Further adventures of Rocketbride: May 27, 2003.

I don't care if you don't want me cause I'm yours yours yours anyhow

may 27, 2003.

This morning I realized that I still had a headache from Sunday. Did this make period 1 fun? No. Was it fun anyway? Yeah. Always. A girl found a piece of anonymous teen poetry in her desk and handed it to me. By the time I turned my attention to the paper, I had forgotten where it came from.
"Who gave this to me?"
A girl put up her hand. "I found it in my desk."
"Oh. I thought you were trying to tell me something."
"No. I mean I love you, Ms. Rocketbride."
After 30 minutes of caf supervision, the 3-day headache had morphed into a veritable migraine. I started seeing weird things at those tables - I mean, weirder things than that ones I knew were really there. I fantasized about going home, but I had a pile of marking to complete and return by the end of the day...there was no frigging way.
I marked like a demon. I surprised myself. By then I was feeling nauseous. So I went home.

On the way home I started thinking about people in my past. I mean the solid, can't reach 'em past people, people like Alexi. I suddenly had the urge to find everyone I had loved or liked or admired so I could share my happiness. Then I wondered where that urge was coming from.
See, after Alexi dumped me, I spent a year weighed down with incredible loads of guilt and embarassment. At the time, I thought that the only way I could get rid of either was to convince him to take me back. As my relationship with the Boy developed, I began to get rid of the guilt, one nibble at a time. I couldn't make it better to Alexi...but I could make it better to the Boy, simply by being good and kind and patient and loving. I found a way to relieve the pressure and soon the guilt was all but gone. Now I just have the embarrassment.
I am such a self-conscious girl. It's remarkable how knotty & neurotic I can be. I'm embarrassed about the panting letters I wrote, and the public crying spells, and the oh-so-baroque poetry. I'm embarrassed that I was drunk so much of the time, and that so many people (willing and unwilling) saw my underwear. I'm embarrassed that I shamed my friends, and shamed my love, and shamed myself. I'm embarrassed that it took me two years to wise up.
But you know what? WHO FRIGGING CARES?! Who else is wriggling at the memories of 199fucking6 and 199fucking7? Everybody else has moved on; why can't I?
I need some spring cleaning in my head. There is so much Poet-and-Alexi-related-bullshit taking up space in there, and I need that shelf now. I have parenting bullshit to store, and I'm getting mighty tired of holding the shovel.

later...
Eeeeeee!
Our midwife appointment was today, the first visit since the initial consultation. Mostly I answered questions about medical history while the Boy leafed through a hefty paperback entitled Your Pregnancy: Week by week. We got to know our secondary midwife, a woman who started off in nursing and then developed her interest in birthin' babies into a career. I like her just as much as I like Hectate - maybe more, because she feels like the right age to be a mom to me.
We did the blood pressure cuff, I got instructions on the next check-ups that needed to be in my file, and she checked the position of my uterus (still in my gut, I'm happy to report. Hasn't gone wandering. Nope.) She mentioned off-handedly that if we were really lucky, we might be able to hear a heartbeat...but there were a lot of factors that might thwart us, and she didn't want to try if we were going to freak out at a lack of sound. I made my voice calm. "Can we try?"
It's like a little hummingbird, coming from a place where no heartbeat should rightly be. It was twice as fast as mine, and utterly amazing. On the subway ride home, the Boy kept tapping it out on my shoulder.
"I'm bringing a tape recorder to the ultrasound in July," he promised. As if I had any doubt.


	may 27, 2003. This morning I realized that I still had a headache from Sunday. Did this make period 1 fun? No. Was it fun anyway? Yeah. Always. A girl found a piece of anonymous teen poetry in her desk and handed it to me. By the time I turned my attention to the paper, I had forgotten where it came from. "Who gave this to me?" A girl put up her hand. "I found it in my desk." "Oh. I thought you were trying to tell me something." "No. I mean I love you, Ms. Rocketbride." After 30 minutes of caf supervision, the 3-day headache had morphed into a veritable migraine. I started seeing weird things at those tables - I mean, weirder things than that ones I knew were really there. I fantasized about going home, but I had a pile of marking to complete and return by the end of the day...there was no frigging way. I marked like a demon. I surprised myself. By then I was feeling nauseous. So I went home. On the way home I started thinking about people in my past. I mean the solid, can't reach 'em past people, people like Alexi. I suddenly had the urge to find everyone I had loved or liked or admired so I could share my happiness. Then I wondered where that urge was coming from. See, after Alexi dumped me, I spent a year weighed down with incredible loads of guilt and embarassment. At the time, I thought that the only way I could get rid of either was to convince him to take me back. As my relationship with the Boy developed, I began to get rid of the guilt, one nibble at a time. I couldn't make it better to Alexi...but I could make it better to the Boy, simply by being good and kind and patient and loving. I found a way to relieve the pressure and soon the guilt was all but gone. Now I just have the embarrassment. I am such a self-conscious girl. It's remarkable how knotty & neurotic I can be. I'm embarrassed about the panting letters I wrote, and the public crying spells, and the oh-so-baroque poetry. I'm embarrassed that I was drunk so much of the time, and that so many people (willing and unwilling) saw my underwear. I'm embarrassed that I shamed my friends, and shamed my love, and shamed myself. I'm embarrassed that it took me two years to wise up. But you know what? WHO FRIGGING CARES?! Who else is wriggling at the memories of 199fucking6 and 199fucking7? Everybody else has moved on; why can't I? I need some spring cleaning in my head. There is so much Poet-and-Alexi-related-bullshit taking up space in there, and I need that shelf now. I have parenting bullshit to store, and I'm getting mighty tired of holding the shovel. later... Eeeeeee! Our midwife appointment was today, the first visit since the initial consultation. Mostly I answered questions about medical history while the Boy leafed through a hefty paperback entitled Your Pregnancy: Week by week. We got to know our secondary midwife, a woman who started off in nursing and then developed her interest in birthin' babies into a career. I like her just as much as I like Hectate - maybe more, because she feels like the right age to be a mom to me. We did the blood pressure cuff, I got instructions on the next check-ups that needed to be in my file, and she checked the position of my uterus (still in my gut, I'm happy to report. Hasn't gone wandering. Nope.) She mentioned off-handedly that if we were really lucky, we might be able to hear a heartbeat...but there were a lot of factors that might thwart us, and she didn't want to try if we were going to freak out at a lack of sound. I made my voice calm. "Can we try?" It's like a little hummingbird, coming from a place where no heartbeat should rightly be. It was twice as fast as mine, and utterly amazing. On the subway ride home, the Boy kept tapping it out on my shoulder. "I'm bringing a tape recorder to the ultrasound in July," he promised. As if I had any doubt.