Monica Bielanko
A chronicle since 2005 of my marriage & move to Brooklyn in my twenties; becoming a mother in my thirties; moving to Pennsylvania and learning to amicably coparent after divorce in my forties while living 3 doors down from my ex-husband in a small country town.
That's What She Said
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Tuesday
May272008

Blueberry Bielanko

Yesterday at work an intern (hot, blonde, wants to be, like, an anchor... and stuff) asked what my husband did for a living. When I said he had been in a band for most of his life she asked the next inevitable question that I hate. What kind of music does he play? I don't like answering this question for myriad reasons. If you say rock'n'roll many Utahns immediately conjure up visions of Daughtry or Nickelback or Good Charlotte. Please! If I say indie-type music they generally have no idea what the fuck I'm talking about. God forbid I mention the banjo - they make a face and say something like oh, I've never been a big country fan, Garth Brooks isn't my thing. I end up pissed. wanting needing to explain to them exactly how amazing my husband's music is and how obviously shitty their own sad taste is... then everyone at work picks up with the Monica is a Music Snob mantra and I need to go sit in a bathroom stall and count to ten. See? That's why I hate the question.

So. I haven't even made it to the reason I'm discussing the hot, blonde, intern, but really, does one need an excuse to talk about hot, blonde interns? We were talking about Serge's band and I remembered the band had made this music video to one of the songs on their Float Away album. It's the kind of music video (sorry Serge but you're in a giant fur coat! In the sun!) someone who likes Maroon 5 or some other bullshit band could relate to. I knew I'd posted it on this blog somewhere so I logged in here to find the video. Immediately the intern asked who is that? She was looking at the picture of me at the top of this blog. Okay, so I know the contrast of the photo is tweaked to a ridiculous level (I like how it makes me feel lost and ghost-like) but it still looks like me, doesn't it? Doesn't it? The intern repeated her question then twisted the dagger she'd already jammed in my chest; Who's that, she's hot!

Um. That's me. I couldn't keep the offense from crawling out of my mouth with the words. Have I let myself go THAT much? Jesus. I suppose it's the lack of make-up. I hate wearing make-up anymore. It seems like so much bullshit. This is my face. I like it, for the most part, aside from the odd zit garden I can so beautifully cultivate.

I told the folks at work I'm knocked up. Just felt easier that way. I was a little, shall we say, moody when I was coming off the Paxil and instead of sending out a fresh batch of apology emails every day it seemed simpler just to tell them what was going on. Shit, I'm with them more than I'm with Serge - it just makes sense. Especially if I start sprinting to the toilet in the coming weeks.

I'm almost 6 weeks along. Serge and I are religiously following the progress on this. Each week they pick a new seed, nut, fruit to compare your baby's size. This week it's a lentil bean. Last week it was a sesame seed. We're anxiously looking forward to next week when it's a blueberry. Serge suggested we name the kid Blueberry Bielanko. Will you mess yourself if I admit that one of the names I like is not so very far off from that? Anyway, we've taken to referring to the baby as that week's food item which will carry on into this here site. So this week it's the bean.