Thursday, February 22, 2007

How do we do it, and what can we teach about it?

We walk through this life, and feel its many little sorrows, its many little joys. Each one is felt acutely by me, spiralling me down to the depth of depsair, or shepherding me to heights of joy unparalled.

How can I even do this? Living in so many moments, so many little slices of time and space, of emotion and fact, of life and, of death? I want to laugh and cry, to sing and weep, all at the same time such that my heart feels fit to bursting.

Maybe it will one day, perhaps my heart will just sunder, break and crumble to dust. I wish it were to be an explosion of light and of butterflies, of song and the claxon call of trumpets. Would that it could be so. Some climax of emotion, either the pain unendurable that finally breaks me, or the pinnacle of joy and love that allows me to transcend the mortal coil and attain a position angelic. Would that it could be such, an accomplishment, and no longer this journey of neverending cyclical ebbs and flows.

More than anything, I am tired. I am tired of the sorrows, I am tired of the joys. i weary of this journey, when it has only just begun. I could sleep for the rest of eternity. Were I to do that, could I stand to miss all that comes next? How many of the joys and sorrows that are my due can I afford to not partake of? These events will happen with or without me, if I am participant or spectator. Shirking my participation will not undo the things that are not yet done.

I must push on, to readjust the weight of my burdens, to reassess the uplifting nature of my joys. I have never been alone on this destinationless pilgrimage, but now more than ever, I face the notion of having a Companion on my road. My unborn child will need to face the same experiences, opening his or her heart to all the world's pain and joys. For someone as frequently lost as myself, will i make a decent enough Guide? Will my childe step into that breach, and be the Guide that i have been looking for all this time? I do not have any answers, and thus my head and mind feel useless. All I have to go by is my heart, my strained, pained, loving heart to pull me around in a blustery whirlwind of emotions.

It hurts so much, it feels love so strongly. How much strength can there possibly be in it?

Saturday, February 17, 2007

Optimus Prime(d)

Hello true believers!

I know, I am WAY overdue for my blog entry regarding my London trip. Rest assured, faithful reader, it is on its Merry Waye! I am trying to catch up, and something amazing happened just before i went to London that i don't want to forget to post about.

Last Thursday morning (has it only been a little over a week? ) the Goodely Wyfe and I went for another Ultrasound. apparently, we now get the Ultra Ultra sound, where they can do some 4D imaging hoodoo to create an amazing image of the baby. I always thought that the fourth dimension was TIME, but there you go, apparently they can photograph time now. For your viewing pleasure, I give you...the baby Giggles.

Look like anyone you know? It is amazing, the imaging prowess, but then frightening, when I see that the little mug does indeed have the Torre nose. My whole family has this nose, this bulging potato like protuberance that gets it's namesake from Millie Torre, my grandma, and also her cousin, the (in)famous Joe Torre of New York Yankees fame.

I would say that this was our "claim to fame", but the stories I hear do not paint Mr. Torre in a rewarding light, so we will leave it at that.

The baby is, of course, beautiful to me, Torre nose nonwithstanding. On the Spina Bifida front, the baby looks good as well. There is a lot of mobility, and for the duration of the ultrasounding, (s)he actually had his / her foot stuck in his / her mouth! It was adorable, and also very easy to see that the feet were not clubbed, something that we watch out for.

The baby again decided to put its head as deep down in the womb as was possible (takes after Daddy) and as such, we couldn't get a good look at the ventricles in the brain, but what we could see looked good, with a minimal of swelling. For those playing at home, swollen brain ventricles = bad.

All of this can change at a moments notice, so stay tuned for updates as we move forward. Moving forward, I have spent all day today painting the baby's room, well, priming it at least. painting is a pain in the keister! The "fun" part, the rolling of the paint Bay City style, is surprisingly brief, and the bulk of the time is spent taping, prepping and painting trim and corners, which is the the carnival fun equivalent of changing the grease pots, and not getting the funnel cake.

But, all of this was worth it. Gigges makes me want to be a better person, so to me, "better" means getting the house in shape. I typically spend my Saturdays in Naked Town playing videogames or reading comics, but today it found me hard at work painting and prepping. Is that prepping and painting? I have no idea. I wonder if Johnny Rotten and company thought when they went into studio to cut the tracks for "Never Mind the Bullocks" that their end user would be a 38 year old ex-hipster painting the room for his baby? Most likely not, but if there is an afterlife, I hope Sid V can look down on me and smile, or at least sneer..

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

100 Posts and Counting!!

I know, I owe you all some pictures of London, and a look into my experiences there, but before i post about that, I wanted to break my curse and actually post some photos. For Valentine's Day this year, the Goodely Wyfe snuck out to a local photographer, and had her belly shot. Unlike the fortnightly ultrasounds, these shots are from the outside!

The photos are courtesy of a wonderful local photographer! Please check her out!

I think the baby and the belly both look positively beautiful, don't you?

I am a big fan of the black and white format.

So there you go. For this, my 100th post, I actually put some pictures up, and for this centennial, I definitely posted momentous mementos.

With any luck, this will get me to post even more pictures. Here's to keeping our collective fingers crosed, eh?

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

London Calling!

Yes yes yes, y'all, and it don't stop!

As you may recall from a previous post, a dear friend of mine left this country for Jolly Ole Britain, er...whatever you call that wee island sitting over there. Ugly American, anyone?

Fef...this decidely UNugly American is taking his self over the pond to visit above reference friend tomorrow evening, and staying for a long weekend! I am very excited about the whole affair, which of course, translates to "very nervous".

I aim to be spontaneous, and devil may care (or devil may care less, or Devil may wear Prada, whichever) but most of my spontaneity only comes with a lot of fore-planning and nail biting. I have everything I need to travel, but much like I frequently just assume I will be fired from my job, divorced and killed at the drop of a hat, I also kind of assume that I am not going to have some obscure piece of critical information,and the lovely woman at the customs desk (well come on now, if I am going to imagine the worst all the time, i might as well fill these dour fantasies with the uniformed hawtness, yes?) will not only keep me from flying, but also confiscate all my belongings, and give me the full body cavity search, but not in that good way.

But, laytex glove notwithstanding, I am all set for my trip. All I have to do tomorrow is get to a doctors appointment, have breakfast with the Goodely, do some laundry, pay thie bills, get a haircut, buy a videogame for my European host, pack, copy all the contact information, update my Ipod, charge it up, and get myself to the airport.

Not too bad, right?

Hey, watch this next line, its really funny:

I will post pictures when I return!

Sunday, February 04, 2007

I Have a Really Good Imagination....

Sometimes, almost too good. I spent some part of this past weekend cleaning out the room that will be The Nursery", and future bedroom for Giggles Wombrider. It was a lot of work, but I can safely say that we now have one totally empty room here at the Clutterhut. I doubt if many people can say the same thing about their own houses.

To take a phrase from my favorite gray haired contemporary, "I have a room with an echo."

So, tonight, just a few moments ago, I stood in said vacant room, and did very little reflection. I am only just now thinking that I, your humble author, completely vacated that room, and nothing of myself remains there in a material form. All my papers, art supplies, action figures, toys and framed documents of arbitrary certifications are no longer in evidence, they have been reabsorbed into the Body Clutter pending redistribution. This did not bother me at all, oddly enough.

No, there was little reflection. What I found myself doing was quite a bit of PROjection. Is this the same as being PROactive? Was I planning, or imagining? I think the latter. Perhaps I am more architect than I think, and just the fact that there existed an empty room propelled my mind to fill it up as fast as possible, but, lacking building implements or paints, I filled it with the only tools I had at hand, this "blessed" imagination of mine.

I could picture my incredibly lovely Goodely Wyfe rocking in a restored chair that her mother rocked (Bristow!! \m/- -\m/ ) in before The Goodely was born. There she sits, babe at her teat, sublime and content while I gazed lovingly at the two of them from the doorway, cocktail in hand.

I could also picture the two of us rushing into the room after the SIDS alarm went off on the baby monitor, shocked and horrified that our little baby had expired in the night...clutching and screaming at the lifeless babe in our arms.

I could picture the child taking first steps, then picturing the first steps with braces, then a walker, than taking a first spin in the wheelchair that he or she may use for the entirety of life.

I could picture the same child at a piano, making beautiful music, at an easel, making beautiful paintings, on the phone, trying to get that one special girl or boy to date him or her.

I could picture how sad we would be, or how sad I alone, or the Goodely alone would be walking into that room after something horrible happened to any of the three of us prior to the baby being born, and how different an experience it all would be.

I could picture me walking into that same now empty room, sitting next to my child as they lay in bed, sobbing into their pillow, because they were teased at school. I could picture me holding that child, rocking them slowly, and making all the soft sounds of reassurance that no preteen or teenager hears then, but somehow takes in, and uses to make themselves stronger and better than anyone that ever teased them could ever hope to be.

I could picture a lot of things, and they all, good or bad, happy or sad, all of them make me cry. I guess I whispered out loud only to hear whispered back to me in a soft echo in this room that will holds the potential not only for paint and furniture and toys but also the empty room that holds the promise of such great joys, such ultimate sadnesses....I whispered that it all be alright. That is what i hoped for. Not consistent and stellar jubilation, but just that it all be alright.

Please, can it all just be alright? I get so scared, and so sad sometimes. I don't think I am being an underachiever by wishing for things to be "alright". Faced with the alternatives that my mind ne'er ceases to conjure up, i think "alright" would be just fine and dandelion, thank you very much.

Imma go hug my Wyfe now. You guys take care.