What I'm Reading

I'm very pregnant. The starting-to-have-trouble-sleeping-sitting-bending over and falling-asleep-anytime-I-put-my-feet-up kind of pregnant. I would post a picture, but I'm too lazy. I'm very lazy right now. I have been reading, though, and I thought I would bring you up to date.

When I first started this blog, I felt like I needed a gimmick. My gimmick was that I would tell my stories through stories about the stories I am reading. Get it? Like I would review a book about romance, then relate it back to my own life, then weave in a story from my current day-to-day life. Turned out to be too much effort, not to mention less fun than writing about whatever comes to mind. I overcomplicate things, in case you haven't figured that out already.

Anyways, here's what I've been reading lately, and what I thought.

The Empress of the Splendid Season by Oscar Hijuleos - Another win for Mr. Hijuelos. He's amazing. How  a man can inhabit a woman's mind so convincingly, I'll never understand. As a writer, I don't think I could ever narrate in a male voice. I just don't think it would be authentic. He's amazing, though. I love his characters.

Let the Great World Spin by Collum McCann - Holy moly. So good, I had to stop reading. Does that make sense? The stories were affecting me so much, and consuming my thoughts to so great a degree, that I thought it might not be healthy during pregnancy. These are not happy tales. But he is intimidatingly talented. Apparently the late Frank McCourt said something like after he read this book, he worried about Collum, because what are you to do with your life once you've written something so beautiful.

Wicked by Gregory Maguire - A good reminder that I don't like this kind of book. I don't know why, but I hated it. So much so that I just wanted it out of my house when I was finished. Don't get me wrong, I'm completely impressed by the effort, and I think the writing is strong, but this was not my cup of tea. Apparently, I'm nearly one in a million because it's been made into a Tony award-winning play and I think I've heard a movie's in the works. I would see the movie.

Balance is a Crock, Sleep is for the Weak by Amy Eschliman - I felt like I needed to read something about pregnancy and motherhood. This book was a really funny take on being a working mother. It also made me feel okay about freaking out sometimes and feeling like everything's spinning out of control, or clinging desperately to the idea that my biweekly house cleanings are essential (turns out, according to Ms. Eschliman, who is neither psychiatrist nor any kind of expert, agrees). I love feeling validated.

Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk by David Sedaris - I love him. Just love him. This isn't my favorite (I would recommend What to Do When You are Engulfed in Flames), but it's creative and funny and I just love to be reminded that somewhere out there is David Sedaris, writing this wacky shit, and laughing himself to sleep each night. How could you not?

The Vanity Fair issue with Cher cover - Pretty decent. I took this to Montreal and read nearly the entire thing during our trip. The pictures in the Cher piece were so outrageous. She's really something. there was a lengthy article on William and Kate, too, and where better to get your royal gossip than VF? Nowhere.

I just picked up Notes from a Small Island by Bill Bryson from the local Book Exchange. There are so many new novels out there that I'm itching to read right now, but I'm trying to save my pennies at the moments, so they'll have to wait. I'll have a lot to look forward to while feeding baby Jack in February and March!

You

Moments before your first haircut at nearly 2.5 years old.

Very soon, little monkey, you will have to share me. You, your daddy ("my daddy"), and I will be joined by another, an other, a brother. I think of it constantly; while we're enjoying a quiet night of puzzles by the fire, my mind's eye adds a baby on a blanket beside us. How will it feel, sweety pea? Will we have some trouble? I imagine so. You get your resentment of transitions and generally stubborn nature from me. I don't deal easily with change, as your daddy does. I take my time, as you do, to adjust, which makes me a bit nervous and wary. But only a little, because I know that your life, like your dadddy's and like mine, will be so enriched by this new Jack.

I've been raised to believe that life and love, like stories and meals, are meant to be shared. Share our blessings we will, though I well up when I imagine you learning to do without me any more than you already do. So, for now, I think of you and I hold you closer, I spoil you and indulge you at bedtime, I kiss and rock and nuzzle you until you beg me to let go.

To capture you, to freeze you, exactly as you are right now, when you have captured my attention perhaps more than ever, I've written this:

Your daddy smiles and says he knows you'll have a good life. He tells me not to worry about the fears I verbalize (about peer pressure and weird drugs and other things I have years to worry about), because you'll be so confident and because so many people love you.

You are headstrong. You've never been "easy." You're opinionated and unpredictable. You fight back. You protest. And I'll know you'll always be this way (because you're related to me).

You have developed some small fears recently. In a way, I appreciate them because they lead you to my arms and make you seem a little vunerable, 2-year-old that you are.

You're a parrot. We like to teach you to say funny things. When you're particularly chatty, your daddy yells to me, "What should I teach him to say?" This week we worked on "Look at me in my eyeball," from that movie Along Came Polly. We should probably focus in on your ABCs and 123s, which you hate, and mangle. After a couple passes through a new book, you finish nearly every sentence for me.

You're affectionate. You hug and kiss easily when in the mood. You hug and kiss your teachers goodbye each day. At bedtime, you turn my head toward your daddy's and say "Mommy Daddy," indicating that you want us to kiss, too.

You are my favorite part of every day. Always. You're your father's, too.

You are more okay without me than I am without you.

You have the world's cutest tushie.

You are very proud of yourself. When you do something well, you encourage yourself saying "I do a great job!" and "Hooray, Nicky!"

You don't eat much, and you don't let my anxieties related to this affect your decisions.

You hate calling it a day, but you sleep like a little log. Then you rise early, so very, very early.

You're my big helper. You help take out the recycling and feed Boda, you give Bo-bo treats every morning, and put away your toys. You love to throw things in the trash and dirty laundry.

You respect the serious rules (don't touch the fire, don't go downstairs without me), and completely disregard all the others. I secretly adore this.

You remind me that the perfection I so often strive for is overrated, and impossible.

You make me wonder at the depth of that excavation site, at the size of that train, at how very cool cranes and bulldozers and garbage trucks are.

You make me cheer when puzzle pieces fit together.

You make me listen to everything. You make me appreciate language and respect its authority.

You remind me of the importance of touch. How old will you be when you stop saying "Momma, I want to hold you?" I hope you never do. When, on the way out of daycare, I told you I hadn't gotten a kiss or a hug, you stamped your feet and said "Momma, we've got to stop!" Then you looked at me with kissy lips.

You remind me that sometimes we all just need to lie around and take 3-hour naps.

You remind me constantly that, damnit, it's stupid to do something you don't want to. Do we really need to go to Target/the Post Office/the grocery store? Usually the answer is no.

You're obsessed with anatomy. This morning you ran into the bathroom and yelled "Oh no, Momma! You have a pagina!" You assured me you do not have a pagina, you have a penis. This penis (always possesively referred to as "my penis") is the subject of great speculation; its safety is of utmost concern. You take a spin on your Retro Rocket and tell me "That hurt my penis!" I ask if it's okay. "Yes," you say. "My penis is okay." Whew.

You remind me of the importance of familiarity and routine. When we were on vacation, your daddy and I missed our routine. He said this a couple times. It's just one of the many things you brought to our lives that we didn't realize was missing.

You make me want to be better, kinder, more compassionate, more confident, and, above all, more patient with those I love. I fail all the time, almost hourly, but I keep trying for you.

You make me want to write to remember. I'm very thankful for that.

You're funny. Maybe the funniest person I've ever met. I can't count the number of times you make me laugh in a day, even on those days.

Tonight after dinner, you pointed to my belly and told my sister, your Aunt K-K, "That's my butter." I can't wait for you to meet your butter Jack. You're going to be the best, coolest big butter ever.