Blindsided.

I'm on autopilot right now at school, going through the motions. I figure if I go through the motions long enough, they'll be interesting again soon. Or eventually, one of the two.

Except today, as I'm going through the lessons in the book in the most old-fashioned of ways (lecture lecture lecture!) I hadn't read ahead because I'm basically working on a minute by minute basis right now. And then I get to the meat of today's statistics lessons.

We're teaching sampling methods and margin of error. By estimating the average age of women when they first give birth.

Awesome.

If you're interested, by the by, a 95% confidence interval puts the average age between 20.38 and 24.22 years of age. I'm not even an outlier.

Silver Lining, part 3

We can put off buying that 2nd car. Yes, we can, Andrew. No, really. I know. But just think! That's at least a year of no car payments or extra insurance payments!

Silver Lining, part 2

I don't have to hear, "Oh, your mom must be so excited--she's wanted grandchildren for so long, and now she's going to have two in one year!" again. Because that was always awesome to hear.

Silver Lining

I haven't gone skiing in Oregon yet, since we moved here four years ago. We meant to go this winter, but... well, there were those two and a half months where it would have been a bad idea.

We're going to go skiing this weekend.

Yay, skiing!

Making a mix-tape.

At a friend's "Hey, We're Having a Baby!" dance party recently (one where I didn't do much dancing, because I was worried about my pregnancy--hah!), they were given a card. When you opened it, it started playing Salt-n-Pepa, beginning with the chorus, "OOoo, Baby Baby! Ba-ba-ba-Baby!" Funny.

Now Hallmark does have a new line for miscarriage, but it's a little cheesy. Other online stories have miscarriage sympathy cards, but really I'm not much of an butterfly-kisses, angel-wings, rainbow-bridge, name-your-embryo-and-call-it-your-guardian-angel type of person.*

But if they had music, music that plays when you open the card, I might be interested. So Andrew and I were debating what songs they should play.

His contribution: "So You Had a Bad Day."
Mine: "There's that Janis Joplin's song that goes, (singing) 'Bye... bye... bye, baby bye bye!'"
His suggestion: "Wasn't there a Justin Timberlake song that went, baby ain't no lie, baby bye bye bye?" **
Me again: "How about Sunday Bloody Sunday?"
Him: "...."
Me: "Hmm. Too far?"

Well, we'll keep working on it. We'll make millions.

(In other news--physically, muuuuch less pain. Emotionally, well, today is better than yesterday, and tomorrow will hopefully be better still. And I took a shower today! Is this where I say "baby steps"?***)

*Not that I begrudge anyone their coping mechanism. If that gives you comfort and that's how you get through this, y'know, go for it. Me? I make bad jokes and get angry at inappropriate times.

**By the way, he totally did some dance steps with that one. He'll deny it, but I was there.

**See? Baaaaaad jokes.

If you want to know.

I am doing fine.

I am horrible.

I am calm, almost serene.

I’m a wreck.

This happens to women all the time.

This happened to me.

Two days ago, I was pregnant. I woke up Thursday, and I was pregnant. And I forgot my prenatal vitamin. Isn’t that weird? I mean, it’s merely coincidence, and if a movie had that as a plot device, it’d be clunky and cheesy and touchy-feely beyond belief. But I did and I keep remembering that, and just thinking, “How weird.”

Two days ago, 2007 was a good year, one that would totally make up for the shitty year 2006 was from beginning to end. Two days ago, I was debating whether I would be okay to go to my cousin’s wedding. In October. Because, you see, that would have been about six weeks after my baby was born. We’d seen the heartbeat—heard the heartbeat!—twice! We’d seen and heard the thrum of a wee little hummingbird’s heartbeat. A hard-won and so-wanted pregnancy with a wee little hummingbird. And then it was Thursday.

By four o’clock—so, like, a day and a half ago—I started feeling unwell. I’m not sure I can go back to that grocery store ever again, because I was pushing my cart down the cereal aisle and just started wondering how quickly I could finish and leave and get back home because I needed to stop noticing how crappy I felt.

By five o’clock, I’d already called Andrew begging him to come home. I couldn’t lie down, curl up, stretch out, into a position that was bearable. I hurt. I wanted to vomit. My back hurt, and it felt like I was being ripped from hip to hip, jaggedly, repeatedly.

And I begged. I begged my body, I begged my hummingbird, I begged my uterus. I begged until the words became a rhythm, a four-count, meaningless except for the up and down and rumble of my voice. Please be okay. Please don’t leave me. Please be okay. Please don’t leave me. Please don’t do this. Please. Please. Please.

I begged so I could stop crying.

Andrew came home and held me and he was okay and he wasn’t and all he wanted to do is help. He helped me arrange for a substitute to come in Friday, he let work know he’d be “working from home” on Friday, and he stroked my hair and stroked my hip and tucked me in. And we were scared together.

And that was Thursday.

The answering service for my doctor said that if I wasn’t bleeding profusely, I didn’t need to go to the ER. And I wasn’t. Despite all this pain, there was so little blood. It felt like I should be bleeding a Mississippi River but there was only hurt. So I waited until my doctor’s office opened the next morning, at 8:30. By 8:31, I had told the doctor I could be there in ten minutes, and they said to do so. By 8:32, A had his keys and was standing by the front door, ready to help me to the car.

By 8:45, we could see my empty empty black hole uterus in black and white fuzz.

And suddenly 2007 needs its ass kicked in a dark alley by some very large bouncers with crowbars and tasers.

There was more to yesterday. I mean, I’d been telling people because we’d heard a heartbeat and that’s supposed to be the safety mark. Everybody said. But I couldn’t tell this the same way. The words wouldn’t come. I have great friends, but I needed to not think about it, be blank, be numb, be nothing, be empty for a while. So I posted to one blog, and I called one friend, and just said that I wanted the others to know but I couldn’t tell them all one by one.

At about 8:00, I ran my hand along the back of my sweatpants and felt the waistband string, and realized that I’d put my pants on backwards. When I left the doctor’s office. And I hadn’t noticed until now. And that it had been almost twelve hours.

And I talked to my mom.

And that was yesterday.

Today?

Today is Saturday.

I’m fine as long as I only wonder what am I going to do today? (Take a shower, watch a DVD, maybe change out of what I was wearing on Thursday.) I can maybe wonder about what I’m going to do tomorrow.

I am horrible and broken when I think of how much I’d already planned this year in little packages without even meaning to and how none of it will be. A spring growing into maternity clothes. A summer break of slowly and lovingly furnishing a fairy room. A Christmas with a baby. Poof.

I am calm, almost serene as I reinforce the mantra that there is nothing I or anyone could have done and it’s not a judgment on me and it doesn’t mean I won’t get pregnant later and research says and experience shows and blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda insert cliché here.

I’m a wreck as I look at the onesies my mom sent for my birthday, tucked under the blanket, the one I’d used as a baby, the faded pink blanket with the satin edging that still shows all of Mom’s repairs, that I can’t bear to look at and can’t bear to pack away.

This happens to women all the time.

This happened to me.

Pardon the absence.

2006 kinda sucked ass. 2007 has a lot to make up for. And it's doing a shit-ass lousy job of it.

I'll write more later.

Links on a Lazy Sunday

Reason to be irate: a doctor has the right to refuse to treat your child because you have a tattoo or a facial piercing. Although, I have to wonder--was that the only doctor in town? Also: asshat.

Reason to be concerned: Britney has lost her damn mind.

Reason to giggle: my sister gets sent the greatest shit. I also adore the friend who sent it, because she and Lee came to stay with me once and it made me feel super uber cool.

Reason to hate flying less: If instead of SkyMall, they had this.

Reason to be excited: In about four months, I can buy this and this and this, only about 15 minutes away. And tax-free. My dream of an organized basement, an adorable fairy-room, and a new kitchen are within my grasp.

That is all.

Maybe not the best choice.

Um. So. Pan's Labyrinth.

A wanted to give it a C. I definitely liked it better than him, but I did spend a good 15 minutes total out of the film hiding behind my fingers because dear sweet God, the gore! The gore! At one point, I even had to plug my ears because the sound is just so... visceral. For those who don't know the plot, in a nutshell: it's the end days of World War II, we're in Spain where Franco's fascist army is defeating the Communist Resistance, and in a wooded outpost, a small girl deals with the violence around her by retreating to a fantasy world where she may or may not be the reincarnation of the long-lost princess. Fauns, fairies, magical trials, and scary beasties (including, but not limited to, a barfing toad and the ever-present Dude With Eyeballs In His Palms) abound. The special effects were really cool, and I really liked the imaginary-land part, but it's crossed with bone-smashing, skin-searing violence, both physical and emotional, that was really hard to take. Which, I suppose, is the whole point.

I think, however, the movie is best summed up (at least for us) as we walked out the doors to the parking lot.

"For the next few months, hon..." I said, as A held the door open for me, "how bout we don't go see any movies ever that involve a hugely pregnant woman's grisly and bloody death during childbirth?"

So, I might as well say it...

None of that is-that-a-line-or-isn't-it for us. If it can be done by a computer, that's what we'll do. Heh. In the middle of January, I sent A off to buy a pregnancy test. He comes back with these. "It's digital!" he said, in the same voice as, "Why on earth would anyone use anything different?"

He wanted to hold it for me while I peed. After laughing until I cried, I firmly said no and shut the door. After negotiating the best way to get the required five-second pee stream on it (imagining pee streams that flow wild through the mountains), I snapped the cap back on and put it on the counter to wait five minutes.

It was negative.

That made for a really really long day. I hadn't admitted it to myself, but I thought sure that this was the one that had taken. Of course, I felt the same way the previous month, so what do I know? My baby sister was pregnant. Why couldn't I be? Christmas had kind of sucked, my brithday was coming up soon and good God was I not looking forward to it at all. And worst of all, I was feeling sorry for myself and I really hated it.

That night I went to bed in a manner that could only be described as "dejectedly". I glanced down as I climbed into bed and then looked at A. "And I was so certain my boobs were bigger this month too!"

The next morning, I woke up after A had slipped out and gone into work. It was a Sunday, and he was getting some book-writing done. I lounged in bed, aimless in my plans for the day. I decided 10:30 was late enough, and I got up. And I thought, well, the test pack comes with two. Might as well.

Here I am, alone in the house for the first time in forever, and I have this pee stick that says... that says... holy shit! I don't even have to wonder is-that-a-line-or-isn't-it! Could it be wrong? It's digital! Digital things aren't wrong! Right? There's definitely no "not" there, just the word that says... that says... Holy. Crap. Really?

Lots of phone madness ensued as I called A so he could come home, I tried to call my parents who weren't home (what the hell? how could they be out on a Sunday morning/afternoon when I had news to tell them???) and I called Emily who--if possible, and maybe it isn't--squealed more than me and at a higher frequency and pitch.

So that was January 14th and now it's February 10th and I'm officially 8 weeks and 4 days pregnant and yes I know it's still the first trimester but we've seen the heart beat (which wasn't so much blood going through a heart as free-flowing liquid swishing around a shell) and measured something shaped like a lima bean and starting the 20th I get to go to a doctor covered by insurance just like regular people.

Yippee! and, Holy Crap! and Jesus Christ!

Not in bed yet. Why? I am immobilized by the need to pass out.

By the way: my new favorite rant.

Really, really going to bed now.

I made it.

Grades are in. LIterally, eight hours and fifteen minutes before last chance.

I'd been putting off grading them for a week. I got a big push done at the front--well, Emily got a big push done for me at the front GOD BLESS HER TO THE HEAVENS AND MAY LITTLE TINY ANGELS ALWAYS THROW VIRTUAL ROSE PETALS AT HER FEET but I'd been putting off grading the free response questions for days and days and days.

I was gonna do it this afternoon, I really really really was, I was gonna sit down and take care of business! RIGHT AFTER SCHOOL. I was totally totally going to do it.

And then I remembered I had a knowledge bowl meet. K-bowl goes from 1:30 to, oh, 6:30. So I'm home--if I'm home quickly and no students dawdle (high school students? dawdle???) by 7.

And THEN I could start grading.

I'm done now. I'm going to go pass out. Twice. I'm going to pass out, wake up, and pass out again. That's how badly I need to pass out.

American Idol as a math problem.

"She's going to get on."

"That was just a few notes!"

"I know, but you can tell."

"Ehhh... she's not that good."

"Yeah, but she's good enough for the size of her tits. She'll get on. It's talent times tits. As long as one is big and the other isn't zero, they'll get on."

An update in the life of a teacher

This: So my school district is opening a 4th high school, and they're populating it by cannibalizing the other schools. There's a bunch of things about this high school that I philosophically don't agree with (they want to force every student to take at least one AP course...!) plus it's waaay on the other side of town and so would likely change my dreamy fifteen minute commute into a forty minute one, but mostly I'm just so wicked happy with my school right now that I don't want to change. But they're supposed to announce the moved personnel today. They haven't yet (shocked! I am SHOCKED!), but still. It'll be nice to get that uncertainty out of the way. Plus, the teacher we call Shoop Shoop for his parachute pants is probably going to the new school so that'll be good.

That: A and I went out on a date Friday night--to my high school's varsity basketball game against the cross-town rivals. It was a hoot. It was such a hoot, it may be the reason the word hoot was invented. A, of course, was his high school basketball team's MVP for two years in a row, so this is his world and he got right into it, shouting things like, "Challenge him!" and "Follow your shot!" and "Run the weak side triangle! Snatch the shore account!" (I may have made up that last one...) Two of the starters were sophomores of mine, so I was shouting by name because of course they could hear me up in the stands...! It was so much fun that we're probably going again tomorrow.

The other: ...and while we were at the basketball game, the school band was awesome. I looked over and noticed one of my favorite students--Lee will remember him from one of her visits because he's one of her favorites too, all arty and earnest and vegan and curly-haired and be-spectacled and nerdy but in a cool way, like he totally listened to They Might Be Giants--I noticed that he plays in the band. And you'll never guess what he plays.

The cowbell.