geography lessons

On January 4, 2003, I arrived by bus to a small town in the middle of the middle of Mexico. On January 21, a magnitude 7.6 earthquake hit Colima.

A few days later I received a large volume of e-mails chastising me for not letting everyone know that I was OK.
There were hundreds of miles and one very large mountain range between me and the earthquake. My response at the time was "Learn your geography, people. Mexico is a huge country."

But now I'm the wrong side of the same problem. My parents are in China. According to the itinerary they sent me, on Mother's Day they were in Xi'an, about 500 miles north of the earthquake. And today, they have supposedly flown to Hong Kong, which is even further away from the disaster area, with their tour group .


Hopefully soon they'll be doing some of this:



And then some of this:

baby specifications

I've been thinking a lot about what I want for our baby ... and what I want in a baby. 

I'm sure that sounds incredibly callous to you but whatever. I mean, this little creature has been pummeling at my insides for months now and my body has dedicated a great deal of time and resources to manufacturing him. Don't I have a right to be invested in the outcome? 

I think it is only natural to imagine a child as fully realized human being who is like us - only better. Maybe he's braver or more dedicated.  A harder worker. More talented or at least more disciplined. Someone with access to all the advantages we did without.  At a bare minimum we might hope to have a kid we like to be around.

And yet most of the time when he's knocking around in there, all I can think is "Who are you? What are you going to be like?"

It wouldn't too hard to make something up, honestly. 

I mean, I do, hear, see stuff and he "reacts." For example, we went to see U2 in 3D at the IMAX. I liked it and he was going nuts throughout the show.  Did that mean he liked it too? Or was he clawing desperately at his prison walls in an attempt to escape? 

Not long after, we saw a free SXSW day show at the French Legation featuring Sons and Daughters, J.Mascis, and Thurston Moore. Another set of performances I thoroughly enjoyed, but Baby didn't have much to say. Was he enthralled and in silent awe? Did he spy through my belly button peephole how the cool kids express their enthusiasm - nary a head nod and absolutely no toe tapping - and decide to follow suit? Or did the day's spring breeze and golden light and my decidedly uncool hip-shaking chair dance lull him to sleep?

Early in the pregnancy, I made a long list of hopes and dreams for him. A recipe of sorts. But as his arrival date gets closer (7 weeks for God's sake!) I've realized that I don't want to be greedy. Right now my greatest wish is that he makes it all the way to D-as-in-"due"-day. 

Beyond that, I think,  "What's essential? What will get him through life with his fair share of joy?" 

And it isn't whether he's an artist or an accountant, friendly or shy, hardworking or lazy. It has nothing to do with how he is as a child or where he ends up as an adult. 

What's essential is what he carries with him from start to finish that will make whoever he is and whatever he does the right thing for him. 

So these are my three hopes for our little boy:

1) A sound body

2) A clear mind

3) An open heart

Audi 5000

My belly button is about 5 seconds away from transcending its terrestrial boundaries. (I can say that since I'm already pretty much the size of a small planet.)

It has an aspect of shock and awe. I like to imagine it smeared with camo grease, muttering, "The horror. The horror." 

It also looks a bit like a prim old biddy whose rear end has just been pinched. Maggie Smith in Room with a View, maybe.

Or a baby chimp keening for a banana.

I'm terribly sorry, belly button, but it can't be helped. 

lullabye and goodnight

Poor you.

That's right.

You.

After a days long pity party, I'm feeling magnanimous and sympathetic toward you. That is, if you are among the blissfully ignorant throngs who regularly and/or easily get a good night's sleep.

You squander your blessings. You dismiss your bounty. You neglect and even abuse the gifts given to you. Some of you even have the gall to tell me that you're jealous of me because I can - read: HAVE TO - squeak by on 5 or 6 hours a night most nights.

But you, poor deluded masses, have no idea ...

You cannot fathom ...

I'm telling you, it is inconceivable to you ...

The triumphant surge of happiness rushing through my very core, the celestial pleasure, the transports of joy I experience on those rare mornings when I arise feeling well rested.

Poor you.

takes a licking ... and collapses into a puddle of tears

How many licks does it take to get to the primordial ooze at the center of a "zen" imbecile?

We thought we take some time on the Sunday before her 38th birthday to find out!

...

Lick #1: A few days of sleep deprivation.

Lick #2: A shopping excursion alone because her husband has to work and she likes to pretend that she doesn't need female company for such things.

Lick #3: Said shopping excursion requiring a visit to one of those sprawling suburban strip mall complexes.

Lick #4: Said sprawling suburban strip mall complex happens to be the portal to Hell known as Brodie Lane where all U-turns are illegal. There are NO street numbers posted anywhere so unless you're intimately familiar with the shopping complex, you cannot make a surgical strike at the store of your choosing. It appears that this River Styx of a four lane blacktop is designed to force you through a labrynth of chain stores guarded by phalanxes of monstrous SUVs in hopes that you abandon all hope of escape and decide you simply must also stop at Michael's, World Market, Barnes&Noble, Ross, Circuit City, LinensNThings, Home Depot ... OK I'll stop now ... on your way to Babies R Us.

...

At this point in our experiment, said "zen" imbecile's veneer has been reduced to a fragile crust. And she has been reduced to inane screeching at traffic impediments.

But because we are true scientists, we will resist the temptation to bite and continue with a few methodical and well-calibrated final licks.

...

Lick #5: Cram a bowling ball into her abdominal region and have her complete all the above in this condition.

...

Extraordinary, ladies and gentlemen ... she's hanging tough.

...

Lick #6: Have her watch a 60 Minutes episode in which a Special Forces Marine stationed in Afghanistan collapses into tears while recounting the heroics of his squadron.

...

Ta da!

Six licks.

he says, "hello!"

I have a baby inside of me.

You're probably thinking "Well, duh. That's what happens when you get pregnant," and, you know, fair enough but ...

I mean, seriously ...

There's a baby in there.

Like, in there ---> ( @ )

A baby. Wiggling around and shit.

I can feel him moving. If you timed it right, you could feel him moving too. A living being, inside of me, is using my uterus as his own personal bouncy bounce. It's fucking crazy.

I hate to say that he's kicking. That's the standard protocol but my god the variety of motions he's tried inside me conjure images of an entire cartoon universe:

* scritching out a tick mark on the walls of his prison to note the passage of time.
* doing a soft shoe routine
* practicing tai chi
* shadow boxing
* tinkering with a peep hole in the belly button region
* knitting
* swimming laps and especially doing flip turns
* sproinging off every wall in the room like Ricochet Rabbit
* throwing a temper tantrum on my cervix

Pregnant women habitually rub their bellies. I can't speak for anybody else, but, when I'm doing it, I'm just trying to find the next place he might bust a move.

Things a Child Should Never Hear - Abridged

Ah Ruth, I could write volumes (VOLUMES!) on this subject. I have a lifetime's supply - creeping up on 38 years worth - of unpleasantries to share. Thankfully, you've hemmed me in with your own five short but fine examples.

(Alot of these are actually multi-sensory experiences.)

(Terrifying, I know.)

1) Mom giggling, "Oh Bill!" and elbowing my dad in the ribs while waggling her eyebrows at him as a girl with very large breasts passes us.

2) At Kurt's very first visit to my parents' home, Mom standing up to fetch something from the kitchen and farting in his face as she does.

3) In my grandmother's nursing home, after she has asked if she can go out shopping, Mom asking the doctor to evaluate the possibility like so: "We know that her health is very fragile and that she shouldn't be exposed to any kind of risk unless it is absolutely necessary. Do you think she'd be in any danger if we took her out like that?" and then gesticulating wildly to the doctor behind my grandmother's back that the answer must be, in no uncertain terms, "No."

4) Scene: INTERIOR, MOVIE THEATER, NIGHT

Me: Mimi (other grandmother) asked me if Pop had cancer.

Mom: What did you tell her?

Me: I said No. I mean technically he doesn't have cancer anymore because they removed it yesterday. Also, I don't like the idea of outing my parents as liars to my grandmother. Why the hell didn't you tell her?

Mom: That's a pretty good answer. I wonder how she figured it out.

Me: She told the nurses he was getting his prostate removed and they said the only reason they'd do that would be if he had cancer.

Mom: Hmmm.

Me: Why DIDN'T you TELL her!?!

Mom: We didn't want her to worry.

Me: So you stuck ME in the incredibly awkward situation of having to lie to my grandmother so that you didn't have to deal with the consequences. You could've at least told me what you were up to.

Mom: I'm sorry. You know how your grandmother is.

Me: ...

5) The next day, hearing my grandmother say "If your father dies before I do, your mother will put me out on the street."