Well, after much soul searching, I have finally arrived at a decision in the family planning area. I have decided that it seems reasonable to stop at this point. We have a boy and a girl already. A million dollar family. And we are more are less stretched to our financial limit right now. And in two years Payton will be ready for kindergarten. If we have another baby I will just be going back to work and needing to start all over with childcare, etc. It is, in a way, a relief. I feel good about the fact that we won't need to worry about money for college tuitions, etc. And perhaps a family vacation will be in order soon. Even trying to get pregnant was taking its toll. I'm glad in a way that I won't be going through that this month. Because as much as you try to tell yourself that you're not getting your hopes up, the day your period comes is pretty freaking crappy. So Geoff is going to call the DF tomorrow (Dr. Fenton) and book an appointment. He doesn't even seem the slightest bit hesitant. I think he actually wants to go. Even right now I'm looking at the computer tower and its scribbled all over with bright red marker. I just shake my head. Soon they'll be older... Soon I'll have some peace of mind and maybe, just maybe, a somewhat tidy household.
So that is what's new with me. I am a little saddened because that may mean the end of my blog, as that is why I started writing this blog. I don't know what I'll write about if not my compulsive urine tests. Don't cry for me Argentina.
Anyways, I have not heard back from anyone about the meatloaf. Its like a shot right through my heart. Come on guys, get cooking. I will offer a reward for the first person to reply that they made the meatloaf. I won't tell you now what it is, mainly because first off I'm not that sure yet what the prize will be. And secondly, I'm pretty sure that whatever it is, its not going to be anything so awesome that it really persuade anyone. Damn. Guess I shouldn't have given that away.
And also, I haven't heard back from everyone on the kitchen issue. See, I myself, am somewhat partial to the blue but I'm a little nervous that it will make the kitchen look dark and gloomy. And I was watching a show yesterday where the designer said that blue is the hardest color to do because its really hard to get the right shade. Anyways, please let me know what you are thinking if you have not done so already.
Peace out.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
The next installment
The Session
-5-
The counselors name was Jan Kincaid. She was an overweight woman in her early forties with red frizzy hair and large, square glasses. What made the situation even more unfortunate was the fact that she was wearing a heavy denim dress adorned with a pattern of orange sailboats. Okay, so she was a counselor not a fashion consultant, but still. It was hard to get past her appearance. I had expected someone mousy looking for some reason, though I wasn’t sure why. I was distinctly uncomfortable as I sat down across from her on a leather chair.
She sat poised with pen in hand, and I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to start or she was supposed to start. What was the protocol? I cleared my throat. She tapped the pen a few times, still silent.
“So I guess you know why I’m here,” I began tentatively. Someone had to say something; it was getting really awkward, even for a psychotherapy session.
“Yes, but I would like to hear you explain it in your own words, anyways,” she said. Her voice was totally incongruent with her appearance: smooth, soft, silky. She spoke like she was five seven and a hundred and ten pounds. I suddenly thought about those sex phone lines and wondered if they were actually manned by a group of equally unattractive ladies with oddly mismatched voices, sitting around smoking cigarettes and eating doughnuts while horny men were scammed out of their paychecks based on the pretense of sensuality.
“ Well, I’ve been thinking about becoming a surrogate for my boss, Cynthia Jacobson,” I answered.
“Tell me more about that,” she prompted.
‘Tell me more’? What else was there to tell?
“Well, I just thought it would be good,” I said. “For both of us,” I added.
“Mmm,” she said, nodding and jotting something down. What was she writing?
“Cynthia’s had so many things go wrong already. I just, you know, thought that this would be something…something important somehow. It would just really be a good thing to do,” I rambled. I knew that I was rambling but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
“Its interesting, Christine, how you speak so objectively. You’re not telling me about how you feel. About what’s in here,” she said, thumping her fist to her chest like Tarzan.
“Right, what’s in here,” I answered with a sharp nod. “Uhm, well I guess I feel, just sort of like…well I’m not really feeling anything right now, actually, but I’m sure that I will. I’ll be happy, I suppose, just to be able to help, assuming that things go according to plan. And I really do need the ‘financial compensation’, which might be a terrible thing to say, but I guess I just look at it like a job. Like I’m getting paid to do a job. Nothing more and nothing less,” I answered. There it was. It seemed cold, even to my own ears, but there was little I could do about it. Those were my true feelings on the subject. If she had been shocked by my words she didn’t show it.
“Do you have a support system?” She asked instead, abruptly changing the subject. She was regarding me with a look of intense curiosity.
“A support system?”
“Yes, friends, family, that sort of thing?”
“Yeah, of course I have friends. And family. Lots of family. Lots of friends and family,” I replied enthusiastically.
“And have you discussed any of this with them?”
“No, not yet,” I replied.
“What’s holding you back?”
“Nothing. It’s just that nothing is really for sure yet. I might as well wait until things are more, you know, finalized.”
She raised her eyebrows, giving a knowing glance and then tapped her pen on the table. “Are you sure that’s it?”
“Well, sure I’m sure. I mean, they’d be cool about it. And even if they weren’t, it’s not exactly their decision is it?” I answered back, feeling defensive for some reason.
“That’s true. How have they reacted in the past to the decisions you’ve made?”
“Oh, they’re usually… just supportive. Very supportive,” I said with a nod. It was true. In a way. Okay, I know that not everyone would consider “What the hell are you thinking? Have you lost your fucking mind” ‘supportive’, but it was just their way. And I know that deep down inside they were supportive of me, but they just didn’t really know how to show it.
Really.
“For example?” she asked. Why was she making this so difficult? And what did it really matter in the scheme of things.
“Can we just change the subject,” I asked, really not wanting to get into anything too heavy.
“All right. How about your sex life. How often do you have sex?” she asked, perfectly poised. She posed the question as plainly as one might ask about the weather. But this wasn’t the weather.
It took me a moment to regain my composure. “I don’t see how that could possibly be relevant,” I stammered.
“Everything’s relevant,” she answered, flippantly.
“Well, fine. Easy enough. I don’t have a sex life, satisfied?”
“Are you?” she asked, a smug look on her face.
“Of course I am. My life is very fulfilling. I have wonderful friends. A great family. A challenging job. What more could I possibly ask for?” I argued. I knew I was being defensive, but this lady was getting to me. What right did she have to be prying into my sex life? None whatsoever. Besides, who was she to judge me? What about her sex life? Her apartment probably wasn’t exactly a hotbed of activity, either. I mean, lets face it, there’s not a huge market out there for older, frizzy haired ladies with glasses bigger than their tits. Not to mention the dumpy body. And the attitude.
Perhaps I was being a little harsh. It was possible that there were breasts somewhere under that tent of a dress. It was strange. When she moved it gave the impression that the sailboats were actually adrift on a sea of denim.
“Hm-Hmm,” she said, clearing her throat. Abruptly, I realized I was staring at her chest.
Oh God.
“Sorry, I was just, uh, lost in thought there.”
“Whatever,” she replied tersely, though she looked somewhat flustered. “Let’s talk nutrition. Give a run down of everything you ate yesterday,” she said, again changing the subject abruptly.
“Yesterday. Yest-er-day,” I said while thinking. Visions of coffee, doughnuts, more coffee and a piece of cold pizza washed down with a bottle of wine filled my head. “Yesterday…” I said, stalling now. “Bran flakes in the morning. With skim milk, of course. Lentil soup for lunch with a spinach salad. And for supper… what was it now? Oh, yes, broiled chicken with asparagus, I believe. Yes. I believe that’s it.”
“Pretty impressive,” she answered. “Of course I don’t believe a word of it.”
Outrageous! She was accusing me of lying! Of course, I was lying, but that was beside the point.
“Are you accusing me of lying?” I asked, incensed.
“Should I be?” she responded. She was impossible. How she could get off calling herself a counselor was beyond me. Where did she receive her training- at the CIA school of interrogation?
“Of course you shouldn’t be. I happen to love lentils and spinach.” Another white lie. Truthfully, I probably would not be able to pick out a lentil in the supermarket if my life depended on it.
“Really? And I suppose that’s how you maintain your what…size ten figure? By eating so healthy?”
Was she calling me fat?
“I happen to be a size eight,” I retorted. Another lie. I was a size eight. Before dear fiancé deserted me and left me with nothing but Hagen Daaz and Tostitos to keep me company at night.
“Sorry, my mistake,” she allowed with a slight grimace. “How do you feel about your body?”
“Well, naturally I would like to shed a few pounds. Don’t we all?”
“Some of us accept our bodies, imperfect though they may be.”
And some of us are then delusional, I thought warily.
I only nodded, growing tired of her games. Screw it. I was wanting to do Cynthia a favor, God only knows why, but if she was going to make me jump through hoops for it, then just screw it. I can just as easily go back to my tomato soup and ichiban noodles.
“You say you look at this as a job, nothing less and nothing more?” she asked.
“Pretty much,” I replied, crossing my legs and folding my arms across my chest. Hadn’t I already said that?
“Do you really think that’s a realistic approach? At some point, won’t there be feelings involved? You may be underestimating the bond that a woman feels for the baby she carries,” she said, all nice and motherly again.
“But it’s not my baby to begin with. I won’t bond with it,” I answered with conviction. I could hardly see myself bonding with anything that had Cynthias’ blood running through its veins.
“All right,” she said, writing again. When she looked up she informed me that the session was over. Sweeter words had never been spoken.
“All right, well, thank you for your time Dr. Kincaid,” I said, getting up.
“Oh, no, I’m not a doctor,” she admitted.
That actually explained a lot.
“I was under the impression you were a psychologist,” I probed, perplexed.
“No. Sorry for the confusion. I’m Cynthia’s sister. She just wanted my opinion of you.”
-5-
The counselors name was Jan Kincaid. She was an overweight woman in her early forties with red frizzy hair and large, square glasses. What made the situation even more unfortunate was the fact that she was wearing a heavy denim dress adorned with a pattern of orange sailboats. Okay, so she was a counselor not a fashion consultant, but still. It was hard to get past her appearance. I had expected someone mousy looking for some reason, though I wasn’t sure why. I was distinctly uncomfortable as I sat down across from her on a leather chair.
She sat poised with pen in hand, and I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to start or she was supposed to start. What was the protocol? I cleared my throat. She tapped the pen a few times, still silent.
“So I guess you know why I’m here,” I began tentatively. Someone had to say something; it was getting really awkward, even for a psychotherapy session.
“Yes, but I would like to hear you explain it in your own words, anyways,” she said. Her voice was totally incongruent with her appearance: smooth, soft, silky. She spoke like she was five seven and a hundred and ten pounds. I suddenly thought about those sex phone lines and wondered if they were actually manned by a group of equally unattractive ladies with oddly mismatched voices, sitting around smoking cigarettes and eating doughnuts while horny men were scammed out of their paychecks based on the pretense of sensuality.
“ Well, I’ve been thinking about becoming a surrogate for my boss, Cynthia Jacobson,” I answered.
“Tell me more about that,” she prompted.
‘Tell me more’? What else was there to tell?
“Well, I just thought it would be good,” I said. “For both of us,” I added.
“Mmm,” she said, nodding and jotting something down. What was she writing?
“Cynthia’s had so many things go wrong already. I just, you know, thought that this would be something…something important somehow. It would just really be a good thing to do,” I rambled. I knew that I was rambling but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
“Its interesting, Christine, how you speak so objectively. You’re not telling me about how you feel. About what’s in here,” she said, thumping her fist to her chest like Tarzan.
“Right, what’s in here,” I answered with a sharp nod. “Uhm, well I guess I feel, just sort of like…well I’m not really feeling anything right now, actually, but I’m sure that I will. I’ll be happy, I suppose, just to be able to help, assuming that things go according to plan. And I really do need the ‘financial compensation’, which might be a terrible thing to say, but I guess I just look at it like a job. Like I’m getting paid to do a job. Nothing more and nothing less,” I answered. There it was. It seemed cold, even to my own ears, but there was little I could do about it. Those were my true feelings on the subject. If she had been shocked by my words she didn’t show it.
“Do you have a support system?” She asked instead, abruptly changing the subject. She was regarding me with a look of intense curiosity.
“A support system?”
“Yes, friends, family, that sort of thing?”
“Yeah, of course I have friends. And family. Lots of family. Lots of friends and family,” I replied enthusiastically.
“And have you discussed any of this with them?”
“No, not yet,” I replied.
“What’s holding you back?”
“Nothing. It’s just that nothing is really for sure yet. I might as well wait until things are more, you know, finalized.”
She raised her eyebrows, giving a knowing glance and then tapped her pen on the table. “Are you sure that’s it?”
“Well, sure I’m sure. I mean, they’d be cool about it. And even if they weren’t, it’s not exactly their decision is it?” I answered back, feeling defensive for some reason.
“That’s true. How have they reacted in the past to the decisions you’ve made?”
“Oh, they’re usually… just supportive. Very supportive,” I said with a nod. It was true. In a way. Okay, I know that not everyone would consider “What the hell are you thinking? Have you lost your fucking mind” ‘supportive’, but it was just their way. And I know that deep down inside they were supportive of me, but they just didn’t really know how to show it.
Really.
“For example?” she asked. Why was she making this so difficult? And what did it really matter in the scheme of things.
“Can we just change the subject,” I asked, really not wanting to get into anything too heavy.
“All right. How about your sex life. How often do you have sex?” she asked, perfectly poised. She posed the question as plainly as one might ask about the weather. But this wasn’t the weather.
It took me a moment to regain my composure. “I don’t see how that could possibly be relevant,” I stammered.
“Everything’s relevant,” she answered, flippantly.
“Well, fine. Easy enough. I don’t have a sex life, satisfied?”
“Are you?” she asked, a smug look on her face.
“Of course I am. My life is very fulfilling. I have wonderful friends. A great family. A challenging job. What more could I possibly ask for?” I argued. I knew I was being defensive, but this lady was getting to me. What right did she have to be prying into my sex life? None whatsoever. Besides, who was she to judge me? What about her sex life? Her apartment probably wasn’t exactly a hotbed of activity, either. I mean, lets face it, there’s not a huge market out there for older, frizzy haired ladies with glasses bigger than their tits. Not to mention the dumpy body. And the attitude.
Perhaps I was being a little harsh. It was possible that there were breasts somewhere under that tent of a dress. It was strange. When she moved it gave the impression that the sailboats were actually adrift on a sea of denim.
“Hm-Hmm,” she said, clearing her throat. Abruptly, I realized I was staring at her chest.
Oh God.
“Sorry, I was just, uh, lost in thought there.”
“Whatever,” she replied tersely, though she looked somewhat flustered. “Let’s talk nutrition. Give a run down of everything you ate yesterday,” she said, again changing the subject abruptly.
“Yesterday. Yest-er-day,” I said while thinking. Visions of coffee, doughnuts, more coffee and a piece of cold pizza washed down with a bottle of wine filled my head. “Yesterday…” I said, stalling now. “Bran flakes in the morning. With skim milk, of course. Lentil soup for lunch with a spinach salad. And for supper… what was it now? Oh, yes, broiled chicken with asparagus, I believe. Yes. I believe that’s it.”
“Pretty impressive,” she answered. “Of course I don’t believe a word of it.”
Outrageous! She was accusing me of lying! Of course, I was lying, but that was beside the point.
“Are you accusing me of lying?” I asked, incensed.
“Should I be?” she responded. She was impossible. How she could get off calling herself a counselor was beyond me. Where did she receive her training- at the CIA school of interrogation?
“Of course you shouldn’t be. I happen to love lentils and spinach.” Another white lie. Truthfully, I probably would not be able to pick out a lentil in the supermarket if my life depended on it.
“Really? And I suppose that’s how you maintain your what…size ten figure? By eating so healthy?”
Was she calling me fat?
“I happen to be a size eight,” I retorted. Another lie. I was a size eight. Before dear fiancé deserted me and left me with nothing but Hagen Daaz and Tostitos to keep me company at night.
“Sorry, my mistake,” she allowed with a slight grimace. “How do you feel about your body?”
“Well, naturally I would like to shed a few pounds. Don’t we all?”
“Some of us accept our bodies, imperfect though they may be.”
And some of us are then delusional, I thought warily.
I only nodded, growing tired of her games. Screw it. I was wanting to do Cynthia a favor, God only knows why, but if she was going to make me jump through hoops for it, then just screw it. I can just as easily go back to my tomato soup and ichiban noodles.
“You say you look at this as a job, nothing less and nothing more?” she asked.
“Pretty much,” I replied, crossing my legs and folding my arms across my chest. Hadn’t I already said that?
“Do you really think that’s a realistic approach? At some point, won’t there be feelings involved? You may be underestimating the bond that a woman feels for the baby she carries,” she said, all nice and motherly again.
“But it’s not my baby to begin with. I won’t bond with it,” I answered with conviction. I could hardly see myself bonding with anything that had Cynthias’ blood running through its veins.
“All right,” she said, writing again. When she looked up she informed me that the session was over. Sweeter words had never been spoken.
“All right, well, thank you for your time Dr. Kincaid,” I said, getting up.
“Oh, no, I’m not a doctor,” she admitted.
That actually explained a lot.
“I was under the impression you were a psychologist,” I probed, perplexed.
“No. Sorry for the confusion. I’m Cynthia’s sister. She just wanted my opinion of you.”
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
My VIP's
These are pictures of two VIP's in my world. To the left: Brady
Meowserly Townsend Makepeace. To the right: Payton Rose Makepeace. They are both very sweet. And I must say that it came as somewhat of a shock to me to learn that Brady has been made fun of in some circles behind her precious little back. That cuts deep. What cuts even deeper? The fact that the very people who are making fun of her are those who are supposed to love her most-- her own aunty and uncle and grandma and grandpa. Appalling, isn't it??? And look at that little face. Simply precious. I, for one, happen to think independence is a good trait. They think that just because Brady does her own thing she's "feral" and "antisocial". Its true that you cannot hold her. Or pet her for that matter. But you CAN admire her from afar. Rather like Angelina Jolie. And noone calls her feral. Yes, they are very similar, but without the tramping around-- Brady Moeswerly Townsend Makepeace is fixed so does not engage in unbecoming behavior. Anyways, I like to think of her as moody and eccentric, like a tempermental artist. At any rate, she brings a LOT of joy into our lives. Even her playful pouncing is just a treasure. Who doesn't love it when they are about to drift off into a peaceful slumber when POUNCE, all of a sudden, virtually from nowhere, razor sharp claws dig themselves into your exposed feet?? Sure they bleed a bit, but its worth it just to see that little face. I just smile and say 'you got me again, you little rascal'.
As for the other one, Payton, she is also very cute, as you can see. She is coming along quite nicely. I took the kids out for supper tonight and some lady came up to me afterwards and said "you have such nice children". It was funny b/c we went to this place once before (the Peking by Superstore-- a classy joint let me warn you, so don't even bother to go there unless you have some serious coin and reservations months in advance) and Payton got a sucker afterwards. That was months ago. But she remembered that. Tonight, after we were done our supper she went up to the little Asian fellow behind the till and said "where's my sucker?" Everyone got a good laugh out of that. Funny how its cute when you're two but not so cute when your older. Whenever I do that people just give me a real dirty look. Go figure.
Well, I suppose that is all for todays edition. Have a pleasant evening. And go Blake on American Idol.
Also, I wasn't kidding about that meatloaf recipe. Its the BOMB. Seriously, if you have hamburger in your freezer right now, go and defrost it for tommorow. You won't be sorry. Peace out.
Also, there is one VIP missing from this blog: my son Gage. I promise to post a picture of him soon. It's just that they're so scarce. Isn't it supposed to be the second child that gets the shaft?? Guess I must be oppositional.
Sunday, March 4, 2007
More decisions...
I have another tough decision to make. I'm planning on painting the kitchen and can't choose between blue and yellow. I'm not planning on painting right now. It's more like within the next couple of months. A short term goal. I plan on painting it and replacing the blinds and getting a new light fixture above the table. Just little cosmetic things, but hopefully it will make it a big difference. Eventually, we hope to replace the patio doors with French doors but thats a little out of our price range right now what with our 30% interest rate loan at the Brick. Not to mention my little furry friend with a thousand dollar price tag, who I must tell you, slept the night last night!! From 11:00 until 7:30. It was great. Anyways, here are the paint chips. I will put this to a public vote. By the way, the background color is the cabinets, dirty as you can see.
A big shout out to everyone with regards to my last entry. I appreciate your comments. There are no easy answers. Geoff and I will have to make a decision soon, as this week is when I'm fertile. I have to say that I tend to lead towards not having another baby, especially when I think about the face that thirty looms in the not to distant future for me and forty for Geoff.
On a completely different note, I wanted to share with y'all a great recipe. This is the simplest thing. To make meatloaf you simply mix hamburger with a package of Stove Top stuffing mix. And you needn't add anything else. It has the breadcrumbs, onions and spices. It holds it together beautifully and it tastes great. You must try it. You simply must. If you do, please report back to me on what you thought of it. I will thank my momma for the recipe. That woman is a genius in the kitchen I tell ya.
Lastly, I don't know who out there is watching American Idol this season. But for those of you that follow the program, I'm cheering for Blake. I think he's awesomely talented. I also like Brandon and Jared. Who are you cheering for? Well, have a nice evening and pleasant Monday. And about that: who says 'have a pleasant day?' I've been to Superstore a few times and been told to 'have a pleasant day'. I must admit that I felt slightly slighted. It's like 'what I'm not good enough for 'have a good day'?? I must settle for just plain pleasant?? And speaking of pleasant, I'm glad to report that they have a new jobshop commercial now. Its still maddeningly annoying, but at least it's different.
Saturday, March 3, 2007
The Path Not Taken
That is the title of Roberts Frost poem or some such thing about a man at a crossroads. I have really no idea what the rest of the poem is about, in fact, I actually don't think I've ever really read it. Or if I have I guess it was a long time ago. But anyways, this is not a dissertation on American Literature. The reason why I have borrowed that line is because I feel that I am at a similar crossroad.
The other night Geoff voiced to me his deep desire not to have any more children. I could see that it was not easy for him, he knows how important this baby is to me. In fact, we both cried that night. Well, me more than him. He wasn't saying that we couldn't have another. He was just asking me to really evaluate whether another baby is really the best thing for us at this point, and to think with my head and not just my heart.
The fact is that the spacing with these kids is not going to be what we had hoped. We wanted Payton and the new baby to be really close in age, so we could raise them together kind of. But now Payton will be three and a half when this baby is born, at the very youngest. Which, as you know, is only a short while from school age, a point which will afford us a lot more freedom- both financially and otherwise (our daycare fees will be a LOT cheaper once she's in school). Also, Gage is going to be ten when this hypothetical baby is born. We had agreed before that once our oldest is in his double digits then it's definately too late to start all over again.
What's more is that I know that realistically, we can't really afford for me to take another year off work. I would get EI but the wages are pathetic- only half of the salary that I'm accustomed to and that we count on to pay bills.
It was very difficult for me to even consider this. But yesterday at work I made a list of pros an cons of having a third child and I could tell at a quick glance that the cons easily outnumbered the pros. The exercise also made me realize that the number one reason why I want to have another baby is to replace Reid. And honestly, I'm not so sure that that's really a great reason to have another child. We still haven't made a firm decision one way or another. But the more that I think about it the more I must admit that perhaps we should simply be happy with what we have. The other thing is that I have always wanted to take Gage on a vacation. But if we have another baby we won't be able to go anywhere for a long time- I'll be tied down for nine months with the pregnancy and then another year or so afterwards with breastfeeding. Geoff and I have talked a bit about maybe taking the kids on a Disney Cruise next winter- a vacation of a lifetime for all of us. But that will be out of the question with a new baby.
These are difficult decisions to make. At times I feel good about the fact that we should just stop trying. But at times it tugs painfully at my heart. I want to see that positive line on a pregnancy test one more time. To hear that heart beat on Doppler for the first time again. To feel movement from within. To experience the sensation and satisfaction of seeing a baby asleep at my breast. But perhaps I must give up on this dream.
Anyways, this a bigger dilemna than the coffee pot, which as you know, took several grueling staff meetings to hammer out the decision. Geoff has agreed that if we decide not to have another baby he will have a vasectomy, the only thing I would agree to. I said if YOU don't want another baby then YOU can go and get fixed. I have some doubts about his going through with this so I could still end up pregant anyways. But anyways, in the meantime, I will welcome your input and feedback on this issue.
The other night Geoff voiced to me his deep desire not to have any more children. I could see that it was not easy for him, he knows how important this baby is to me. In fact, we both cried that night. Well, me more than him. He wasn't saying that we couldn't have another. He was just asking me to really evaluate whether another baby is really the best thing for us at this point, and to think with my head and not just my heart.
The fact is that the spacing with these kids is not going to be what we had hoped. We wanted Payton and the new baby to be really close in age, so we could raise them together kind of. But now Payton will be three and a half when this baby is born, at the very youngest. Which, as you know, is only a short while from school age, a point which will afford us a lot more freedom- both financially and otherwise (our daycare fees will be a LOT cheaper once she's in school). Also, Gage is going to be ten when this hypothetical baby is born. We had agreed before that once our oldest is in his double digits then it's definately too late to start all over again.
What's more is that I know that realistically, we can't really afford for me to take another year off work. I would get EI but the wages are pathetic- only half of the salary that I'm accustomed to and that we count on to pay bills.
It was very difficult for me to even consider this. But yesterday at work I made a list of pros an cons of having a third child and I could tell at a quick glance that the cons easily outnumbered the pros. The exercise also made me realize that the number one reason why I want to have another baby is to replace Reid. And honestly, I'm not so sure that that's really a great reason to have another child. We still haven't made a firm decision one way or another. But the more that I think about it the more I must admit that perhaps we should simply be happy with what we have. The other thing is that I have always wanted to take Gage on a vacation. But if we have another baby we won't be able to go anywhere for a long time- I'll be tied down for nine months with the pregnancy and then another year or so afterwards with breastfeeding. Geoff and I have talked a bit about maybe taking the kids on a Disney Cruise next winter- a vacation of a lifetime for all of us. But that will be out of the question with a new baby.
These are difficult decisions to make. At times I feel good about the fact that we should just stop trying. But at times it tugs painfully at my heart. I want to see that positive line on a pregnancy test one more time. To hear that heart beat on Doppler for the first time again. To feel movement from within. To experience the sensation and satisfaction of seeing a baby asleep at my breast. But perhaps I must give up on this dream.
Anyways, this a bigger dilemna than the coffee pot, which as you know, took several grueling staff meetings to hammer out the decision. Geoff has agreed that if we decide not to have another baby he will have a vasectomy, the only thing I would agree to. I said if YOU don't want another baby then YOU can go and get fixed. I have some doubts about his going through with this so I could still end up pregant anyways. But anyways, in the meantime, I will welcome your input and feedback on this issue.
Friday, March 2, 2007
Hell might have froze over...
Well, I guess I missed the weather report, but it seems to have happened. Hell has actually frozen over. Or at least thats the conclusion I've reached after it the unimaginable has finally come to fruition. OUR NEW BED IS HERE!!!!!!
Geoff and had our first sleep on it last night (among other things. Wink, wink). It was quite enjoyable, I must say (the sleep, that is, althought the other stuff was OK too). You are all invited to come in and test it out. It's really something.
Other news: Our dog, JD, got her hair cut, much needed. I was holding out on getting it cut b/c of the crappy weather. It seems cruel to shave her down when its minus sixty six outside. But now that the weather is breaking, we took her in and got her clipped. She is looking very cute. Almost as cute as Baxter. That is her featured in the picture. She is now the Alpha dog, which means that she is supposed to be at the top of the dog social structure. But Baxter doesn't understand this. He thinks HE's the alpha dog. So needless to say, the two really don't get along well at all. But they're cute.
Other than that, same old same old for me. I have been deep into my American Idol watching so have little time for anything else as it is on three times a week now. I still have not heard anything back from any of the magazines I submitted my article to. In a way I think that's actually a good thing, as it may mean that they're actually considering it. Or, alternately, they think it is such utter drivel that it is not worthy of a response at all. Hard to say. Well, thats it for now. Hamburger Helper is a very delicate meal and I must not mess around. Got to get back in that kitchen to slave away. Peace out.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
HGP7
“Mrs. Jacobson, if I may, it occurred to me while I was researching this stuff for you that, that perhaps I could… uhm…help you?” I concluded, not really sure how to word it appropriately. What is the polite way to say ‘sell you some uterine space’?
“Help me?” she said, raising her eyebrows into an impossibly high arch and lighting a cigarette. “How so?” It seemed obvious that she thought the idea was preposterous. An insignificant little commoner like me, helping her? Was it preposterous? Perhaps. But I had to find out.
“It was just a thought, but I’ve had a bit of a rough go here lately. Student loans, car payments, and then there was my ex, who ran up all my credit cards before he… before he…anyways, that’s not the point. The point is that we can help each other.”
She dragged on her cigarette and then French inhaled it. “This is a lot to consider, Kristina,” she answered after a moment.
“I know,” I replied. A part of me couldn’t believe it I’d said it in the first place. Was I really considering this? Could I really go through with this?
“You’d be going through invasive procedures, pregnancy, childbirth. You’ll experience discomfort, pain, weight gain, be marred with stretch marks. Of course you would be compensated, but would you really, truly, be able to handle all of that? Are you not getting married, Kristina?”
Never mind the fact that I hadn’t worn my wedding band for the last six months, or the fact that I mentioned that the wedding was off right in front of her at the ‘festive party’ which, as you well know, was neither festive nor a party.
“No, I’m not getting married.” Hadn’t I just mentioned an ex? Does she listen to me at all? “And as for whether or not I can handle all of that, I don’t know,” I answered honestly. She wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement for the whole thing.
“I shall have you speak with a counselor, to determine your suitability as a candidate. The one thing that you must understand, Kristina, is that Horrace and I have experienced a great deal of disappointment. Four miscarriages. One adoption that fell through at the last moment. We cannot endure another loss.”
I simply nodded. What could I say? I couldn’t very well guarantee her a child, for it was totally out of my control. I didn’t really know how fertile I was, I’d never tried to get pregnant before. In fact, I’d actively avoided pregnancy for the previous ten years.
There was a moment of awkward silence, and for a moment I thought she was done with me. But then I realized, she was trying to figure out a way to thank me, something with which she was clearly unaccustomed.
“Kristina, I do consider your offer very generous,” she said while butting her half smoked Slim in an overflowing ashtray.
I guess that was the best she could do.
“Help me?” she said, raising her eyebrows into an impossibly high arch and lighting a cigarette. “How so?” It seemed obvious that she thought the idea was preposterous. An insignificant little commoner like me, helping her? Was it preposterous? Perhaps. But I had to find out.
“It was just a thought, but I’ve had a bit of a rough go here lately. Student loans, car payments, and then there was my ex, who ran up all my credit cards before he… before he…anyways, that’s not the point. The point is that we can help each other.”
She dragged on her cigarette and then French inhaled it. “This is a lot to consider, Kristina,” she answered after a moment.
“I know,” I replied. A part of me couldn’t believe it I’d said it in the first place. Was I really considering this? Could I really go through with this?
“You’d be going through invasive procedures, pregnancy, childbirth. You’ll experience discomfort, pain, weight gain, be marred with stretch marks. Of course you would be compensated, but would you really, truly, be able to handle all of that? Are you not getting married, Kristina?”
Never mind the fact that I hadn’t worn my wedding band for the last six months, or the fact that I mentioned that the wedding was off right in front of her at the ‘festive party’ which, as you well know, was neither festive nor a party.
“No, I’m not getting married.” Hadn’t I just mentioned an ex? Does she listen to me at all? “And as for whether or not I can handle all of that, I don’t know,” I answered honestly. She wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement for the whole thing.
“I shall have you speak with a counselor, to determine your suitability as a candidate. The one thing that you must understand, Kristina, is that Horrace and I have experienced a great deal of disappointment. Four miscarriages. One adoption that fell through at the last moment. We cannot endure another loss.”
I simply nodded. What could I say? I couldn’t very well guarantee her a child, for it was totally out of my control. I didn’t really know how fertile I was, I’d never tried to get pregnant before. In fact, I’d actively avoided pregnancy for the previous ten years.
There was a moment of awkward silence, and for a moment I thought she was done with me. But then I realized, she was trying to figure out a way to thank me, something with which she was clearly unaccustomed.
“Kristina, I do consider your offer very generous,” she said while butting her half smoked Slim in an overflowing ashtray.
I guess that was the best she could do.
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