Today I took both cars to get washed (not at the same time) and got my legs waxed, and got a super fancy pedicure complete with lavender buds and rose petals and milk powder in the soaking water, a scrub, a massage, and hot paraffin booties.
Lest you think me a total slacker, I also met with a client in the morning in San Francisco.
Went back to swim class last night—first exercise I’ve done since the amnio. It felt so good to be in the water, and to be moving. Immediately lifted my mood. They’re not kidding about that endorphin stuff. Question for the circle was “What are you having?”
The group was split about 1/3-1/3-1/3: boys, girls, not finding out. Funny part was that the girl moms and boy moms were almost exclusively on opposite sides of the pool, as if our babies had segregated us.
Later that night I was talking to friend O. about his twin boys, and about unmet expectations in general (they’d thought they were having one girl). He pointed out that perhaps the knowing beforehand is not so useful after all. As I sit and try to ppprrrrocessss my feeeeeellingggs about having a boy, it’s all completely theoretical. When the baby comes out, you just love it. It’s your baby. You might weep with joy, or relief. You generally don’t look at the genitalia and weep about gender in the delivery room, I think.
It may be my imagination, but it seems like most people whom I’ve told haven’t sounded so excited. Oh, a boy. A few have mentioned that it seems like everyone is having boys lately. How ordinary.
My father-in-law told my favorite story thus far. His grandmother had one boy and six girls. In pregnancy number eight, she just assumed it would be another girl, and did not pick out any boy names whatsoever. She was expecting Ethel Olivia, and when presented with Scott’s grandfather, she simply named him E. O.
Which was fine until E. O. went to join the military and was told that the military could handle one initial, but not two. So he named himself Edward.
In other news: We seem to have solved the office dilemma. After much discussion, we decided to Defy The Arm, and move Scott’s desk into the living room (rather than the dining room as my psychic chiropractor had advised).
Results have been surprisingly positive. Our living room had been half empty for months. Long ago, we’d moved all of the furniture to one side, closer to the bay windows, taking better advantage of the view and natural light, while also making it much easier to feel like you’re at the same party with the people on the other couch rather than across a cavernous hardwood divide.
Not only does the room feel more lively with the addition of more stuff, but also Scott and I spend more time together now. Before, he was tucked in the sunroom, which was pretty much too small for me to visit, and my office was too oddly configured to be hospitable.
Now I grab my laptop and join him in the living room, or watch TV while he works, or we listen to music while working together. (Of course he can kick me out if he needs to concentrate, or I can go upstairs and shut out the noise when I need.) Just this moment, we’re both enjoying Madeleine Peyroux while we clatterty-click-clack.
We haven’t moved my office yet, because we need to do a little cleaning and painting first. But overall, I think our child will appreciate the nice big bedroom—when he’s older. For now, we are interested in exploring the concept of co-sleeping. In the same way that I am interested in exploring the concept of natural childbirth.
Both will undoubtedly take commitment, guts, and endurance. Wish us luck.