*UPDATED BELOW*

I'm closing in on nineteen-weeks pregnant which means, tomorrow, during my ultrasound I will most likely find out the sex of my baby. I am not one for surprises. I have no patience in this life and can't help but obsess over ALL of life's little question-marks so, ho-HO! The sex I will know.

 

"Do you have a preference," people often ask, which is one of those questions that makes me very uncomfortable, mainly because I don't know what I'm having yet. And I kind of just want to have whatever I'm having, you know? I prefer whatever is.

 

"I'd like a boy or a girl," I usually say. And I would, both for very different reasons.

 

When I was pregnant with Archer I absolutely had a preference. I wanted a son. I couldn't imagine myself mothering anything but boys, probably because socially I always felt more comfortable with boys and in a way, the thought of having a daughter scared me. In my experience, girls are, uh... more difficult than boys. I feel like I would have a hard time controlling a daughter mainly because I'm stll having a hard time trying to control my self.

 

This pregnancy all my dreams have been daughter dreams, which doesn't exactly gel with my doctor's prediction that I'm pregnant with another boy. My 12-week ultrasound my doctor said he thought he might have seen a penis. He even said he was "80% sure you are having a boy" but for whatever reason, in every one of my dreams: girl. So now I'm just feeling very confused. I have no clue what this baby is. My subconscious, obviously thinks girl. My practical-self believes the doc and is going with boy. Tomorrow, of course, I'll know for sure.

 

The last several weeks I've spent with friends who have daughters. I've helped their little girls get dressed. Played with their hair. Read them stories. And kind of in a way, hoped that maybe one day I could have that, too. That mother-daughter, girl on girl, slumber-party-in-barrettes thing. I honestly, for once saw myself mothering a daughter and being, well, not so bad at it.

 

 

Reading books with BMC's Foo in Portland

 

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Archer has long stopped ichatting with me. He refuses to speak to me on the phone. He's pissed and with good reason. I haven't seen Archer in over two weeks and it will be a few more days more before I come home. He's stopped calling for me at night and asking for me in the morning and going to the window and waiting for me after I tell him I'm coming home. Which makes me sad because I feel like the mom who cried wolf.

 

"Tell him I'll be home soon! Really! I promise"

 

On the road. Still....

 

But I think Archer's just over me. I think he's sad and I'm sad, too, honestly. I'm ready to come home. It's been really fun and fantastic and all-out amazing, don't get me wrong but it's been a long time now and living out of a suitcase away from my boys is starting to bum me out. I'm literally sick from burning the candle at fifteen different ends. Trying to hit up 10 cities in one month is rough on any bitch, but pregnancy doesn't make it any easier, I'll tell you what...

 

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Life on the road is a pretty surreal place to be. I’ve been gone almost a week now and I feel like I’m operating in some kind of alternate, dream-like universe.

I speak to Hal every day and chat with Archer on the computer. But we’re all very busy and Archer seems to be more interested in playing with his train or riding his bike or coloring his CARS coloring book than kissing the computer screen when I ask him to.

He misses me of course. He calls out for me in the mornings to fetch him from his crib, Hal tells me, and at night I dream about him smiling at me from fogged-windows. 

But still. At the end of the day or the hour or the moment, after I hang up the phone with Hal or close the computer on Archer's smiling face, I’m with someone else’s family. Being cooked for and cleaned after and cared for. And then at night I read about my kid and my husband and my family in front of friends and strangers and people ask where Archer is and I say “he’s with his Dad” and people ask if I miss him and I say “yes” because of course I miss him. It’s impossible not to miss him.  But at the same time, whoa. This is a really special experience I’m having and it kind of feels right that I’m spending it alone.

 

I keep reminding myself, whenever I feel sad or guilty for leaving Archer, that this is my time. My moment. My experience and how very important that is. That just as important as it is for me to support and nurture my family I must also support and nurture myself...

 

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I leave Sunday for two and a half weeks to promote Rockabye up the western coast. And I'm going by myself. At first, I had this fantasy of bringing Archer, of having a sort of caravan situation, but it wasn't realistic and if I've learned anything these past few signings, a book signing is no place for an almost-three year old. No place for my almost-three-year old. 

 

 

Archer at my Book Soup reading in Los Angeles. He insisted on reading an excerpt himself. Cute but the kid's heavy and underneath those lights, man, was I ever sweating like a wrestler. 

 

So I'm packing my stuff, even though I don't have a suitcase. My suitcases are all down south in San Diego in my parent's garage which is where I still store my stuff because I'm, like, eighteen still. Trapped in the pregnant body of a twenty-six year old. It feels weird packing for myself. I'm so used to packing for all of us. For Archer. His duffel bag remains empty. He's staying here with Hal, who still hasn't found a job since the writer's strike happened back in December. It's a struggle right now for all of us but the silver-lining is that Hal gets to be with his son. They get to have boy time, which is a lucky thing. We're all grateful for that. Hopeful that the job market might smile down upon us but grateful for the time it has allowed for my boys to bond like homies. 

 

The last time I went to San Francisco I was pregnant with Archer so it feels kind of neat to return, pregnant with #2. It feels kind of like I'm going on an adventure not alone. And when Babe II is born I can tell him/her about his/her pre-life adventure up the coast with me in my pocket. From San Francisco to Vancouver and all the places in between and how I rubbed my belly for good luck.

 

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Every day the same thing happens. I drop Archer off at school. He kisses me, waves and scurries off to the playground. I watch him from the window as he lands in the sand, looks around at the other children and suddenly becomes shy. Quiet. A very different boy than the one I see at home. 

 

 

 

"Hi Archer," the other children say.

 

"Hi," Archer says back, kicking the dirt, looking down sheepishly. 

 

I watch him until my five-minutes of parking in a drop-off zone are up and occasionally I cry because Archer's got that whole loner in the trenchcoat thing going and it's heartbreaking to watch my child sit alone, when the other children seem so happy to be together. I remember how it felt, as a young child, to be shy. Overwhelmed by crowds of children, I wandered aimlessly as well. 

 

In the car, I always remind myself that Archer's happy. He's glad to be at school and on the playground even if he's playing alone. He's smiling. Always smiling. No need for me to worry about my happy little child. 

 

"Does Archer have any friends yet," I ask.

 

The teacher always answers me in the same way. "All the children love Archer. He's like everyone's little brother... We all adore him. He's a gentle little soul..."

 

"But does he have a friend? Is there anyone in the class that he sits with or..."

 

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Last week we decided to pull Archer out of speech therapy, mainly because in the last six-months of speech therapy, no one has done their job well. We went through four therapists all of whom flaked on us half the time. I haven't decided who I want to blame. Regional Center or the therapists themselves. At first we had the speech therapists coming to us. But like I said before, only a fraction of the time did the therapist actually show. Traffic was always sooooo bad. Maybe next week! 

 

Because of our issues with flaky at-home therapists we decided to go into an actual office once a week but the flakiness continued. Several times not even an hour before our appointment, I was called and canceled on. And when we weren't (canceled on) the therapists seemed to have no idea what they were doing.

 

Archer es muy frustrado. Tu Mama tambien. 

 

"How's he doing?" I asked after our last session.

 

The therapist just shrugged and giggled. "He's doing fine," she said.

 

Uh... and? 

 

Ironically, our speech therapists seemed unable to articulate what was going on with Archer's progress. No "he's getting stronger ever week!" or "Sorry, sister. Outlook not good." Just smiles and shrugs and "see you next week!" 

 

Honestly, I really wanted to be open to speech therapy. Lordy knows Archer needed it. He still needs it. He's making progress of course but still has major speech-issues. He's about a year-and-a-half behind, we think, which is cool, but help is surely necessary at this point.

 

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I haven't really slept for the past week and when I do I have the same recurring dream: I'm reading my book without my glasses, squinting and straining and trying to make out the words, to an audience of no one. And I'm trying to smile and speak as I would if I had an actual audience. When I've finished reading my passage I close my book and ask the empty chairs if anyone has any questions.

 

As it turns out, I am more insecure than previously realized. Which is annoying. I want my confidence back, please.

 

I've been sick all week and not because I'm pregnant. I've been paralyzed with a kind of fear that's unfamiliar. The kind of fear that makes me want to turn away from everything and sleep. I can't put my finger what most scares me about tomorrow, about the book coming out and in the hands of strangers. I have this blog, which exposes all kinds of in-grown hairs to many people I don't know... never will. But there is something safe about publishing online. Perhaps because when I catch a typo I can easily correct it. If a post is poorly-wrought, I can delete it. Erase it from the record. No one will ever know I thought such things. Wrote so poorly... Make bad jokes.

 

 

When the books arrived on my doorstep on Friday, I was supposed to be excited. When I sat down to read the book for the first time since I sent in my completed manuscript last summer, I was supposed to be happy. Instead, I had a panic attack.

 

 

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No, really. My kid may be a few years behind as far as speech is concerned but who needs words when you have music? Archer's taken to sitting down with Hal's music books and just... reading. Humming along as he goes. Ch-check it:

 

 

Okay, okay, so he isn't *really* reading the music. But it's still cute and makes me wonder what age music lessons are most common. Hal and I both played piano as children. I guess it's probably way too early (Archer turns 3 end of May) but the kid has been interested in music since the beginning. In fact, he can speak almost perfectly when in song. (If life was a musical, there's a good chance Archer wouldn't be so slow to the language scene.)

 

 

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I'm afraid Archer's going through his Morrissey phase (musically, I mean.) He has a new-found love for sadness and hauntingly depressing melodies and lyrics. For example, Archer knows all the melodies to the Once (Swell Season) soundtrack. He can even sing half the lyrics to Falling Slowly and did so during their moving performance at The Academy Awards. The room went silent when little Archer started singing along to the television, the only child in attendance (per usual) belting out "raise yo hooodoo voooy you ahhhh a dooooice" (raise your hopeful voice/ you have a choice) and any one who wasn't wiping the tears from their cheeks probably and most likely left their souls in El Segundo. With their wallets. Seriously. I was sobbing in my dip.

 

Usually, parents can rest assured that their Children's Music will be jubilant and even silly! In fact, in my experience kid's music is (usually) sublimely happy to the point of annoyance. Songs about Octopus' gardens and shaking one's sillies out, etc. But Puff the Magic Dragon? I wonder how many people offed themselves listening to Puff the Magic Dragon: the saddest, most depressing song ever written. And guess who's obsessed? OBSESSED. Archer could not be more in love with a song. 

 

 

"Puff! Again! Puff! AGAIN!!!"

 

"Archer! NO! I cannot listen to that song again. I can't bear it!"

 

"Again! PUFF! AGAIN! AGAINAGAINAGAIN PUFF PUFF PUFF!"

 

"Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" 

 

Because, seriously folks, could anything be more depressing for a parent? To be reminded of the most certain fact that someday our children will grow up to be dragon-killers?

 

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Remember that one time, or maybe, if you're like me, it was many times, when you accidentally called your third-grade teacher "mom"? I can recall the very first time I did this. I was in fourth grade and mortified, especially because my teacher was a man. He was a man who wore a fanny-pack, if you must know. He was also the North American Cupstacking champion. So anyway, I called my fourth-grade Cupstacking-champ, fanny-pack wearing teacher "mom" and everyone laughed.

 

I went on to call every single one of my teachers "mom" until I graduated from High School, and had I not dropped out of college on my first day, I would have likely called my professors "mom" too. But I digress, I don't have this problem anymore. I don't confuse authority with my mother. I do call Archer by one of the dog's names, sometimes, and vice-versa. But whatever. Archer doesn't seem to mind. 

 

  

I'm the one who minds. I mind that Archer has decided it's cool and kosher to call Hal and me "teacher" and not on accident. On purpose.

 

He seems to think all adults are "teacher" and since Hal and I are (kinda sorta) adults, we get to answer to "teacher" as well. Lucky us. Or not. Being called "teacher" sucks. It was kind of funny for like two minutes, but now it's just annoying. And a little bit creepy. 

 

 

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Uh... So... Yeah. I just slept twenty-two of twenty-four hours. I wish I were lying.

 

It all started when I accidentally slept until 1pm. I tried to have a day but, man, that plan backfired after passing out in front of full frontal fashion an hour later, dragging myself back into bed and waking up again at 7pm for a nice hour before going all narcoleptic on myself. 

 

Archer says: wake-up and play with me, Mommy! 

 

I wonder how people do this without help. Be pregnant, work, take care of a kid. I have a newfound respect for every woman who can fight the urge not to sleep for twenty-two of twenty-four hours. I obviously don't have it in me at all. Which is going to prove interesting next month when I hit the road for two and a half weeks of coastal driving (San Fran to Vancouver) all by myself. I have no idea how or why I thought I could pull off a pregnancy during a book tour/promotion but I wasn't thinking with my real brain. My fake brain, yes.  I suppose I was just expecting the same no-nonsense pregnancy I had with Archer. Ha! Yeah, right!....

 

 

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"Hey, Archer. Guess what! There's a baby in Mommy's body!"

 

"Baby?"

 

"Yeah. Right in here. In my belly, see?

 

"No baby, Mommy." 

 

"Yes, baby. Just really small baby right now. Grape-sized."

 

Archer flashes me his "what the hell kind of drugs you on, woman" face

 

"Do you want to have a baby?"

 

"No!"

 

"You don't want to have a little brother to wrestle with?"

 

"No!"

 

"Do you want a little sister to play with in the park? You can frolick and--"

 

"No!"

 

"You don't want a little friend to build forts with and draw on walls with and--?"

 

"NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

 

"You know what? When you have a baby you get ice-cream. All you can eat ice-cream. And cookies."

 

"Ay-Keem? Yay! Ay-keem!!!! Yay!"

 

"So do you want to have a baby and cookies?"

 

"Yays!"

 

"Do you want to have a little brother to wrestle with and ice cream? "

 

"Yays! Ak-keem baby!"

 

"What about a baby sister to push on the swings and cookies?"

 

"YAYS! YAYS! OKAAAAAAAY. Coo-KIE COO-KIE. YAYS, MOMMY! YAYS! Wheredigo-Ak-keem-COOkie?"

 

So I'm really happy to report to all who've enquired that Archer can't wait to be a brother. And ice-cream. And cookies. And... yeah. 

 

*** 

 

I can't believe I was just complaining about Archer's sleeping habits, about him sleeping "too much" and how I had to wake him up to go to school and how his naps were four hours long and oh woe is me. Was I smoking crack when I wrote that post? Ugh! I seriously want to tackle myself for being such a jackassian idiot. 

 

This is the eighth consecutive day Archer has decided naps aren't for him. It was like a light-switch went on and now sleep is something that happens between the hours of 10pm and 6am ONLY and the rest of the day is for terrorism. Karate chops to Mommy's face. Screams that don't stop and timeouts that Archer uses in his favor, stripping down his sheets, tearing books apart and screaming for as long as he can hold it (my poor, poor neighbors).

 

 

Yesterday, when Hal came home from being gone all day, I was speechless.

 

"Did you guys have a good day?" He asked

 

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I realize that announcing one's pregnancy in the first trimester is contrary to most rulebooks. And customs. And advice from parents, friends, strangers, pets, and with Archer I'm pretty sure I waited, well, a couple months at least before I told anyone (besides my immediate family) but here's the thing-- I'm excited. I'm excited and let's be honest, people, I'm kind of a tell-all kind of girl.

 

"Aren't you supposed to wait three months before you tell anyone?"

 

"It's too early! You're supposed to wait!"

 

"I would congratulate you, but it's kind of too early, isn't it?" 

 

"Aren't you afraid of telling people?"

 

All of these are valid questions and/or philosophies. After all, the first three-months can be risky, and I totally understand a couple's choice to wait before announcing their pregnancy to the universe.

 

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Hooray! 

 

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 Do I seem pregnant to you?" I asked this afternoon.

 

I also asked the same question this morning, this evening and about 65 other times in the last twenty-four hours. I feel like a total idiot admitting this but not not trying to get pregnant is turning me into a preganoid weirdball. On Superbowl Sunday I took one sip of beer and "OH GOD! What if I'm pregnant. No! I can't! I shouldn't!"

 

Because what if I'm pregnant, you know? Of course, there's a good chance, I'm not. We're not really doing anything trying-to-get-pregnant people are doing. No post coital handstands or rocking my ass above my head, Big Lebowski style. No testing my ovulation. No all-day marathon sex. Just the occasional boot-knock-sesh and "goodnight!"

 

 

Except for some reason, I have become the girl who cried PREGNANT, assuming that I must be pregnant at all times, even though I have a good week before I would even think to take a test.

 

"But my tits are HUGE!"

 

(Plth.) "Sorry! I'm so gassy right now."

 

"I feel nauseous! Wait... Never mind. Actually! Wait! Yes, I feel sick, again! I swear!"  

 

"Did you get that baby name list email I sent you yesterday. To me choice #1 is a no-brainer. But in the case of twins, perhaps we should have two choices for each sex, doncha think?"

 

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I guess "it" would be relative. We all have different lives and situations and crap we're dealing with, so you can fill in the appropriate words (stress, chaos, depression, fear, instability, confusion, did I say stress?) for "it"...

 

As I've written ten-squillion times before, parenting is tough, marriage even tougher (or any committed relationship, especially when a child's in the mix) but there are times, moments, when "it" kind of melts away... These moments are seldom caught with a camera because... like SNAP! they're gone.

 

I used to call these moments "rainbow moments" when I was little, because they were so "colorful and quick to fade." One minute: an upside-down smile across the sky and before I knew it... "Wait, what was I looking at again?"

 

I experience such moments of ephemeral emotional bounty every now and then. I can only describe the feeling as one of great spiritual? high followed by the absolute fear that such a feeling might soon be forgotten. (Perfect moments often are.)

 

It took me until writing this post to remember the night, years ago, when an ex-boyfriend and I drove home from Las Vegas the night of a meteor shower. The top of his convertible was down and we shivered in our coats, the heater full-blast in our faces. (I had insisted we watch for shooting stars all the way home.)  Or an afternoon, eight years ago, when I got lost in Paris only to find myself in the garden of some obscure palace, a wrong turn and POW: Paradise. I have a picture in my travel-journal to remind me: a badly-drawn sketch of a bench overtaken with vines. More recently, there was the moment Archer said "I love you Mommy" for the first time, at which point I fell to the floor like Amelie, a puddle of water in the middle of the room. 

 

The other day I was lucky enough to catch one such moment on my camera. A moment so perfect I was knocked almost out of breath. The photo is mediocre at best and most likely doesn't translate but I felt that same rush of "ohmygod! life is fucking awesome!" when taking this photo (a "rainbow moment" indeed): 

 

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Pardon the Little Mermaid reference but the life of a preschool parent is going to take some getting used to. Everything is so serious, now. So many new rules. Is it wrong that I just want to sneak out the back door and not buy into any of it?

 

...Outrunning everyone but his shadow...

 

Apparently there was some drama at the end of the year when a teacher left Archer's school without notice. Parents were livid and still are it seems, deciding to create a sort of "parent's union" and hosting underground meetings about their children's well being, voicing their concerns, etc. I RSVP'd for the meeting because I didn't know how to say no, and then I felt bad that I even wanted to (say no) because I really should be concerned with my child's well-being, too. And I am, but not in a "parent's conference" kind of way. It gives me a poopy stomach just thinking about it, getting together for lemon squares and chitchat about playground etiquette or whatever. It's times like these when I wonder if I'm even cut out for this parent-stuff. I think I'm a good mom and I love my son more than anything, obviously, but the bureaucracy of parenting is intimidating as hell, not to mention something I'm very uncomfortable with. I want Archer to make friends and learn stuff. I want his preschool experience to be as amazing as it possibly can be... but. Butbutbutbuuuuut...  All the drama. Drama! Why!? WHY!?...

 

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his morning for the second time this week we had to wake Archer up. I figured eventually he would make his little stretchy-sounds and rise to his feet but uh... not so much. 9:00am this morning he was still Audi5000. I pulled the blankets off of him like I did yesterday (and the day before)...Like I have done on and off for the past couple of months when Archer's sleeping habits somehow went from early-bird gets the worm to, uh... late-bird gets the... perm?  His hair does look a bit curltastic in the mornings, or shall I say... afternoons, when he finally wakes up.

 

wake up and smell my coffee!

 

This morning was supposed to be Archer's first day back to preschool since the Ear-Infection-of-Doom (EID) but of course, getting up at 7:00am was out of the question (can I really blame him? 7:00's still pretty early) and then come 8:00 = still out of the question. I gave him until 9:00 (which was way ultra-generous, I say) and finally picked him up and pulled him out of bed. He was NOT happy. So unhappy in fact that he cried all the way to school and then on the field trip which we had to leave early from because we were upsetting the local celebrities at our undisclosed location (Gotta love Los Angeles) not to mention the other children in the class who kept asking "why is Archer so sad?" (note: agreeing to chaperone a field-trip on child's third day of school is not a good idea. You will be clung to and cried at... for hours. Or maybe that was just me. Sigh...) 

 

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Early Wednesday morning Archer woke up with a smoldering fever. Two days later it was still going strong so for the second time in a week, we took Archer to his pediatrician to figure out what was ailing our poor son. This last month has been a coldisaster for all of us. First mad cow disease, then Avian Bird Flu, etc, etc. But this week was the worst of it. When I woke up to tend to Archer's fever, I found that I was also sick. Again? Damn! Archer wasn't eating or moving. He just wanted to cuddle in my lap and watch Little Einsteins for 67 hours straight.  Brutal, man. Brutal. No offense to Disney (or...) but Little Einsteins is the most annoying show I've ever seen (minus the intro song which is EXTREMELY catchy)... But Archer loves it. And sick children get what they want. (That's kind of one of the unspoken rules of parenting I am finding.)

 

Friday I put the call into the pediatrician, feeling like one of those crazy parents who takes their kids to the doctor every five minutes.

 

"Heh, hello. It's me again. Archer's mom. So... Archer's really sick... again. And I swear he's really sick and I'm not just..."

 

"Hold please." 

 

Archer represents hair metal and snot!

 

We were asked to come in right away and Archer's pediatrician went straight for the ears.

 

"Aha! Just as I suspected! His ears? Well they're infected." (That rhymed!) 

 

"No!"

 

"Yes." 

 

Our doctor turned her attention to the giant poster of "The Inner Ear" on an elephant-wallpapered wall.

 

"Here you have a normal eardrum. Nice. Healthy. Pink... And here you have Archer's eardrum: white, swollen, pussing all over the place."

 

I inspected the pus-filled eardrum with the pediatrician for a good minute, as she explained what happens when a child gets sick and then gets better and then gets sick again and how it often times leads to an ear infection. She said a lot of other stuff too but I didn't really understand what she was talking about. I just knew we were in trouble. (Sad face.)

 

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 "I'm going to sneak away, now" I whispered to Archer's teacher, just as Archer was making himself comfortable with the other boys and girls at the snack table.

"Sneaking out is a bad idea," she said. "Then he'll think you left him. Tell him goodbye, instead. Tell him that you'll see him in a few hours."

"But he'll cry!"

"Yeah, I know. They always do. But after a while he'll be fine. And pretty soon he won't cry at all. You'll see."

I crouched down next to Archer who was enjoying drinking his water from a Dixie cup.

"Archer? I have to go now but I'll pick you up in a few hours, okay? Have fun at school! Bye-bye!"

"Bye-bye," Archer said, as I scurried away.

Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't look back...

But of course... Because I couldn't help it, I looked back. A frown was forming on his face and I knew any second he would cry. I pushed through the front door just in time to miss hearing his wails.

  

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It would seem "summer" has come (heh) early in our household because our plan to toss the contraception come (heh) June out the window and run free like schoolgirls/boys was a giant psyche! Gotcha!

 

Just kidding, actually. It was kind of a last minute decision.... Kind of like how we got married:

 

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Want to go to Vegas next weekend?"

 "Sure."

"Cool"

"Goodnight"

"Goodnight."

 

We kind of just woke up and were like, "hey! I love you! How about instead of bleepity-bleep-bleep-bleep (my parents read this blog) you just bleepity-bleep-bleep-bleep bleep-bleep!"

 

"You mean..."

 

 

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