Okay all, I promised to fill in the holes, so here's a not-so-brief synopsis of what I've been up to, and how/when I found out I was gonna have a little one. Probably best if I record it for posterity anyway...
Chris had a nice graduation weekend, all in all. My mom came down for a few days, as did my sister and brother-in-law, and Chris's parents and sister came down for the ceremony on Saturday. He looked great in his cap and gown! He's taking two online classes right now to finish off the degree, and looking to apply for grad school next fall. The day after graduation was Mother's Day, and with my mom and sister both down, it was the best Mother's Day we could have had! The three of us haven't spent a Mother's Day together in a very long time. Of course, we did what we always do when the three of us are together - we went book shopping. We all hate to shop, but we love bookstores! We had our bonfire that night, which went really well; I think I've mentioned that in a previous post. Little did I know, at that point, I had already conceived; from then on, it was only a matter of time...
Some of you may already know I was planning to head home for a few weeks in late May/early June to spend some time with my Dad and housesit for him while he and my stepmom took a vacation of their own. Chris and I drove up on May 25 for the weekend and as it was Memorial Day weekend and T had never been to D.C., she came with us.
We spent Saturday walking around the city, taking in the sights. We saw the Hope Diamond at the Natural History Museum; walked right up to the Washington Monument and leaned against its side; sat with our feet in the pool at the new WWII Memorial and contemplated the price of world peace; climbed the steps of the Lincoln Monument to look the man in the eyes, and read the words he spoke as our country struggled for its identity; passed along the Vietnam Memorial Wall with its bevy of flags, flowers and pictures of remembrance; saw the White House from afar, hurling cheerful epithets at its current tenant; and finally returned, weary and footsore, to the subway and then home. I don't think I've had a better Memorial Day weekend; certainly I've never had the opportunity to spend a day like that in the nation's capital, even though I grew up less than half an hour from it. Amazing, the things you take for granted in life.
They dropped me off Sunday at my Dad's house and headed back home, since Chris had to go back to work that Monday, but I was looking forward to two plus weeks "out in the sticks", right on the Potomac river at the end of a dirt road, far from everything. My dad has lived down there since I was about six, but I'd never spent more than a few days at a time there, visiting every other weekend until I was 13, not at all until I was 16 (long story short, we had a big fight), and sporadically after that. We've been building a relationship for the past three years or so, now that we've both had some time to grow up (and I say that in the nicest possible way, my dad's a great guy, just took him a bit to figure some things out, you know?), and I'm really glad it's worked out that way.
Anyway, I spent a week hanging out around the house, relaxing and taking in the scenery. Early next Saturday morning, they saddled up their Harley Roadster and took off down the road for Tennessee, where they would be spending a week and a half touring the caves of the Blue Ridge. It was their first real vacation in about 18 years, not to mention they've been taking care of both her parents for over a year now, so a well-deserved and much-needed break was just the thing. From all accounts, they really had a blast! I, on the other hand, had the dutiful task of looking after the house and all its inhabitants, which consisted of three dogs, a billy goat, and my stepmom's father, who could pretty much look after himself (her mother was spending the time with my stepbrother). It got a little lonely after that, although somehow the days went by. The following weekend picked up a little; my dad has a couple of weekend neighbors from Arlington who'd had a party the night I got there, really chill people, who invited me on Saturday to an arts & crafts festival near where I grew up, on the other side of the county. I found some great prints from a local nature photographer that I keep forgetting to frame...oh, well, maybe when we move.
My trip home overlapped my dad's by a couple of days, due to the fact that Chris and I had our own Tennessee vacation planned for the weekend of June 15 - Bonnarooooooooooooo! Rather than make Chris drive the 5+ hours one way to come get me right before the 8+ hour trip to Manchester, I arranged ahead of time to travel home in relays. First up, my dear friend Fletcher (I thank you, my pwca!) drove down Monday evening to get me, staying for dinner (I think...Red Lobster? yeah, the snow crabs...weird) then driving back to the suburbs for a restful night in his abode. Next morning, we struck out west to see an old friend who'd moved out near Winchester last year and set up shop (literally...he's a blacksmith). Fletch hadn't seen the place yet (Chris and I had been up several weekends, for the already quasi-legendary bonfires), so we wandered around for a bit, catching up. It's a neat piece of property, formerly a dairy farm, two acres with a 1700's stone cottage (eventually to be made livable again), a barn (now the workshop), a dairy house (combination office/crashpad), chicken coops (being used for free range heirlooms) and an old storage shed (eventually to be a guest house). It really is an amazing place, lots of good vibes. Too soon, however, it was time for all to say good-bye, as Fletcher headed home and I got a ride south a ways, to where Chris had driven up to meet us.
Ah, how good it felt to be behind the wheel of my own car again!
We had a third passenger on the way home, a girl who was hitchhiking down to Bonnaroo for a paid job offer (not bad, since most people work as volunteers). We couldn't take her all the way since we weren't leaving until the next day, but we took her as far as Christiansburg (the town between ours and I-81). We went home, I unpacked, and after dinner we passed out. Some friends of ours drove down in the morning and that afternoon, once I was repacked, we all took off for the festival. We drove straight through, getting to the gate in the wee hours of the morning. We'd expected to wait in line until they actually opened the gates at 7 a.m. Thursday, but apparently so many people had been camping out in the nearby Walmart parking lot that they called the people in charge and insisted they open early. (We learned that afterwards, we were just surprised they were letting us in when they did.) As such, we were "in line" for less than an hour. Our first Bonnaroo, back in 2003, we were in line for 15 hours. Crazy!
See, it works like this - there's a central festival grounds, called Centeroo, which holds three main stages, two main tents, and a score of smaller/specialty stages and tents. There's a vendor's village for wares, lots of food vendors scattered around the edges, crazy art here and there, even a Ferris Wheel. Surrounding this mecca of art, culture and music are almost 200 acres of parking and campgrounds. They park the cars in rows with about 25 or 30 feet of space between them, in which everyone pitches their tent and sets up camp. Some people, the unfortunate ones, end up in the far-flung pods and have quite a long walk to get to Centeroo; we were fortunate enough to be fairly close, although not as close as last year, when we could hear Tom Petty, Cypress Hill and Buddy Guy, among others, from the stage closest to our campsite. The lineup this year was killer - Tool headlined Friday night, The Police on Saturday, and Widespread Panic closing things out on Sunday - the kind of eclectic mix Bonnaroo is known for, and that's only three shows out of over a hundred. We saw The Roots cover "Roxanne" the day before we saw The Police do it live; the Flaming Lips put on a fantastic late-night show Friday; we even managed to get almost front row for Bob Weir & Ratdog and Ziggy Marley on their respective days. Yes sir, something for everyone...never a dull moment!
Side note - I just went on the Bonnaroo site to see if I'd forgotten anything, and ended up in the photo gallery...anyone interested in seeing what it's like is strongly urged to check out www.bonnaroofest.com/gallery, there are pictures of the "festival atmosphere" from each day along with pictures of most of the acts!
It wasn't all fun and games, though. Starting Friday, and continuing throughout the weekend, I became horribly nauseous. It was unrelentingly hot, with no shade in camp but what we could devise ourselves, and since there hadn't been any rain in weeks, it was also terribly dusty. I couldn't eat, or barely drink; I found myself suffering through the worst of the days just to go and see the shows at night. I wanted to blame my sickness on the heat and the dust, maybe dehydration, and did just that for everyone else, but in the back of my mind something else was bothering me...I'd been expecting my period to start that weekend, and every day it didn't made me worry a little bit more. I didn't mention my concerns to anyone at the time, especially Chris, although halfway through the weekend, when after an hour of me sipping Gatorade and practically melting in the shade of a blue tarp he jokingly asked if I was pregnant, I came pretty close to answering maybe.
We finally started packing up Monday morning, and within a few hours we were back on the road. By Tuesday morning, when the nausea hadn't subsided with the heat and I still hadn't started, I decided knowing was better than not knowing. I already had a home pregnancy test, all I had to do was use it, and after several minutes of trying so hard not to think about it that it became all I could think about, I went back to check the results, and there it was - a second line, faint, but there nonetheless. Such a tiny precursor to the monumental task of parenthood! I took some false hope in the faintness of the positive line - suppose it was a false positive? I didn't really believe it, though, not after everything else, and it didn't take long for reaction to set in. Shock hit me first, swift and hard - I felt a half step removed from myself, staring in the mirror at someone else's face, wandering around the house in a daze, not sure what was going on. This dissolved rather quickly into fear - a terrible, paralyzing fear that left me shaking and crying on the couch, thinking to myself, what am I going to do? This can't be happening, it's not the right time, please let this not be happening, not with school about to start, my dream of finishing college finally within my reach, and we're broke, my god, we have no money, no health insurance, nothing, we can't do this, please, it's just a dream, I'll wake up and it'll all be a dream, please....
But it wasn't a dream. And with that realization, I took the first step towards acceptance.
I wasn't going to tell anyone, not even my husband, until I knew for sure. I had planned on getting another home test and checking again in a few days, dropping Chris off at work the next day and going to the store by myself, leaving him none the wiser. I told him this when he came home from work, trying to pretend nothing was out of the ordinary, until later in the evening when he suddenly said, "Why don't we go to the store now?" Well, that stumped me for a minute - how to get out of this one? "I don't think that's going to work," I said. "Why not?" he asked me, and I decided to tell him.
"Well," I said - and couldn't help cracking a smile, somewhat bitter but still sincere - "I think I'm pregnant."
He didn't say anything, just looked at me for a second, then he smiled a rather disbeliving smile and gave me a big hug. There wasn't much to say, really; he knew as well as I did how dismal the timing was, but at the same time, he knew how long I've been waiting for this, I'm sure - the nights when I would cry myself to sleep because with so much school still to come I doubted I'd ever be a mother, as few as they were, had always been met with understanding and a modicum of sympathy. Yeah, I think he knew how I felt. I wasn't sure how he felt about it, but the smile was definitely encouraging. In fact, it was his suggestion that I go down to the Planned Parenthood clinic to find out for sure, which turned out to be what needed to happen. When I called to see if I needed an appointment, I spoke to a really nice and helpful woman who gave me several important pieces of information, including the fact that Medicaid is guaranteed for pregnant women and I would need a confirmation letter from the clinic to apply. So that's what I did - they confirmed the pregnancy, figured my approximate due date, and told me to start taking my prenatal vitamins. Then I took that letter to the Social Services office to apply for Medicaid, the WIC program and food stamps, whatever help I thought I might be eligible for, because every little bit helps! Turns out I wasn't eligible for food stamps, but Medicaid and WIC were approved (which is good, because now that the nausea is subsiding somewhat, I'm eating like a horse!).
For the most part, everyone was excited at the news. We were going to keep it secret for a while, until we got everything in order, but soon realized that was next to impossible. My parents were both cautiously happy, knowing full well what our circumstances are (Mom reminded me of Mother's Day, in the bookstore, when she made a comment about, 'see, you need to hurry up and have a daughter! ...Wait, never mind, you don't have to do any such thing...'; the first question my dad asked me: "Is that good news?"), but they also had their first child (me) earlier than expected, so they know what it's like. Chris was funny when he told his mom - he was like, "we're having a baby, I know we can't afford it right now and it's not the best time, so let's just not talk about that part, okay?"
I had my first ultrasound on Tuesday. The clinic had given me a due date of February 20, based on the approximate date of my last period, but the ultrasound showed otherwise. Turns out I'm now 11 weeks pregnant, two more than I had originally thought. They upped my due date from Feb. 20 to Feb. 5, so unless I go into labor early (which I hear is very rare for first timers), we'll definitely have another February birthday to add to the dozen-odd already in my family. A week early would be nice, though, since our wedding anniversary falls on the 28th of January... wouldn't that be cool, to have your first child on your anniversary?
Chris and I had an interesting discussion yesterday about responsibility. See, as an individual human being, you are ultimately responsible for yourself. In a relationship, however, particularly a long-term one such as a marriage, you are also responsible for your partner, although the degree of responsibility can vary. Taking care of each other's basic needs - food, clothing, shelter - is not enough to sustain a lasting bond between two people. There are emotional, psychological and physical needs as well. Communication of those needs specific to each person, therefore, is crucial, as they cannot be met by another until they are known. Therein lies the difficulty that ends most marriages. I would venture to say that many people don't know themselves well enough to know what they need from another person, or if they do, they don't know how to express it, expecting instead for the other person to somehow be able to assume or deduce the answers on their own (this is my problem). This idea of taking responsibility for another becomes even more relevant when you consider that it can also be applied to parenting, and the bond formed between parent and child, although this is more one-way at first as a newborn cannot conciously fulfill the needs of its parent. Nevertheless, it's become a goal for the two of us to work towards, figuring out our responsibilities for each other in order to prepare for the responsibilities we will have for our child.
And so life goes on. It still hasn't really sunk in yet, this idea that I'm going to be a mother in six months; seeing the heartbeat of that tiny two-inch fetus on the ultrasound has been the most compelling thing, the only time it seemed completely real, but only while it was happening. Otherwise, day to day routine is mostly the same. I'm preparing for classes, getting all my transcripts in order and my schedule worked out, trying to decide if it's worth auditioning for the choir when I'll only be there for half the year. Chris is working full 40 hour weeks building dorm furniture in addition to the online classes to try and put some money away. With freshman move-in coming up, he'll be working even harder. We're both looking forward to autumn - the crispness of the air, the radiant colors of the foliage, the frenzy of football season, the relative ease of my second trimester - it's never been my favorite season, but this year it just might be.
And so life goes on.
Chris had a nice graduation weekend, all in all. My mom came down for a few days, as did my sister and brother-in-law, and Chris's parents and sister came down for the ceremony on Saturday. He looked great in his cap and gown! He's taking two online classes right now to finish off the degree, and looking to apply for grad school next fall. The day after graduation was Mother's Day, and with my mom and sister both down, it was the best Mother's Day we could have had! The three of us haven't spent a Mother's Day together in a very long time. Of course, we did what we always do when the three of us are together - we went book shopping. We all hate to shop, but we love bookstores! We had our bonfire that night, which went really well; I think I've mentioned that in a previous post. Little did I know, at that point, I had already conceived; from then on, it was only a matter of time...
Some of you may already know I was planning to head home for a few weeks in late May/early June to spend some time with my Dad and housesit for him while he and my stepmom took a vacation of their own. Chris and I drove up on May 25 for the weekend and as it was Memorial Day weekend and T had never been to D.C., she came with us.
We spent Saturday walking around the city, taking in the sights. We saw the Hope Diamond at the Natural History Museum; walked right up to the Washington Monument and leaned against its side; sat with our feet in the pool at the new WWII Memorial and contemplated the price of world peace; climbed the steps of the Lincoln Monument to look the man in the eyes, and read the words he spoke as our country struggled for its identity; passed along the Vietnam Memorial Wall with its bevy of flags, flowers and pictures of remembrance; saw the White House from afar, hurling cheerful epithets at its current tenant; and finally returned, weary and footsore, to the subway and then home. I don't think I've had a better Memorial Day weekend; certainly I've never had the opportunity to spend a day like that in the nation's capital, even though I grew up less than half an hour from it. Amazing, the things you take for granted in life.
They dropped me off Sunday at my Dad's house and headed back home, since Chris had to go back to work that Monday, but I was looking forward to two plus weeks "out in the sticks", right on the Potomac river at the end of a dirt road, far from everything. My dad has lived down there since I was about six, but I'd never spent more than a few days at a time there, visiting every other weekend until I was 13, not at all until I was 16 (long story short, we had a big fight), and sporadically after that. We've been building a relationship for the past three years or so, now that we've both had some time to grow up (and I say that in the nicest possible way, my dad's a great guy, just took him a bit to figure some things out, you know?), and I'm really glad it's worked out that way.
Anyway, I spent a week hanging out around the house, relaxing and taking in the scenery. Early next Saturday morning, they saddled up their Harley Roadster and took off down the road for Tennessee, where they would be spending a week and a half touring the caves of the Blue Ridge. It was their first real vacation in about 18 years, not to mention they've been taking care of both her parents for over a year now, so a well-deserved and much-needed break was just the thing. From all accounts, they really had a blast! I, on the other hand, had the dutiful task of looking after the house and all its inhabitants, which consisted of three dogs, a billy goat, and my stepmom's father, who could pretty much look after himself (her mother was spending the time with my stepbrother). It got a little lonely after that, although somehow the days went by. The following weekend picked up a little; my dad has a couple of weekend neighbors from Arlington who'd had a party the night I got there, really chill people, who invited me on Saturday to an arts & crafts festival near where I grew up, on the other side of the county. I found some great prints from a local nature photographer that I keep forgetting to frame...oh, well, maybe when we move.
My trip home overlapped my dad's by a couple of days, due to the fact that Chris and I had our own Tennessee vacation planned for the weekend of June 15 - Bonnarooooooooooooo! Rather than make Chris drive the 5+ hours one way to come get me right before the 8+ hour trip to Manchester, I arranged ahead of time to travel home in relays. First up, my dear friend Fletcher (I thank you, my pwca!) drove down Monday evening to get me, staying for dinner (I think...Red Lobster? yeah, the snow crabs...weird) then driving back to the suburbs for a restful night in his abode. Next morning, we struck out west to see an old friend who'd moved out near Winchester last year and set up shop (literally...he's a blacksmith). Fletch hadn't seen the place yet (Chris and I had been up several weekends, for the already quasi-legendary bonfires), so we wandered around for a bit, catching up. It's a neat piece of property, formerly a dairy farm, two acres with a 1700's stone cottage (eventually to be made livable again), a barn (now the workshop), a dairy house (combination office/crashpad), chicken coops (being used for free range heirlooms) and an old storage shed (eventually to be a guest house). It really is an amazing place, lots of good vibes. Too soon, however, it was time for all to say good-bye, as Fletcher headed home and I got a ride south a ways, to where Chris had driven up to meet us.
Ah, how good it felt to be behind the wheel of my own car again!
We had a third passenger on the way home, a girl who was hitchhiking down to Bonnaroo for a paid job offer (not bad, since most people work as volunteers). We couldn't take her all the way since we weren't leaving until the next day, but we took her as far as Christiansburg (the town between ours and I-81). We went home, I unpacked, and after dinner we passed out. Some friends of ours drove down in the morning and that afternoon, once I was repacked, we all took off for the festival. We drove straight through, getting to the gate in the wee hours of the morning. We'd expected to wait in line until they actually opened the gates at 7 a.m. Thursday, but apparently so many people had been camping out in the nearby Walmart parking lot that they called the people in charge and insisted they open early. (We learned that afterwards, we were just surprised they were letting us in when they did.) As such, we were "in line" for less than an hour. Our first Bonnaroo, back in 2003, we were in line for 15 hours. Crazy!
See, it works like this - there's a central festival grounds, called Centeroo, which holds three main stages, two main tents, and a score of smaller/specialty stages and tents. There's a vendor's village for wares, lots of food vendors scattered around the edges, crazy art here and there, even a Ferris Wheel. Surrounding this mecca of art, culture and music are almost 200 acres of parking and campgrounds. They park the cars in rows with about 25 or 30 feet of space between them, in which everyone pitches their tent and sets up camp. Some people, the unfortunate ones, end up in the far-flung pods and have quite a long walk to get to Centeroo; we were fortunate enough to be fairly close, although not as close as last year, when we could hear Tom Petty, Cypress Hill and Buddy Guy, among others, from the stage closest to our campsite. The lineup this year was killer - Tool headlined Friday night, The Police on Saturday, and Widespread Panic closing things out on Sunday - the kind of eclectic mix Bonnaroo is known for, and that's only three shows out of over a hundred. We saw The Roots cover "Roxanne" the day before we saw The Police do it live; the Flaming Lips put on a fantastic late-night show Friday; we even managed to get almost front row for Bob Weir & Ratdog and Ziggy Marley on their respective days. Yes sir, something for everyone...never a dull moment!
Side note - I just went on the Bonnaroo site to see if I'd forgotten anything, and ended up in the photo gallery...anyone interested in seeing what it's like is strongly urged to check out www.bonnaroofest.com/gallery, there are pictures of the "festival atmosphere" from each day along with pictures of most of the acts!
It wasn't all fun and games, though. Starting Friday, and continuing throughout the weekend, I became horribly nauseous. It was unrelentingly hot, with no shade in camp but what we could devise ourselves, and since there hadn't been any rain in weeks, it was also terribly dusty. I couldn't eat, or barely drink; I found myself suffering through the worst of the days just to go and see the shows at night. I wanted to blame my sickness on the heat and the dust, maybe dehydration, and did just that for everyone else, but in the back of my mind something else was bothering me...I'd been expecting my period to start that weekend, and every day it didn't made me worry a little bit more. I didn't mention my concerns to anyone at the time, especially Chris, although halfway through the weekend, when after an hour of me sipping Gatorade and practically melting in the shade of a blue tarp he jokingly asked if I was pregnant, I came pretty close to answering maybe.
We finally started packing up Monday morning, and within a few hours we were back on the road. By Tuesday morning, when the nausea hadn't subsided with the heat and I still hadn't started, I decided knowing was better than not knowing. I already had a home pregnancy test, all I had to do was use it, and after several minutes of trying so hard not to think about it that it became all I could think about, I went back to check the results, and there it was - a second line, faint, but there nonetheless. Such a tiny precursor to the monumental task of parenthood! I took some false hope in the faintness of the positive line - suppose it was a false positive? I didn't really believe it, though, not after everything else, and it didn't take long for reaction to set in. Shock hit me first, swift and hard - I felt a half step removed from myself, staring in the mirror at someone else's face, wandering around the house in a daze, not sure what was going on. This dissolved rather quickly into fear - a terrible, paralyzing fear that left me shaking and crying on the couch, thinking to myself, what am I going to do? This can't be happening, it's not the right time, please let this not be happening, not with school about to start, my dream of finishing college finally within my reach, and we're broke, my god, we have no money, no health insurance, nothing, we can't do this, please, it's just a dream, I'll wake up and it'll all be a dream, please....
But it wasn't a dream. And with that realization, I took the first step towards acceptance.
I wasn't going to tell anyone, not even my husband, until I knew for sure. I had planned on getting another home test and checking again in a few days, dropping Chris off at work the next day and going to the store by myself, leaving him none the wiser. I told him this when he came home from work, trying to pretend nothing was out of the ordinary, until later in the evening when he suddenly said, "Why don't we go to the store now?" Well, that stumped me for a minute - how to get out of this one? "I don't think that's going to work," I said. "Why not?" he asked me, and I decided to tell him.
"Well," I said - and couldn't help cracking a smile, somewhat bitter but still sincere - "I think I'm pregnant."
He didn't say anything, just looked at me for a second, then he smiled a rather disbeliving smile and gave me a big hug. There wasn't much to say, really; he knew as well as I did how dismal the timing was, but at the same time, he knew how long I've been waiting for this, I'm sure - the nights when I would cry myself to sleep because with so much school still to come I doubted I'd ever be a mother, as few as they were, had always been met with understanding and a modicum of sympathy. Yeah, I think he knew how I felt. I wasn't sure how he felt about it, but the smile was definitely encouraging. In fact, it was his suggestion that I go down to the Planned Parenthood clinic to find out for sure, which turned out to be what needed to happen. When I called to see if I needed an appointment, I spoke to a really nice and helpful woman who gave me several important pieces of information, including the fact that Medicaid is guaranteed for pregnant women and I would need a confirmation letter from the clinic to apply. So that's what I did - they confirmed the pregnancy, figured my approximate due date, and told me to start taking my prenatal vitamins. Then I took that letter to the Social Services office to apply for Medicaid, the WIC program and food stamps, whatever help I thought I might be eligible for, because every little bit helps! Turns out I wasn't eligible for food stamps, but Medicaid and WIC were approved (which is good, because now that the nausea is subsiding somewhat, I'm eating like a horse!).
For the most part, everyone was excited at the news. We were going to keep it secret for a while, until we got everything in order, but soon realized that was next to impossible. My parents were both cautiously happy, knowing full well what our circumstances are (Mom reminded me of Mother's Day, in the bookstore, when she made a comment about, 'see, you need to hurry up and have a daughter! ...Wait, never mind, you don't have to do any such thing...'; the first question my dad asked me: "Is that good news?"), but they also had their first child (me) earlier than expected, so they know what it's like. Chris was funny when he told his mom - he was like, "we're having a baby, I know we can't afford it right now and it's not the best time, so let's just not talk about that part, okay?"
I had my first ultrasound on Tuesday. The clinic had given me a due date of February 20, based on the approximate date of my last period, but the ultrasound showed otherwise. Turns out I'm now 11 weeks pregnant, two more than I had originally thought. They upped my due date from Feb. 20 to Feb. 5, so unless I go into labor early (which I hear is very rare for first timers), we'll definitely have another February birthday to add to the dozen-odd already in my family. A week early would be nice, though, since our wedding anniversary falls on the 28th of January... wouldn't that be cool, to have your first child on your anniversary?
Chris and I had an interesting discussion yesterday about responsibility. See, as an individual human being, you are ultimately responsible for yourself. In a relationship, however, particularly a long-term one such as a marriage, you are also responsible for your partner, although the degree of responsibility can vary. Taking care of each other's basic needs - food, clothing, shelter - is not enough to sustain a lasting bond between two people. There are emotional, psychological and physical needs as well. Communication of those needs specific to each person, therefore, is crucial, as they cannot be met by another until they are known. Therein lies the difficulty that ends most marriages. I would venture to say that many people don't know themselves well enough to know what they need from another person, or if they do, they don't know how to express it, expecting instead for the other person to somehow be able to assume or deduce the answers on their own (this is my problem). This idea of taking responsibility for another becomes even more relevant when you consider that it can also be applied to parenting, and the bond formed between parent and child, although this is more one-way at first as a newborn cannot conciously fulfill the needs of its parent. Nevertheless, it's become a goal for the two of us to work towards, figuring out our responsibilities for each other in order to prepare for the responsibilities we will have for our child.
And so life goes on. It still hasn't really sunk in yet, this idea that I'm going to be a mother in six months; seeing the heartbeat of that tiny two-inch fetus on the ultrasound has been the most compelling thing, the only time it seemed completely real, but only while it was happening. Otherwise, day to day routine is mostly the same. I'm preparing for classes, getting all my transcripts in order and my schedule worked out, trying to decide if it's worth auditioning for the choir when I'll only be there for half the year. Chris is working full 40 hour weeks building dorm furniture in addition to the online classes to try and put some money away. With freshman move-in coming up, he'll be working even harder. We're both looking forward to autumn - the crispness of the air, the radiant colors of the foliage, the frenzy of football season, the relative ease of my second trimester - it's never been my favorite season, but this year it just might be.
And so life goes on.
