Email me


Journal entries:




Sign up for email notifies:




Powers: Who Killed Retro Girl? Brian Bendis

Check out:

TPS: This Place Sucks


We're thinking of building a garage here. You know, to store dirty diapers in.

Friday, February 25, 2005

Over the last few years, I've had a lot of confusing feelings about becoming a parent. I've spent so much time thinking about it, wishing it were easier, wishing I knew what I wanted, what the right thing to do was. Trying to pull apart the water-clouding issues of my age, JB's own feelings, and, well, the unbearable cuteness of Leta.

People say you will "just know" when the time is right, but what happens if that special Thomas Kinkade moment never comes? If time keeps marching on, and you're just as conflicted as ever? As much as I hoped for things to suddenly become easy, or obvious, they never did.

But that's okay. That's life, right? Full of hard decisions that aren't always black and white. Decisions that make you feel elated and terrified, all at once.

What do you think, should I maaaybe just get to the fucking point already?














9 weeks, and counting.

Oh, and also?


Hoo, boy. Let me just sort of, like, chill with this paper bag for a second, okay? Huff. Puff.

I was going to post the news after the 12 week mark, but folks, I can't take it anymore. Plus, I had to tell my boss because of a business trip he was trying to schedule, and then I told a couple friends, and then I told a coworker, and then we told our family, and yesterday, I found myself telling our office chef. (Not that I want anyone else in the office to know just yet. Okay, coworkers-who-read-this?)

I'm thrilled, and freaked out, and gassy - not always necessarily in that order, ho HO! I'm weirdly proud of the fact that my body, whose outer surface I've spent so much time criticizing, is in the midst of this awe-inspiring process, so much more impressive than my last notable physical accomplishment (the 3-minute handstand I did in 5th grade). I'm hungry. I have to pee. The waistband on my jeans feels tight, but I think I have to blame that one on the 395732 chocolate-mint cookies I've eaten in the last several days.

I also have a date that's rolling over and over in my head, that I'm savoring like a butterscotch: September 26.

<- back ::: next - >