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If You Want To Disable Me Just Push Me On My Back And Watch Me Flail Like An Overturned Turtle

Oh hey. Hi. I'm still here! I won't go away again, I don't think. Obviously I'm dealing with some personal stuff that isn't too difficult to figure out if you've been reading here for any period of time. However, I don't feel like writing about it just yet. So I took the blog down for a week to avoid splattering my guts all over here in some highly hormonal pregnant state. Look at that! I'm making grown up lady choices about what to share here on my blaaawg.

More coming very soon. Speaking of pregnancy, stick a fork in me, I'm done.


Just Another Bird Floating On a Hurricane

This morning I waged war against aching hips and a lower back whinier than Henry on his worst day and immersed myself in below freezing temperatures to walk through our neighborhood.

It was fairly early... No sound but the distant whoosh of passing traffic on the other side of the farms lining the northern half of our village. The sky was azure, snow like powdered sugar, golden cornstalks shyly peeking through the drifts and air so cold each inhale was a refreshing slap to the lungs.

The snow crunched beneath my footsteps but I couldn't hear it, only feel the shifting vibrations against the soles of my shoes, because instead of the silence I listened to Mazzy Star: Look On Down From The Bridge.

Everybody seems so far away from me
Everybody just wants to be free
Look away from the sky
It's no different when you're leaving home
I can't be the same thing to you now
I'm just gone, just gone
How could I say goodbye?
How could I say goodbye?

Know those scenes in music videos or in the movies where someone stands still while traffic and people move obliviously around them at increased speed? That's how I feel right now. All the time. Just another bird floating on a hurricane.

Action is required but I am molosses: thoughts, movements, feelings... Sticky and slow-moving. Fills my mouth, drips thickly down my throat, into my chest, a gummy mass surrounding my dead heart and then it fills my stomach until I feel like I could spend hours, days, spray-puking the sad/beautiful/horrifying/dazzling/heartbreaking realities of love and life and death and never be finished.

I see your mouth moving but I can't hear what you're saying.

I know the days are slipping by but I'm not keeping count.

And Mazzy sings on.


What Men Want?

"Some guys don't dig signs of natural maturity in a woman. For what its worth, they are not my brothers in any of this. For me, there is nothing quite as alluring as when I see an intriguing woman with little crow's feet at the corners of her eyes. I just think crow's feet on certain feminine faces are magnificent; when a girl smiles and they subtly appear like teeny angels knocking on the windowpanes of her eyeballs: grrrrrrr. Plastic surgery is the enemy, people. Remember that."

Serge apparently has a thing for gothic chicks. I did not know this until now. He also likes crow's feet on women. If you want to know what else about the ladies drives Serge wild, check it out here.

Act Three

I don't know if it's writer's block or a slow retreat from personal blogging, but I'm having a hard time writing here. Maybe because I'm trying to redefine this space in my head? For the longest time I had Things To Say. I was a newlywed, trying to find my way in New York City, a recovering Mormon still pissed at the church, mad about this thing or that thing. I also spent years passive-aggressively blogging at Serge's ex-girlfriend who I now adore more than many of my childhood friends. Like, it's three-in-the-morning-are-you-there-I-need-to-talk, is how I feel about her. She's fantastic. So I was right to be jealous of her for all those years, is what I'm saying. That's right, I have found some way to vindicate being an asshole for the duration of that scenario - her fabulousness justified my jealousy and shitty behavior. She and Serge have also reconnected. I mean, just Facebook friends and stuff, but it makes me feel good. I caused a lot of unnecessary bad feelings for those two and I'm glad to see it evaporate.

Despite being labeled a "mommyblogger" I've never really viewed this space as such. I write about my kids occasionally but not in any significant way. This space has always been more about me... And my marriage. Maybe that's why I'm struggling. As our marriage approaches the ten year mark I'm having a difficult time defining it as well. Maybe it isn't the marriage I'm having trouble defining, but me.

Go ahead, whisper "mid-life crisis" or "pregnancy hormones" through your judgmental lips if you like. But it doesn't feel like that. I'm not ruling it out, I mean, can we ever really know what we're experiencing while we're experiencing it? Usually it takes the 20/20 perspective hindsight affords us. That thought freezes me up when it comes to making heavy duty decisions. How can you make a decision when you know damn well that you aren't seeing the big picture, that you're flapping around in act three and there are two more acts to go before this play is over...

I don't know.

33 weeks. That's what we're rolling up on over here. And when I say "rolling" I mean it. Mama be rotund. I feel big as hell but I've actually gained less weight with this guy than Violet and Henry. I'm totally jonesing to go to the gym, though. Or just walk down the street without my bones creaking beneath the forty extra pounds I'm sporting these days. I've got my eye on 37 weeks, which occurs the first week of February, I think. They say you're full term then and my midwife says if I go into labor at any point after that we're all good to welcome the little dude to the world right here at home, in the same ancient parsonage that has likely been witness to more than a few births.

We've started hypnobirthing classes, which NO, it isn't Serge waving a gold pocketwatch in front of me telling me I'm getting verrrry sleeeepy, but it is similar in that you can convince your mind of lots of things and those things can have an actual physiological result on your body. And it's not even convincing your mind of an untruth, more like disabusing yourself of the notions society has fed us about childbirth for the last fifty years or so.

More on that later. I found it all very Zen and seems to tie into a lot of Buddhist truths I've learned over the past couple years. Also, if I can reprogram my brain from Mormon doctrine I can certainly re-learn childbirth as it's meant to happen. Right? RIGHT? Dammit. Someone in Colorado ship me some weed already.

Hey. Yo. Let's do a roll call. We haven't done one in a couple years or so. Who are you? How long have you been hanging around? Why? What's your story? How do you feel about the whole personal blogging thing?

Lessons Learned

I'm not one for resolutions but I plan to write here again come 2014, I swear. It's been an...interesting year. In the meantime, please to enjoy photos from 2013 with some colorful Serge commentary.