October 30, 2008

Dear World

Dear World -

The following things are annoying me greatly. Please to fix.

1) For each time I have to hear "You know PMS comes monthly, you just have to deal with it" I'm going to kick you in the nuts. While you're writhing around the ground, vomiting blood and begging to die, I'm going to say "You know your scrotum is vulnerable, you just have to deal with it."

You have a nutsack.

I have PMS.

Let's tread a little carefully, ok?


2) Such a to-do. Andrew Sachs needs to get a sense of humor. Jonathon Ross needs to further develop his sense of decorum, although the granddaughter in question is 23, and not an 8 year-old, like the media would have you believe. And Russell Brand quit? I care...why? Russell Brand is considered a sex object over here, although I fail to see why. To me, if you find him sexy you need your eyes checked and a prophylactic round of antibiotics prescribed.


3) It's the end of the fucking world as I know it, and no, I don't feel fine.


4) I spent time this morning in an MRI, which has gifted me with a staggering migraine that makes me want to pop open my head, pull out the right-hand side of my brain, and close the lid again. All this to allegedly see what's up with my wrist. I also forgot to remove certain items from my pocket before the MRI, and did you know that MRIs shag metal reader strips on things like credit cards and parking tickets? Let my lesson be a lesson for you too.


5) I'm going to invent a tampon that doesn't do the pendulum when you remove it. You know what I'm talking about. You're sitting down, pulling the string (the Mooncup and I have broken up, see) and once you've reached the point where the downward motion takes over for you, you get The Swing. The Swing is a force of its own. The Swing inevitably hits the inside of the toilet seat, meaning you have to clean it every damn time you remove a tampon lest the males in your house complain that not only do they have to lower the toilet seat for your feminine ass, but they have to view a bloody Pepe Le Peu-like line up the middle of the seat during that time of month. I need a non-pendulum tampon plan.


6) Speaking of pendulums, tomorrow's our anniversary and I am bleeding like the Nile. Kind of puts a halt to my Naughty Nurse Routine. Nothing's sexier than bichon frise-sized tampons, me clutching the bottle of ibuprofen like it's the elixir of life, and my ceaseless begging for lower back rubs while wearing my I Have My Period Granny Panties. I am so hot.


7) We're off to the mother-in-laws' for the afternoon, with two teens, two teething toddlers, and a stonking migraine. I really like my mother-in-law, but she talks for England, and it's a scientific fact that anyone with Crumplebottom blood running through their veins cannot say goodbye in under two hours. The other sisters-in-law agree with me. You can start packing people up all you want, but there is no way everyone is getting out the door in anything resembling a timely manner.


I wanted to do some fundraising with the babies for BBC's Children In Need. I am a huge, huge fan of Children in Need, they truly do amazing things for children and families - they help disadvantaged children and families by supplying desperately needed help, including mental health treatment which (as you know) I'm a huge supporter of. Every year I cry like a baby during Children in Need programme. It's not too late to set something up, I just know the economy has us all down and it's not a good idea to try to fundraise, but Children In Need? It's important to me.


9) Tomorrow's Halloween, and I haven't hung up a single fucking decoration. My favorite holiday and it sort of escaped me this year.


-H.

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October 24, 2008

Racing Down the Steps

Some days, when you stick up for yourself and spend the day trying to tell people that if they just give you a chance that you can prove that you can do it, you find that the day ends just the way you want a Friday afternoon to end.

I spent 8 hours interviewing today, being grilled left right and center, having to give impromptu presentations and go through round after round of testing.

Out of hundreds of applicants, I was a finalist.

My last interview was with a consultant whose job it is to add a valued and considered business and cultural opinion to the interviewing. And she told me as I left that she's going to recommend to the three other managers that they send me an offer letter next week. She said me and my experience were perfect fits.

I walked down the steps of the building feeling like fucking Rocky Marciano.

I feel like I stuck up for myself today.

Even if it doesn't come with an offer - which I truly hope it will - I fought for my career and my worth today, and I can't tell you how that feels.

-H.

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October 22, 2008

Necklaces

Walking through Waterloo yesterday, my breathe in a puff before me, the platforms crowded with people, I felt ok. I hadn't been there in months. I haven't been a person for months.

I pulled my coat tighter around me and walked into the station, feeling like I wasn't an imposter, feeling like maybe I belonged there. I was already tired by the time I walked into the station, so I bought a bagel and some coffee. I waited by the window of the bagel stand for them to toast it, and I looked around. An Asian woman, a tiny slip of a thing, fairly waltzed past me.

Elegance, I thought. I'm lacking elegance.

I took my bagel and coffee and started eating while walking to the building. The sun was out, slamming into the surface of the Thames as I crossed Blackfriars bridge. An oil drum bobbed in the fast current of the water, and I wanted to stand on the side of the bridge and raise my hands and jump - not for suicide, but for the thrill of simply jumping, that moment of having air running through my hair, my fingers spread and catching the wind.

Impetus. I'm lacking impetus, my mind whispered.

I got to the building and headed to the conference room. I took my coat off, pulled out the laptop, logged in. I got my wrist brace out of my bag and slid it on. I sighed, thinking of an email exchange I'd had.

Hi Mom -

Just thought I should let you know I've been diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. It's genetic, and so perhaps you and the rest of the family want to get tested.

I got the reply: Well you didn't get it from my side of the family.

I had buried my head in my hands when I read that, and my mind laughed. Yes, Mom, that's the important part of all of this. The blame. That's what's integral to this discussion.

Some things never change.

Metamorphosis! my mind nearly shouted. You can no longer transform yourself! That's the problem!

Last night I got boilingly angry with Angus. Furious. Incredibly upset and disappointed. And this morning as I sit here, still feeling like stone, I realize what it is that I'm really missing.

Grace.

I lack grace.

I combine my inadequacies together and tie them around my neck like a necklace. I don't get upset anymore at my failings, I simply try to accept that like any used car, I could use some work. I'm the person I am, and it's fine. And what Jeannine said yesterday really resonated with me - I'm known to be a very happy, optimistic person, but inside I'm always a bit melancholy - and I like it that way.

My necklace and I have the blues too, and it's ok.


************************************

I came back from London yesterday floored at how many people said hi. To those who de-lurked, well done you. I read each and every comment (twice no less) and even replied to a few. You folks are so interesting - way more interesting than I, I'm just a dork. Reading about you was so amazing! Mothers, fathers, grandmothers, infertiles, fertiles, singletons, divorcees, and the huge number of academics (must watch my spelling and grammar more now). I am awed and humbled and it's funny, but I enjoyed reading about you. It's nice to know who's out there taking a peek into my life. Thank you.

-H.

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October 21, 2008

You Take the Mike

Right so...

Hey, how about them joints?

Have been doing a lot of research and tomorrow am booking an appointment to do some testing to see if I have That Other Kind of EDS, because I do have some symptoms of that as well. The really bad kind. What I have is just bad, there is a really bad out there too.

But in the meantime, I'm off to London today for a full-day meeting in what I think and hope will be my last business jaunt to London for Dream Job. The world is spinning, life is moving, and my last final interview is on Friday, so by this time next week hopefully there are more options. Even if not, there is at least one option - I have an offer. I'm outta' here.

So since my head's a bit screwed up and I'm off to London still a bit dozy from bad dreams and my babies are chatting and giggling upstairs and oh my God does train travel stress me out and do you have any idea how underprepared I am for this meeting today? I'm taking an easy way out.

You know so much about me.

Tell me something about you.

If you want, that is.

It'd just be nice to know something about you, there on the other side of the screen.

-H.

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October 18, 2008

Sneeze.

Yesterday I went to the specialist expecting to have a steroid shot in my wrist (potentially both of them).

I left with altogether different results.

My right wrist has been killing me for ages now - set off by pregnancy, exacerbated by housework, babies, and typing, I regularly hold my wrist between my arm and my chest at the end of the day to try to keep the feeling of fire from taking over my arm. I'd been put on anti-inflammatories and tested for arthritis - the pills didn't work and I am arthritis free.

So I was referred to a specialist.

I strode into his office yesterday (after finding out I'd put a few pounds on and I'm not happy about that). Our local hospital is both an NHS and a military hospital, so in the room was the specialist - I'll call Dr. Seamus - and a military physician.

I immediately liked Dr. Seamus. Very rough, dressed in a football jersey, and speaking with a thick Irish accent, he put me immediately at ease with jokes and an easygoing manner. I explained the problem and told him I was told I'd developed tendonitis while pregnant.

"They tell people such bullshit," he replied.

Oooh. A doctor who swears. How cool is that?

"Let me see your arm," he said. He immediately starts moving things around. He looks over at the military doctor. "See this?" he asks him.

"I do," the doctor replies, staring.

Dr. Seamus looks at me. "Does that hurt?" he asks.

"No, should it?"

"I just popped your hand out of the wrist joint. I'd say that should fucking hurt," he replied.

Wow. A doc who says the F bomb. I was so distracted by that I didn't even notice the hand, until I looked down and saw that things weren't looking so normal down there. My hand looked like a bulb hanging loose via a stretch of skin.

"So that shouldn't happen?"

"No, that shouldn't happen," he confirmed with a smile.

He starts moving my fingers around. "I'm very flexible," I tell him.

"This isn't flexible, Helen," he replies. "This shouldn't happen." He bends several of my fingers backwards more than 90 degrees. It doesn't hurt at all. He then bends my thumb down so that it touches my arm. That doesn't hurt either. He looks at me and he and the other doctor try to bend their fingers back. "See, you shouldn't be able to pull your fingers back more than a max of 45 degrees," he tells me. Both doctors' hands are representive of this fact.

"Have you ever dislocated anything?" he asks.

"Yes. Both my knees. Sometimes I have to push them back into place. And I can pop both of my shoulder blades out at will."

"You never thought that was unusual?"

"Not really," I admit. "Good fun when you're drunk though."

"Can you stand up and bend over and touch the floor with your palms without bending your knees?"

"Yes. I always thought that made me a good catch, not that it was something weird."

"It's not usual, Helen."

"Well I've always been flexible. I'm good at yoga."

"You're not good at yoga, Helen. You have - " and then he made a noise that sounded like a sneeze.

"What?" I ask.

"Do you bruise easily?"

Hey there's a song in that. "Yes."

"Can all of your joints - hips, ankles, the like - bend in ways others shouldn't?"

"Yes."

"Are you really clumsy?"

"Dear God am I clumsy. I always have been."

"Do things take a long time to heal?"

"Yes." Where was he going with this?

"Helen you have a classic case of Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. You also have Benign Joint Hypermobility Syndrome."

I think I'm losing my hearing. "I'm sorry?"

"You have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. No question about it. I'd say you're types II and III. It basically means the collagen in your joints is not synthesizing. We all have joints, and these joints are filled with collagen that act as connective tissue. Basically your body's joints aren't in great shape."

"I don't understand. I'm only 34."

"Well, it's genetic. And there's a 50% chance you've passed it on to your children. You should watch them for flexibility."

Oh fuck.

"What can we do about the pain?" I ask him.

"There's no treatment for this. You're almost certain to develop arthritis, which we can treat, but medications can't help. Using a brace or avoiding using deteriorating joints might help."

Oh of course. Because I don't need joints, what with a house to renovate, twins, a day job, and a novel I'm trying to finish. Is it too much to ask for a fucking break?

"You mean I'm going to live with this pain forever?" I ask. "I just have to suck it up?"

"Aye, it's pretty bad fucking news, I know," he replies. "I want to do some scans to check on the wrist joint of yours. I think there might be an actual injury to the wrist, in which case we can do something. If there's no injury then I'm afraid there's nothing we can do."

I can't believe it - for the first time in my life, I'm actually hoping I have an injury.

"Not even for the pain?" I ask weakly.

"Not even for the pain. And you have to make some changes now - no contact sports. No more yoga. You need to start weight training to strengthen your muscles enough to handle your joints. I'd also recommend pilates and potentially start some physiotherapy. There's no cure for this, I'm afraid. This is one of those conditions for life."

And that's where I am. I apparently am not a flexible bendy-yoga girl, it's just my joints are fucked up. I've done more research and it's bang on - I'm always covered with bruises and always have been. I can pop all kinds of joints out of place. I can put my leg behind my head (but would rather not, as it seems to make me pass gas like nothing else). And now I'm staring down arthritis and a lifetime of pain (according to the info I can find) as when the joints start to really degrade there's no treatment for the condition or the pain. And the pain is apparently hideous. I guess the upside is I can now start a conversation with "You wanna' see me pop my hand out of its socket? It's pretty gross." and ending it with "I hung up my Championship Handjob Belt. I'm retired."

It's not the end of the world, and in some ways it's a bit of a relief to have a name for something. I'm no longer just a useless fucking klutz. We're going to do more research and find out what this means in terms of running, in terms of future, in terms of injury. I'm also conscious that Nick and Nora are still in the hyper-bendy baby stage that all new babies are in, but at some point I'll be watching them to see if they have it, too. But what it all boils down to is that I'm going to have to be a lot more careful with myself. The research I've been doing all points to one thing: pain. Huge, scary, immense fucking amounts of pain. And personally, I'm not that fond of pain, I think I should do all I can to give that one a miss.

No shots for me yesterday.

In hindsight, I think I would have preferred the shots.


-H.

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October 15, 2008

Shameless Plug

Just a quickie (because satisfaction should always be guaranteed):

I've been mailed this morning to say I was nominated for 2 blogger choice awards. The voting ends tomorrow so no one can work the procrastination like I do, but I'm pleased to be included, and so should you find some time today and want to register and vote (it's free) then I'll make sure your glass gets some extra champagne, should the bubbly gets opened for the agent procurement, because bribery is the other white meat.

You can vote here:


My site was nominated for Hottest Mommy Blogger!


And here:


My site was nominated for Best Blog About Stuff!


It's totally an ego thing and you can ignore it, which would be understood, but I can't even win the bloody lottery let alone a writing competition, so it appeals to my awkward ego. I feel stupid for asking, but feeling stupid's never stopped me before. I'm about 100% clear that I won't win but I'm pretty touched to be nominated.

Even at 34 I'm shy about approaching the nominated homecoming court*.

And I'll admit, there's something greatly pleasing about being called a Hot Mommy Blogger. Or that I have a best blog about stuff. I like stuff.

-H.

* God I feel like an insecure dork.

PS-while I have you signing up for things, maybe you'd be willing to sign a March of Dime petition asking the US government, hospitals and health care, and employers to do more for preemies? My 4 week early babies and I thank you.

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October 14, 2008

I'm Like a Bird

Yesterday kind of rocked.

And it didn't.

It started off badly - I got into yet another email bust-up with one of the people on my projects. I lost my temper in my living room and spent an inordinate amount of time shouting at my laptop screen, which wasn't as rewarding as you'd think it might be.

And then I got a fabulous book pushed through my front door from Ms. S in MD (Hi Ms. S! I love it, thank you!) And I read a chapter and laughed.

Then I spent my entire lunch break writing, and wrote 5 pages in half an hour.

And then a box arrived from Suzie - she'd sent over clothes her gorgeous daughter Josie's outgrown. This is huge for us - Nick gets all the hand-me-downs his cousin (born ten months before the twins) has, and their cousin was an unexpected boy with a wardrobe bigger than mine. We don't have any family that passes things down to Nora, and so the two boxes of clothes Suzie sent over are waiting for her. We're big fans of hand-me downs. Donna had sent over a huge chunk of the very adorable Bridget's clothes when she outgrew them, and the great part is Angus' sister-in-law and I pass clothes back and forth as when Nick and Nora outgrow things, they get passed on to three other women who all have limited incomes and much younger babies. I love that we're keeping so many kids in great clothes and helping each other out.

Man am I a hippie.

I logged off of work at 3:45. I'd had enough for the day, and couldn't take any more.

Finally, I went to the nursery to pick up the babies. While loading them into the car, my phone rang. It was the recruiter from the first company I'd gotten through the final interviews with. I have two more interviews for next week with two other companies, where I'm also in the finals (in fact with one company I am now the only finalist). No decisions will be made until all the interviews are done, and I feel like I'm on pins and needles here.

Ironically yesterday one of my former project managers from rocket riding gerbil called to see if I was interested in a job with his firm. And - unbelievably - this morning the fourth company I applied for a position for several weeks ago called me and want to interview me on Monday. In my dream I ace all of the interviews and there's a bidding war for me and I have to resort to a pros and cons list to decide on which company to go to, but that's just my ego talking. Real life - and my life in particular - doesn't play ball that way. All I need is just one offer and I can escape the hell I'm in.

"Hi Helen," said the recruiter casually over the phone line. "How do you think you did in your interview?"

"Well I don't know now," I said, biting my lip. This is a bad habit of mine, and goes a long way to explaining why my lips are always chapped. "I had thought I did well, but I haven't heard a word from the company in over a week, so maybe I didn't do so well after all."

"Right, well, I've gotten some feedback from them now, which I'd like to go over with you."

"Excellent," I reply.

The news, it wasn't good. more...

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October 13, 2008

Letter Writing

Dear Bob at Agents 'R Us -

Among your aggregate list of authors you represent you clearly have a dearth of new talent! So look no further! I'm the person that you are looking for - charming, determined, and...


No. That's not really me. I don't know who that person is but she needs a good smack.


Dear Angela at Agent Emporium -

I got your details from the book that all wanna-be authors need. It says you're accepting new submissions, so here's mine! I'm getting off my rear end and finally doing something about the words siting around in my computer! I even have proof that I can write in a blog form, where thousands of people come in to read. I promise you'll be...


No. No, that's not quite right either. First, I don't have a fucking clue how many people read my blog. Second, just because you can blog doesn't mean you can write. And third, I'm just not that full of myself.


Dear Simon at Agent Possibilities -

I've always been afraid of rejection, but that can't stop me anymore. I've included 3 chapters from a book of mine I call "24A" because the real name hasn't told itself to me yet. The chapters are key pieces of the work, and I've included a half-page summary as well to help guide you through the plot.

I am happy to discuss with you further and see what possibilities there are for you representing me. I am also interested in editorial assistance and ways to string some of the sequences together in segues that are more didactic and aesthetic. That's not my forte and I recognize that flow is important.

I hope you like what I've written. The story is important to me, and if I'm honest I'm a little in love with my characters. But to me - rightly or wrongly - that's the making of an author. If you spend so much time with them in their lives and hearts, surely it's a good sign that you make them part of yours.

Many Thanks and Regards,
Helen


I'm jumping. I've got a list of agents and am cleaning up chapters to send off. Every rejection letter I get I will keep. I'm even going to keep a running tally of them. Being afraid is no longer an option, it's time I grew up and tried to see just what - if anything - I can make of my little hobby called writing.

And it's my hope that one letter will come in that doesn't reject me.

If or when that day comes, there'll be a party at my blog. You're all invited.

-H.

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Letter Writing

Dear Bob at Agents 'R Us -

Among your aggregate list of authors you represent you clearly have a dearth of new talent! So look no further! I'm the person that you are looking for - charming, determined, and...


No. That's not really me. I don't know who that person is but she needs a good smack.


Dear Angela at Agent Emporium -

I got your details from the book that all wanna-be authors need. It says you're accepting new submissions, so here's mine! I'm getting off my rear end and finally doing something about the words siting around in my computer! I even have proof that I can write in a blog form, where thousands of people come in to read. I promise you'll be...


No. No, that's not quite right either. First, I don't have a fucking clue how many people read my blog. Second, just because you can blog doesn't mean you can write. And third, I'm just not that full of myself.


Dear Simon at Agent Possibilities -

I've always been afraid of rejection, but that can't stop me anymore. I've included 3 chapters from a book of mine I call "24A" because the real name hasn't told itself to me yet. The chapters are key pieces of the work, and I've included a half-page summary as well to help guide you through the plot.

I am happy to discuss with you further and see what possibilities there are for you representing me. I am also interested in editorial assistance and ways to string some of the sequences together in segues that are more didactic and aesthetic. That's not my forte and I recognize that flow is important.

I hope you like what I've written. The story is important to me, and if I'm honest I'm a little in love with my characters. But to me - rightly or wrongly - that's the making of an author. If you spend so much time with them in their lives and hearts, surely it's a good sign that you make them part of yours.

Many Thanks and Regards,
Helen


I'm jumping. No parachute. Not even a bungee cord, and I've always wanted to try bungee jumping. I've got a list of agents and am cleaning up chapters to send off to them. Every rejection letter I get I will keep. I'm even going to keep a running tally of them, take them on the chin, take them in stride. Being afraid is no longer an option, it's time I grew up and tried to see just what - if anything - I can make of my little hobby called writing. If no one likes it, it's time I shut the fuck up about wanting to be a writer when I grow up and accept that sometimes, dreams fall through the cracks. It doesn't mean you're crazy for trying, though.

And it's my hope that one letter will come in that doesn't reject me.

If or when that day comes, there'll be a party at my blog. You're all invited. Bring a glass, I'll have the corkscrew. Or should we do bubbly? You like bubbles?

-H.

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October 10, 2008

Apologies

I understand that yesterday was Yom Kippur, the Jewish holiday with the theme of atonement and repentance. I am not Jewish, but not being one thing or another has never stopped me from borrowing. I owe an apology - for being slow (or for not doing at all) at responding to emails. For this site being Blog Lite for a little while now. For not paying attention to you when you maybe needed some attention. For this and more, I apologize.

I will be back at my regularly scheduled blog pace soon, I'm just taking a short holiday in my head while trying to line up my life ducks all in a life duck row. I'm ok, everything's ok. I'm just working through some things.

In the meantime, I'm not leaving and have some things lined up for next week. This week's been hectic with interviews and work, and I've had little time for anything else.

I can say that a few days ago I strapped on my running shoes for the first time in years and ran two miles. My legs still feel it today, and in a little while I'll be tying up my running shoes and running again.

I can also say that while I haven't been writing here, I have been writing. And that's something that I feel pretty damn good about.

-H.

UPDATE - the company I interviewed with on Tuesday just called. I am in the finals, with the final interview sometime during the week of October 20. Two finals down, 1 to go, hopefully an offer or two come out the other side.

You bring a glass, I've got the corkscrew.

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October 07, 2008

Underwater

You're underwater.

You can't remember if you jumped or were pushed. It doesn't really matter, anyway. All you know is that you're here.

It was cold at first. A slight shock as the water weaved its way into the lining of your clothing, slid inside your shirt to be next to your skin, divided and devoured the strands of your hair, down to the bottom of your scalp. You felt it slide into your shoes and socks so you kicked them off, freeing your toes and heels with a sensation akin to solace. It was cold at first but slowly you grew accustomed to it, it wasn't so cold anymore.

You can feel the little bubbles of air trapped on your eyelashes like effervescence. The smaller hairs on your arm dance a slow motion dance to a tune you cannot hear. Your legs move back and forth of their own accord, silently pumping just enough to keep you in one place, neither above the water nor deeper in it. You didn't tell your legs to move, you didn't tell your toes to point, they simply decided to do it themselves.

You look around you and all you see is blue. Blue, as far as the eye can go, a blue that gets darker the further you get. It's the color of a web page, the color of a neglected shopping bag bouncing along the autumn sidewalk, the color of a broken promise, the color of the fading roller coaster car that thrilled you when you were a child. You hold your hand up to the blue and move your fingers, dislodging miniature air bubbles from your skin and liberating them to the surface.

You need to decide if you should go up or down. You cannot stay in this place underwater for too long or the inevitable will happen - your lungs will decide to breathe in the water and make the choice for you. You need to have your say. The choice needs to be your choice.

You could go up. You know what's up. In up, your lips are chapped. The toes of your shoes get wet walking in the dew. Your coffee gets cold if it sits too long in your favorite cup. Your toe instinctively looks for that imperfect place in the floor when you walk through your home.

You could go down. You don't know what's down. In down, the water gets darker. Your feet will guide you in a direction you don't need to know about in advance. You will see something new. You can take your memories out and leave them on the soft bed for someone else to find and re-live.

There is no right or wrong to this, this deciding to go up or down. Only a decision needs to be made and you have to make it. You cannot be where you are now forever.

You're underwater.

You need a few more moments to sort out your options. You need to remember where you are now. How you got there isn't important. What's important is that you got to a place where you are in the water and the water is going to comfort you and hold you while you make a decision. You know that the choice you're about to make is yours and it's a choice that will impact many things around you, the decision will leave rings of echoes throughout the water for a long time to come.

Play with the air bubbles for another second. Watch the tail of your shirt ride in the silent motion of the water and feel the current drifting up from your slowly moving legs. Turn your head right and left and let the sheer volume of water be the only noise you hear. Look up, look down, look around. You have a moment.

You're underwater.

And you have to make a choice.

- H.

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October 05, 2008

A Grand Day

Nick and Nora's birthday was a great success.

The day before they had their booster injections and were weighed and measured. Nick is now 9.92 kilos (21.8 pounds) and 80cm long. He's now in the 50th percentile, which is a huge change for us. Nora comes in at 10 kilos (22 pounds) and 72cm. And for the first time in her life, she's almost 75th percentile (she's also extremely prone to bloating, like her mother). They're galloping ahead and I'm thrilled to bits, as they're about to trim up and lose weight being mobile, so "beefing them up" was important.

Nick was a little unsettled on Friday, I think it was too many people and too much for him at some points. He liked to be held and to check things out from laps.


DSC_6829.JPG


Nora soaked it all in and got about the business of flying around the room and trying to grab hold of things.


Nora is one


Birthday presents - from us, grandparents, Auntie Donna, Auntie CTG, and a fabulous anonymous package from Amazon (all the slip said is the sender is in Kolkata, West Bengal. Hi! Thank you so much!) - rested on the table and decorations graced pretty much every available surface and wall.


Birthday table


They opened their presents, which they loved.

Then I stripped them down and we got down to business.


cakes


Nora went in hands first.


Nora and her cake


Nick took a more expeditious method.


Nick and his cake


They made a hell of a mess and earned themselves a ticket to the bathtub.


Messy Nora


But it was a brilliant, beautiful, happy day and it will remain with me forever.

As will this photo.


Messy Nick


I think they liked it all.



-H.

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