Goodbye, Montana

Most of you know I moved to Massachusetts from Billings, Montana nearly 10 years ago. At the time, I left thinking that someday I'd probably go back "home" to live there permanently. I grew up there; many of my dearest friends were there; and, most importantly, my mother was there. Through the ensuing years, a lot has changed. I've really made a home and a life for myself in Massachusetts. I got married to M, we bought a house, got a dog. And now we have Fiona. I spent my most formative growing-up years in MT, but I've really become an adult in MA. Even so, Montana has always been what I think of when someone says "hometown."

As of today, my most important link to Montana is gone. My mother, untethered by marriage, mortgage, or job, packed as many of her belongings as would fit into her sparkly red convertible Mustang and hit the road. As I write this, she's making her way to the sunnier climes of Phoenix, Arizona, where she plans to live for the duration.

I can't blame my mom. In fact, I'm really psyched for her. After all, I had my own similar adventure when I moved here, and clearly it has worked out. But I'm sad, too. Montana has always been one of the main characters in my life story, and having a home base there was a significant comfort. I always knew that if, for some reason, things didn't work out so well here, there was always Montana... there was always "home."

I'm fortunate to have my own little family, though. M and Fiona, along with the animals, our friends, and our lives here are my real home now. And I still have a few lovely friends back in Montana to be my home base (they probably won't put us all up for weeks at a time, and cook for us, and generally host us like my mom would have... although perhaps now is the time to ask). It's just going to be weird to go back to Montana as a pure visitor, not as someone who "sort of lives here" by virtue of her mother's residence.

To be sure, M, Fiona and I will all take the long trip one day so I can have the pleasure of showing my daughter where I grew up, where I went to school, where I played and had friends. All around my favorite places in Billings - the sandstone cliffs that line the northern part of the city known as the rimrocks; the downtown area; the mall where I spent countless hours of my pre-teen years. And we'll all go to my favorite places around the state, too - Beartooth Pass, Yellowstone National Park, Cooke City, Bozeman, Missoula, and Fairmont Hot Springs. I do love that state. And who knows? Maybe someday my new little family and I will go back there to stay.

TV Sucks Bigtime

During the past 8 weeks I've been home on maternity leave, I've had the opportunity to realize just how very, very much TV sucks. There is so much crap available for viewing at any hour of the day it boggles the mind. Right before it churns said mind to an oatmeal-like consistency. I'm almost looking forward to returning to work just so I can avoid looking at the idiot box for so many hours a day.

There are major turds to be found on every channel, even ones I would have considered non-sucking. For instance, HGTV, to which I am typically glued on the weekends, has a bunch of seriously lame shows where people do sub-par crafts ("After the break, we'll show you how to make this tribal drum end table!") while smiling insanely. The Food Network shows waaaay too much Rachel Ray (of course, in my book any Rachel Ray is too much). Travel Channel has the giddies for Jeff Corwin; he's alright, but a little too cool-guy-goofy-smug for my taste. TNT and TBS are my usual go-tos, but even they let me down from time to time, showing more Home Improvement and Married With Children than I choose to watch.

Of course, that's just the basic cable channels. I don't even bother with regular network television. I'm sorry, but I will never be desperate enough to watch Dr. Phil, Tyra, or whoever else is on the air these days after having sold their souls to Lucifer. Before Fiona and I discovered the magic of sleeping late together, it was all I could do to watch The Today Show. That much perky that early and you could strain something!

Soap operas have also descended beneath me at this point. Growing up I was an avid Days of Our Lives fan, but it's just not worth it anymore. I'm annoyed that there are so many new characters. By the same token, I'm annoyed that so many characters remain - and are STILL up to their same old tricks. BOOORING.

I don't even want to get into the commercials that air during the day. I've seen way more ads for ambulance chaser lawyers, credit counseling agencies, and Vehix than I ever hoped to. Seriously, who does the media buys for these companies, monkeys? Because it seems to me like forcing people to watch the same ad more than once during every commercial break of on half-hour program isn't smart media planning. But maybe it's just me.

I have a schedule I typically follow nowadays. It's not great, but it works for Fiona and me. In the super-early hours when Fiona wakes up for a feeding, I'm likely to catch an episode of Dawson's Creek, which I was never really into when it originally aired but will suffice to keep me company when the world is dark and quiet. Later on, if we make it up in time, we'll watch two episodes of Charmed (from the Shannen Doherty days) from 8:00 to 10:00. From 10:00 to 11:00 it's Frasier, and then Will & Grace (if I'm not too annoyed by it that day) until noon. Then we hit something of a dry spell for the day. Most days I'll turn off the TV and turn on classical music. But when the need for company other than a screaming baby overwhelms, I'll turn on What Not to Wear from noon to 1:00, and follow it up with Ten Years Younger until 2:00. Last month, between 2:00 and 4:00 I'd be watching Star Trek: The Next Generation, but Spike TV turned stupid and stopped airing it by October 1. Bastards. So now I just wander through TV hell, occasionally landing on something that I don't hate until 4:00 when there are two more episodes of Charmed (from the Rose McGowan era). From 6:00 to 7:00 I'll watch whatever catches my eye. By 7:00, M is home and Scrubs comes on.

Sure, my brain is rotting and I'm turning my kid stupid by watching so much TV. But with a child that opts not to be put down as a general rule, there's not a lot else for me to do. I feel bad about this. But being entertained 24/7 is extremely important to me. Plus, Fiona's not much of a conversationalist just yet. I bet when I'm back at work in less than four weeks, I'll really miss all the crappy TV I've been watching. Well, no - I'm sure TV will be the farthest thing from my mind. What I'll be missing is the entertainment I get out of Fiona. She's the best kind of TV.

Anytime is good for me

After five months of eager anticipation, last night finally came. It was the culmination of nearly 20 years of hoping, praying, wishing that it would happen... someday, somehow. Last night, I finally got to see The Police, live in concert. And oh, god, was it ever good. I've been a fan of The Police since I was 15 and rediscovered the song "Wrapped Around Your Finger." Later, during the autumn of my sophomore year of high school, my best friend and I would drive around during lunch listening to Every Breath you Take: The Singles over and over. To this day, the song "Roxanne" can conjure a rainy fall day like no other. But I was a little late to The Police party, since they'd broken up when I was still a pre-teen. And no good concerts ever came to Billings, Montana, anyway. Well, except for the extremely awesome REO Speedwagon, whom I saw in 6th grade.

Needless to say, when word came out late in 2006 that a reunion tour was in the works, M - also a longtime fan who missed out on the chance to see them in concert - and I were more than a little interested. Tickets went on sale for fan club members on February 20th (and yes, we purchased a membership specifically for this purpose). We scored 4 tickets with relative ease. Now came five months of waiting. Oh, yeah... and getting more and more pregnant with each passing month. When we bought those tickets, I was barely out of my first trimester. It seemed like no big deal - of course I'd make it to the concert! Why wouldn't I?

As time went by, I could begin to see how being extremely pregnant might be a bit of a hindrance in getting to the concert, but I was not to be deterred. A number of people expressed their doubts about my ability to make it there, but I stood firm. Of course, I would make it. I've waited too long for this! But I couldn't help but wonder at the words of my previously-pregnant friends who obviously had more experience in this department than I. Would I make it? M and I opted in when a November show was announced and tickets went on sale. Just in case. But I was still determined that unless I was in labor or had a 3-day old baby, I would be there.

Now, being nine months pregnant, something like a major rock concert - at Fenway Park, no less - was not to be undertaken lightly. Understanding that I could get very hot, very swollen, and very tired in short order dictated how M and I prepared for the concert. First, I did virtually nothing all day but sit on my fat arse with my feet up (to minimize swelling) and take naps as they came (to minimize exhaustion). And I wore the most comfortable, loose-fitting clothes I had. No small feat these days, given how big I am now. And M, bless his heart, went out early in the day to find me some sort of cushion to sit on.

I could go into all the details and funny little side-stories that made the evening just that much more flavorful: our bemused cabbie who dropped us off at and picked us up from the concert, the sourpuss in our row who was so disinclined to move her lazy fat ass out of the way to let people in and out of our row (to the point that I actually climbed over the row in front of ours in order to get into my own seat at one point), and our precipitous seat change. But they don't really get into the main point of it. We finally got to see The Police. Live. In concert. And it RULED!

Overall, I have to say it wasn't nearly as difficult or uncomfortable as other people tried to prepare me for. Sure, I was hot and had to keep drinking water to keep hydrated. And I missed parts of a few songs due to multiple bathroom trips. And climbing stairs wasn't really much of a picnic. But after all, I am just pregnant, not disabled. I'd guess my enjoyment level at the concert was actually in no way compromised by my advanced state of pregnancy. It may have been enhanced, actually: all those trips to the bathrooms brought numerous kind comments from fellow concert-goers like, "Three weeks to go? God bless you for being here, honey!" and "Good for you!" and "You look fantastic!" Not only was I having a great fricking time, but I had the support of a lot more people than just the ones I came with. Of course, I got a couple of incredulous stares - some admiring, some less so. But from what I could tell, most people were delighted to see a very pregnant woman being normal and having fun.

And of course, The Police themselves were awesome. It wasn't all "Every Breath You Take" and "Don't Stand so Close to Me;" they also did some of their lesser known songs, which suited me just fine. Sting sounds just as good as he did back in the band's heyday, as do Andy Summers and Stewart Copeland. They rocked it good and hard as I would have expected, and it was completely worth it. Best part? We can tell Weeble that we took her to an amazing rock concert just a few weeks before she was born. Granted, she was on the inside. But still, that's pretty cool. She was there. She has the onesie to prove it.

Now that The Police concert is behind us, I'm pretty much good to give birth any old time. And, in a twist of fine timing, Weeble officially reached "full term" status as of today. 37 Weeks. Which means all her parts are basically finished cooking and she'd most likely be fine on the outside. So, really, anytime is good for me. Just give me enough time to pack my hospital bag and get the car seat installed in the car, and we'll be ready to rock and roll, baby.

Six Weeks to Go

As of today, I completed 34 weeks of pregnancy, leaving me with only six weeks to go. Six weeks. 42 days. One and-a-half months. In other words, not really all that long. On one hand, it's an eternity from now. On the other, it's practically tomorrow. Of course there's plenty to be done before that six weeks passes, and that's if the Weeble even waits that long.

Looking back, there have been a couple other times where "six weeks" has been significant. I was six weeks pregnant around Christmastime, when we told my family in North Dakota that we were expecting. Earlier than we would have liked to make that news public, but since it was the only opportunity we'd have to share the good news in person, we took it.

Six weeks after that, I was in Germany for a business trip, and gearing up for my first ultrasound and the opportunity to start telling other people in our life about the baby. It took another six weeks to let everyone know.

So here we are, getting near the end of things. My feet and ankles aren't too swollen for the most part, but I can't wear my wedding ring anymore - something that I said from the beginning I hoped would never happen. Up until this point, my pregnancy showed almost exclusively up front. But now my butt, hips, and thighs have gotten in on the action. My glorious stretch marks (or "love branches" as I don't actually call them, but that strikes me as an amusingly sarcastic thing to say) continue their march up and around my belly. Speaking of the belly, I don't know how it can get any bigger - or how I'll stay upright when it does. Because all signs point to I am not yet as big as I will be. Which is scary, considering that when strangers ask me when I'm due and I tell them August 19th, they look shocked and make some comment that usually results in me being pissed and/or paranoid for the rest of the day. Some strangers don't bother to ask, and simply say, "Wow, you must be ready to go, huh?" Urge to kill, RISING.

But there's no way around it. I'm getting close. Weeble is big, active, and ready, as her soon-to-be father believes, "to mess stuff up" (he uses a few alternate words I'll let you fill in on your own). So let the countdown begin. It is ON.