, staring at the mess surrounding her. "Katrina's her baby."

"You're lying! Kathy wouldn't do that," Lucas cried, looking devastated. "She's too smart."

"Will she be OK, Mom?" Leigh asked tearfully. "She's gotta be. I don't have any other sister."

"Neither do I," Lucas said softly. "I mean, not like Katherine," he added when Leigh punched him, hurt.

[...And a noble attempt by lil' Frema to lighten the mood falls flat on its face.]

The doors burst open [more bursting!] and men in white uniforms came in with a stretcher. They gently put Katherine on it. We all rushed out with them to the ambulance. "Who's riding with her?"

"I am," I said, pushing Michael aside. "Make sure the twins are dressed warm, then follow in the car," I told him. He nodded and forcefully led the kids back in the house.

-------

There you have it. Michael has revealed himself to be the biggest asshole in the history of the universe and Jenna has finally embraced her inner rage. We should all be so lucky to celebrate the birth of baby Jesus this way.

Next week: The moment we've all been waiting for. Jenna and Kayla meet again! Be sure to bring cookies.

Hopefully the diagnosis will be to eat a bowl of spinach dip and call back in the morning

Thankfully, thankfully, we're almost done with the organizing of the new apartment. Luke spent the first half of the day cursing at the elbow brackets and safety straps he had to attach to our new (Target) bookcases while I lay in bed with a pillow pressed to my stomach, crying from what I believe to be round ligament pain. My BabyCenter book was the only one that gave detailed explanations of what to expect, and it was the only reason I didn't leave a message with my ob/gyn's on-call doctor by noon. I was so afraid I'd done something to hurt the baby, replaying an incident on Sunday morning when I carried a sweater box into our bedroom and jabbed one of the corners into my right side. A warm bath helped a little, but today the pain is still there. Not constantly, but it hurts when I use the bathroom, when I pass gas, even when I get up from my chair. Like I said, I know this is normal (and possibly TMI for you), but to ease my mind, I placed a call to the office as soon as I got to work and left a message for the nurse, who'll call me before the end of the day.

I'll be eighteen weeks on Monday, and it feels like things are finally starting to pick up with this pregnancy. I can eat more (133 pounds, people!), I finally have a belly, we're on the cusp of learning the gender, and I should be feeling little Freke move any day now. I see newborns everywhere and wonder what ours will look like. My thoughts are occupied with which brand of breast pump to use, where to store dirty cloth diapers in our home, how long I want to labor without drugs, and when I should start writing in the blank journal I bought to document more private musings for the baby. If something happened at this point, when I'm almost halfway to the finish line, I don't know what I'd do.

Luckily, all of this brain activity is interspersed with jabbering to Luke about how much damn STUFF we seem to have.

The new apartment is working out for the most part, space-wise, but it's still a painful reminder that we've allowed ourselves to accumulate more material items than two people really need. More than half of our books are in storage, and the new media case we bought is smaller than the one we used in the old apartment, so all of our VHS tapes and a quarter of my CD collection have been designated to a plastic bin in Luke's closet, even though the majority of them haven't been played in at least a year. And much to his delight, we finally chucked every towel stained by one of my botched at-home pedicures. I've always prided myself on letting go of items that no longer hold any sort of emotional or practical value, so why was it so hard to say good-bye to a boom box that just gathers dust because we listen to all of our music on the computer? Why do I still own a copy of Soapdish?

Wait, I know the answer to that last one. The dialogue is funny enough to make me wet my pants. Plus, Robert Downey, Jr. is hot hot hot.

After this weekend, we should be completely settled, and I can move on to other phases of my life, like planning the curriculum for my blogging class. I've selected two books for assigned reading material, but I've only finished the first one. The more I think about this new venture, the more I worry that I'm in over my head; then I recall several of my own undergraduate professors and know with confidence that I can at least perform as well as they did. I won't be the most learned or most educated adjunct on Saint Joe's campus, but I'm enthusiastic about the subject matter and dedicated to present it in a way that'll hold students' interest even after the last class. That's a good start, at least.

Finally, because I know you totally care, I've decided to forgo a changing table. Instead, Luke and I are on board with getting our hands on a cradle for those early months, which will allow us to transport the baby into any room we choose and can also be used for diaper changings. Also, my mother- and father-in-law have graciously offered us the dresser they used for Luke when he was a baby, so we can cross that item off our list of "Major Things to Purchase," which seems to be growing longer every day.

And we love every minute of it.

Edited to add: Well, she didn't mention spinach dip, but my doctor returned my call personally to let me know everything I was experiencing was completely normal. We spoke for almost ten minutes. I love this practice.

"Your World Delivered" My Ass

This afternoon I spent 169 minutes on hold for AT&T, wanting either an explanation as to why we never received phone service in our new apartment on Saturday or a report on when to expect access. One hundred and sixty-nine minutes. Almost three hours. I could've watched one of the Lord of the Rings sequels. I could've driven to Chicago and back. I could've had a V-8!

After 169 minutes on hold, I received the following automated message:

"Due to technical problems, we are unable to take your call at this time."

Busy signal follows, and then a dial tone. Motherfucking AT&T bastards.

(Although I did quite enjoy their instrumental renditions of Boyz II Men's "Water Runs Dry" and the Spice Girls' "Two Become One." And I was able to complete three-fourths of a feature story for the lab's employee newsletter. But I really had to pee.)

-------

The move went off without a hitch, and I didn't lift a damn thing, so imagine my surprise when I woke up Sunday morning with shooting pain in both my arms and legs. Apparently bleaching sinks is more strenuous work than I give myself credit for.

Except for a sharing a sentimental Moment with Luke about walking away from a place that's housed so many important milestones for us over the last two years, we survived the transition unscathed and are eighty-six percent unpacked. All that's pretty much left is adding those finishing touches to truly make it feel like home. Then I can dedicate my time to catching up on AMC and freaking out over how exposed we are living on the first floor.