A la Tink: Random 5 minutes of thought.

There’s a bright ball of warm light in the sky, which I am told is called “the sun.” It’s been so long since I’ve seen it, I’m not sure what it is, or what to do with it so I mostly stand on the corner and bask in it.

Last Friday I went to lunch with my cousin and the sun came out for a moment while we were eating. I don’t even remember what he was saying but I totally leaned into the warmth coming in the window and enjoyed it until the sun went back behind a cloud. I don’t think I’ve seen the sun since then except for yesterday afternoon when the clouds from the Bastard Nameless Nor’Easter cleared out. It’s nicer when a storm has a name because then you can curse at it by name. This is just “that Storm.” “That storm” done messed up Jersey, for sure. The freaking MALLS are closed due to floods. That’s like a natural disaster of horribly epic proportions for Jersey. What will people do on the weekend?!

In other news, I keep feeling little tumbles and nudges from Baba O’Riley, who seems to really enjoy it when I eat. Which is fine with me because I also enjoy eating. But unlike when I was pregnant with Freebird, I’m so busy with my life that I don’t sit around and get all mooney over being pregnant like I did the first time. I’m BUSY. But then I get a little bubble or a kick in the back and I think, “Oh. Hello, there How you doin?” It’s so weird to think that I just sit here, tapping away, and I grow a person. Whereas I thought about that a lot more frequently (and spent a LOT of time on Babycenter, OMG-a-lot, as a result) with Freebird, this time, I know what’s happening and I’m used to it. But the bubbly little nudge reminders are very comforting. Sometimes I imagine conversations with Bbo’R, where I ask how things are and what’s going on, and usually I get a very happy little vibe of, “Things are good! I’m growing some stuff today!”

Next week we have my favorite ultrasound, the 20 week full body measurement, where the technician, who we like a LOT, measures all the parts and we get, like, a two hour visit with Baba O’Riley. I’m so looking forward to it.

Hubby pointed out wisely that I’ve been having some trouble with hip pain, and perhaps it might be caused by the fact that, with Freebird, I was taking prenatal yoga once a week, and this time I am not. He suggested I start taking prenatal yoga again, and it is a wise suggestion - except for the part that by the time I got to the end of my pregnancy with Freebird, I was about ready to kill the yoga instructor. For one thing, she kept turning off the air conditioner, and it was freaking September and hot as all get out. For another, she didn’t believe in deoderant, so if you add that plus no a/c to a room full of pregnant, olfactorily-sensitive women, and you have one unhappy pregnant lady.

But the thing that bothered me the most was the fact that the instructor was also a doula, and she had a definite agenda as to how our births should be. For a lot of first time mothers who were fearful of labor, having this comforting voice telling us that she had a plan for us that would help us have a meaningful birth experience sounded very reassuring and other students latched onto her like I latch on to chocolate candy at 3pm.

But for me, I found the subtle reinforcement of her agenda offensive and ignorant, and disrespectful of my choices to have the birth I wanted, not the birth she thought I should have. When I pointed out that I didn’t have a birth plan because I couldn’t possibly predict what would happen, she said I was surrendering my rights and giving all the power to the health care professionals. That was, I said, why I chose a midwife, so that while I was working on birthing a baby, someone I trusted (e.g. NOT THAT SMELLY YOGA LADY) would be taking care of me. When the idea of having a birth someplace other than a hospital came up, I had to open my big mouth and say that I had a lethal medical allergy, and didn’t want to give birth anywhere BUT a hospital where there was plenty of epinephrine all over the place.

But what really drove me to refrain from attending class again was her anti-epidural stance, that we could breathe through the contractions and stand the pain. I did manage to keep my mouth shut at that point, but my position was slightly different: I had six root canals in my 8th month of pregnancy. Three sessions on two teeth. And you can bet your sweet smelly ass that I had anaesthesia when I had that dental work - though it was a weaker drug that wore off quicker, as I couldn’t have the stronger stuff since it might amp up baby’s and my heartrate beyond a safe rhythm. So imagine my approach to epidurals in light of that experience. Tiny little drill in my molar vs. EIGHT POUND BABY IN THE VALLEY OF MY LOTUS BLOSSOM? Novocaine vs. breathing through it? Breathing my ass. Pass the drugs.

Ovaryacting: when hormones make you in a raving hosebeast. 

Last night I got my haircut in the last appointment of the evening, and oh, my stars and garters was it relaxing. I was one of a handful of people in the salon, and it was quiet and peaceful (minus the hairdryers and the radio of course). I didn’t feel like the Most Unfashionable Person in the Salon (even though, as usual, I totally was) and I nearly fell asleep when the assistant washed my hair. Is there anything better than having someone wash your hair for you? Scalp massage + warm water = bliss.

The woman who cut my hair gave me what is probably the best haircut I’ve ever had the last time I was there in February. I think I freaked her out by telling her that, but she did a perfectly wonderful job last night as well.

However, getting my hair cut always reminds me that no matter how much I do in the self-grooming/makeup department, I do a fraction of what many women do. For example:

Me:

Hair: haircut every two months or so, depending on when I get over my anxiety of having my haircut to make the appointment in the first place.

Nails: short, unmanicured, often with chipped remainders of polish on them, often peeling.

Toenails: always manicured but usually once every 2 months or so - unless I’m hugely pregnant and I can’t see my feet. Then I get obsessive about having painted, polished toes.

Makeup: eyemakeup, powder foundation, lipstick applied at 6:30 am. Not reapplied for the rest of the day. Absent as if it were never there by 5pm. I so rarely look in the mirror I try to stay away from anything that might run or smear simply because I wouldn’t know if it were taking a walk across my face in the middle of the day.

Stylist:

Hair: Long, effortlessly shiny, in some simple but probably complex style of multiple sections held back from her head in one giant huge barrette. I could not attempt this look at all, even if I had long hair, without looking like I’d taken an egg beater to my head.

Nails: Mid-length, acrylic French manicure. Perfectly filled in. Very flattering.

Toenails: No clue. She was wearing Manolo high heeled boots.

Makeup: Perfect eye makeup, foundation, lipstick, blush, mascara and perfume. At 8pm. After having worked since 11. Seriously. It’s just not fair.

As much as I like keeping the bare minimum of style so that I can get out the door with as little effort (and as much sleep) as possible while avoiding looking like a complete slob, sometimes I wonder if maybe I ought to pay closer attention to myself.

I’ve tried acrylic nails, and find them to be evil. And manicures are a huge waste of money since the polish chips and peels off within 2 days, and why spend $7-10 a week on something that doesn’t last?

I find highlights to be too much effort and way too much money for too little time before I have to go back for a touch up, and forget dying my hair altogether. For one thing, I like my natural color, and for another, the smell of the hair dye would send me over the edge of nausea. I can wear and reapply makeup, but I usually just forget.

When I sit and think about it, the impracticality of all that personal maintenance rears its head and I realize I’d rather spend the time and money on a book. Once a nerd, always a nerd. But, this nerd sure does appreciate a good hair cut.

I just had to call my cell phone provider because suddenly I had no voicemail. I don’t like voicemail. In fact, I hate it. It takes too long to get through when you’re listening to messages, and even if I do, when I call the person back who left me the message, they or I or both will end up repeating the info anyway so what is the point?

The weird thing about my provider is that they have overly friendly tech support personnel. Seriously. They have a running monologue in some attempt to be more personable and they tell you every thing they’re doing - like I care? I don’t want to know what it is they have to do. I just want to have my problem fixed.

So since I had no voicemail, and I spend a portion of my day underground, I had to reactivate the voicemail on my phone.

“Hi, I have no voicemail on my phone.”

“Ok, I understand you have no voicemail on your phone and I apologize for that and I can understand how that would be an inconvenience and I can see how that would be just devastating.”

“Not really. I don’t like voicemail, but I should have it on my phone.”

“Ok, I understand you should certainly have voicemail on your phone and I understand that it should be working. Let me look at your account to see why you don’t have voicemail, and I apologize for the inconvenience again, and I see that you have no voicemail. I can see how having no voicemail would be a problem. It can be very difficult to get through your day and do your business.”

(At that point I had to cover my mouth with my hand. Yes. I can’t ‘do my business’ without voicemail.)

“Ok, I see that your voicemail account was inadvertently turned off and let me turn it back on and I apologize again for the inconvenience and may I place a test call to the handset to test the voicemail system?”

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I can test it and set it up from here.”

“Ok, would you like me to stay on the line while you set up your voicemail account?”

“So you can hear me have to try three times to leave a coherent greeting? Nah. I’m good. But thank you very much for your assistance.”

“You are very welcome, ma’am, and I apologize again for the inconvenience of not having voicemail and I am pleased to say we have fixed your problem so you should have no problems with voicemail from now on and should be able to use voicemail whenever you want and if there’s any other problems with voicemail or your handset please call us here any time day or night and thank you for giving us the opportunity to serve you.”

“Ok. I’m going to go do my business now and set up my voicemail. Thanks.”

Arranged in numerical order for your ease and convenience!

1. One thing I forgot that is somewhat annoying about being pregnant is that you have no, well, water pressure. You have to pee? Feels like the same level of urgency, somewhere between “OMG run NOW” and “Hey, see that ladies’ room? Move on in there pronto. Trust me.”

And yet there’s never any real indication of how badly you have to go - or how much. Could be gallons, could be a tablespoon. But it’s allll equally urgent. And equally a panic when get that awful feeling, and you’re on the subway, in New York where it’s impossible to go to the bathroom without paying for a meal first because there are no public lavs you want to use.

2. I tried to read the profiles of the victims on the Times’ site. I started to cry at my desk. Had to stop.

I’m such a wuss.

3. And speaking of crying, where did my eye makeup go? I put it on at 6.35 this morning. By 9.35 it was gone. I didn’t rub my eyes or otherwise wipe the makeup away. Even when I started weeping at my desk, I blotted in a ladylike fashion so as not to look like a smeared Tammy Faye for the rest of the day.

And yet, two tears and three hours, and my eye makeup is gone. What was the point of it?

4. I am getting my hair cut tonight, because the salon I found in February has late hours on Wednesday nights, and Saturdays are insanely booked up. On one hand, I’m kind of excited because I can get that taken care of on a weeknight, and relax while having my hair washed (the most blissful feeling, really - hot water and a scalp massage? Ahhhh), and then go home to sleep.

The only problem is, it’ll be all professionally blown out… just in time for me to go to sleep. And I’ll have to wake up, shower, and attempt to recreate it myself tomorrow, because somehow, overnight, my head increases in weight to about six tons, and flattens my hair into a straight line that stands out parallel from my face by about an inch. This is not an attractive style for anyone. So I’ll end up paying for the full treatment, only to go home and… sleep on it?

Meh. It’s still better than taking two-plus hours on Saturday to get it done then in a crowded salon when I’d rather be sleeping in and hanging out with the manly men.

5. We’ve gotten into the habit of Doing Things on the weekends as Freebird grows up and has more energy to burn off during the day. Last weekend it was the Jersey-fied Gymboree clone near our house (a huge success), and this weekend, if the weather is indeed nice, we’re going to go to the zoo near our home.

I’m now scouring the internet for a selection of toddler-friendly activities for the wee dude.

6. The news is reporting that the Governor of NJ’s motorcade was going 91 mph on the Garden State Parkway at the time of the accident that seriously woofed him up.

Let me put fears to rest: that is completely normal for the Garden State Parkway. There’s often two lanes, and one is going the speed of sound, while the other is going the speed of light. Jersey drivers are, for the record, insane, and in a hurry. 91? Most people from Jersey are reading that and probably thinking, “Yeah. I’ve definitely hit 90 on the Garden State. Might have been yesterday. No, it was this morning.”

Reading these tips on how to talk to kids about violence like the shooting at VTech from KidsPeace (dude, a 125-year-old nonprofit? Word.) helped me calm down a bit, too.

My inner 10-year-old is very appreciative. 

1. There are responsible thinking people whom I’d probably enjoy having a beer with (pregnancy not withstanding) who own guns.

2. Owning a gun does not make you evil.

3. It is far too easy for individuals to procure guns, ammunition, and the ability to kill a lot of people in a short time.

4. Protecting the right of an individual to own an assault weapon or a semiautomatic handgun is ludicrous. Under what circumstances, aside from causing harm to another person, would such a weapon be necessary or even “a right?”

5. Even other countries are astounded that it is relatively easy to procure semiautomatic weapons:

There was harsh condemnation for U.S. gun control laws. In Sydney, Australian Prime Minister John Howard said Tuesday the university shooting in Virginia showed that America’s “gun culture” was a negative force in society.

“It’s not a question of an Indian professor getting killed in the firing. This is related to the American gun laws,” said K. Subrahmanyam, a former member of India’s National Security Council. “We can’t do anything about it. It is something which has happened in the United States. They have got to change the law.” Source: CNN.com