If Juno can do it, so can I

Jennifer Garner seems like a really nice person.

It is almost ten o'clock on this Thursday evening and I am catching the final moments of Juno. Juno just had the baby. Jennifer Garner's character is holding the baby. Now, it is summer; Michael Cera's character and Juno are playing the guitar, singing to each other, and the movie is about to end.

I remember the first - and only - time I saw Juno. It was late summer 2008 and I was at least eight months pregnant. My husband wouldn't see the film with me - and actually still has not seen it - so I went with friends. I thought it would have interesting to see it together - you know, two soon-to-be first-time parents and all, but he thought it was just another chick flick, indy film or maybe it was just not his thang. Nevertheless, I saw the movie and loved it. And, now I sit on my bed wondering. Wondering what? Why was my husband such an ass-hole about seeing this perfectly sweet movie with me? What did Juno ever do to him? Will I ever be friends with Jennifer Gardner? Is she really as lovely as she seems in "real" life as she seems in interviews with ENews Daily? Am *I* pregnant?

It is difficult not to realize one is pregnant - especially if you are well into your third trimester- but apparently women do it all the time according to Discovery Health's " famed show "I didn't know I was pregnant." I am barely pregnant - if at all - and I am feeling phantom kicks already. I can't imagine being so out of touch with my body (or psyche) that it is not until I am in labor before I realize I am pregnant. But then again, everyone deals in their own way. We are ready, when we are ready.

My husband has been out of work for over a year and a half. Unemployment insurance has ended. And I work for an nonprofit university - where as you probably know, staff are paid really well. Not. So, I thought this was the perfect time to have another baby. Timing is everything.

Even though the stars might not be lined up well in terms of my family's financial security at the moment, I know that *we* will be OK. I also know that in the future, I will not regret owning a house or having a new car, but will deeply regret not having had another child.

Plus I am old. According to the U.S. health care establishment, a mother is considered of "advanced maternal age" by age 35. I just turned 35 years old. I feel young. I look young - ish (on most days). But I will be considered of "high-risk" - due to my advanced age - during my next pregnancy. Fuck that shit, man. Advanced maternal age, my ass. Well, my eggs, actually.

Being the 'by the books' kind of woman I tend to be, I will respect the guidance of our nation's well-intended health care establishment and abide by this suggestion - as much as I can. They say, have all of your kids before age 35 and I say I will try my best to have had my kids before I turn 36. Close enough.

In the childbirth preparation class I took during my first pregnancy, there was only one woman - out of at least 20 couples - who was in her twenties. Most of us were in our mid to late-thirties. Scientifically speaking it is optimal for women to have kids early in their lifetime, like Juno did, but growing numbers of us are just not ready then. Sometimes we are still not ready in our thirties - or forties - or ever.

Life is hard - for us all. Juno had to deal with being a pregnant high-school student and giving a baby up for adoption. She also had the whole rest of her life to look forward to and to live. She did what she had to do. Like many families, mine is suffering the consequences of the injured American economy, but I will let not let this phase in our history deter my intention to have another child. It is my right to have or not to have a child; and I will continue to respect and protect it.

I am grateful Juno had Michel Cera's character and that I have my movie-snob of a husband and beautiful like boy to offer guidance along the way. I have my whole life to look forward to and, I figure, if Juno could do it, so can I.

P.S. I still wonder if I will ever be friends with Jennifer Garner?

Just for Facebook

Cosmos. Wireless. Skinny jeans. Fives years behind each new trend you will find me strolling along - whimsically - slowly catching up to a now totally dated trend. Facebook - now apparently referred to as "Facelift" by the young'uns was no different.

Friends had been asking me to join Le Facebook for years. The students with whom I work were on it religiously. But, me. I was 'too kool for school' and resisted because I did not want to feel obligated to be social. Until recently.

I joined the cultural train that is Facebook about six months ago. It has been mostly underwhelming but kind of awesome in other ways. On a random December evening, I created an account - I guess I had been feeling kind of lonely because none of my friends were responding to my e-mails any more. It was as if noone used e-mail to communicate for social purposes anymore. I figured it was time I stop being an arrogant killjoy and join. Before I even clicked "submit" on my profile page, I had invitations to accept. Lots of them.

Now I had "friends". I was a little promiscuous at first - accepting any ol' friend request, even taking it upon myself to make the first move in some cases. I believe there were even "pokes" involved. I don't even know what this means - still - but it sounded important. Before I knew it Facebook was a part of my daily routine, like checking e-mail used to be. I enjoyed the banter from co-workers most of all. Odd, since we sit just feet away from one another but somehow it seems like Facebook was designed for co-workers to commiserate with one another and naturally, to gossip. To a certain degree, Facebook has brought us closer together - through recapping a particularly captivating "team" meeting or a commentary on "What No to Wear." Such online banter is so totally unprofessional, yet so totally vital to getting through the day.

However, as we all know, there are unattractive aspects of being a part of this online "community" we call Facebook, including the fact that all of a sudden I had way too many "friends" - ninety-something to be un-exact; and I started seeing all of these random posts about people needing cups of coffee in the morning, sharing symptoms about their hay fever, or being notified that they just joined a "I hate Caillou" group. What the ...

Gratuitous or not, this is exactly what we want in such an online community. This is what Facebook is all about - updating one another on the minutiae that is our lives. Some folks share more than others. Some, more passive: reading posts, viewing photographs, or posting a comment or two. Others kick the activity up a notch while providing daily updates. For me, these people make Facebook worth our time. They keeping us logging in for more. While I tend lean more toward the voyeuristic user - admittedly I have posted a "Happy Friday" or two during my tenure; but I truly appreciate the frequent posters and the gestalt they add to my day.

Again, it ain't all fun ... I am sure it has happened to us all, a friend or acquaintance from the past reaches out reaches out his/her mouse and clicks "Friend Request." Recently this happened to me with a woman from my high school days. While I was totally curious about what this former classmate/pathological liar was up to nowadays, I ignored her request. Guilt jabbed me every time, I clicked on the inbox where her request politely sat, staring at me (her profile picture was a cat). Respectfully I did not give in because I knew I had no intention of offering her true friendship.

On several levels I knew my inaction was the right decision but was recently reminded us this when a mutual connection shared that this same woman totally freaked out online - on Facebook. Apparently she began taunting her "friends". In what I would assume was anger derived from hurt, she posted for her "friend" community to see, "I am deleting you (from FB) because you say you are my friend ... but you do not comment on my posts yet when a 'popular kid' says the same thing, you respond to them. I guess Facebook is not for me."

Scary. Sad. Reality. Welcome to Facebook.

Wiggly Waffle

Middle-aged men, clad in colorful jumpers and Australian accents are jumping, dancing, and singing through my television set, transfixing my son at 6:00am. Who are these uniformed men and why do they have so much energy and why do they have so much power over my "almost two" years old boy? The Wiggles, of course.

Awaking from a full night's (if we are lucky) sleep, the boy will sometimes call for "Mama" or "Dada", but more likely, he will shout for "Banana", "Blue-berry", or his favorite"Wiggly Waffle." Wiggly Waffles are a perfect blend of his love for food and television.

My son is addicted to TV. Well, I embellish. He is not "addicted" but has a very real devotion to certain programs and characters, like Elmo and The Wiggles. Before having a baby, I thought that I would be one of "those" moms. You know the type. They breastfeed for at least 12 months, make their own organic baby food, and do not introduce TV watching to their kids until the American Pediatric Association's recommended second year of life - and then only with a strict two hour a day limit and content, of course.

My upstairs neighbor, a perfectly lovely woman, with two beautiful children, and does not work outside the home. Her youngest shares the same birth - day & year as my son. In fact my son is two hours older than her son. One afternoon, in an effort to be validated (my husband's least favorite word) by the fact that my less than one year old - at the time - liked watching certain children programs, a lot - I asked if her son does as well. Politely, and with genuine humility - she said something like ... "We try keep him away from the television. When my daughter watches TV, I take him in the other room". I was aghast.

A weakness of mine throughout my lifetime has been comparing myself to others. Friendly, non-athletic competition, has always motivated and inspired me. Spending more time preparing for an exam or completing a report for work early are types of silly things that have made me feel superior in someway. Sometimes such comparison, depresses me rather than comforts me, as it should. Inevitably thoughts like, How do they own a house in this fancy-dancey community? Or, How does she look like *that* after just having a baby? And, bingo, I start to feel badly about myself. Not healthy. Not productive. Yet, irresistible.

It is easy to compare oneself to the standard that which you think is paramount. As easy as it to try to keep up with neightbor or the uber-by-the-book parents, I try to focus on what is important. I love my son more than the day is long and would do anything for his unwaivering happiness and well-being - and, sometimes, that involves indulging a ounce or two of The Wiggly Waffle on a Saturday morning while the rest of the house sleeps.

Be the buffalo

My son tells me to "be the buffalo" in his energetic and hopeful 22-month old voice. "Mama, be the buffalo! Be the buffalo!", he screams in delight, again and again.

"Be the buffalo" is a term I taught him after reading an article in Oprah. Apparently when buffalo sense a storm coming, instead of running the other way - in an effort to escape the impending weather - they run right toward it. By facing their fears and going right through it, they get to the other side - faster and having used less energy than if they tried to circumvent the inevitable.

This phrase has become my mantra throughout the last six weeks. "Be the buffalo" I'd repeat to my little boy while performing a super-over the top version of Tina Fey, doing Sarah Palin, equip with the wink and the twinkle. He loved it and so did I. The perfect dinner-time banter between a mother and son. He'd laugh, which would make me laugh, which would remind me to laugh more. It also reminded me to think about what I needed to run through after he goes to bed and after I have washed the dishes. What tasks/projects/conversations/decisions have I been putting off?

Procrastination is not something that has even been much of an issue for me. During school I never waited for the last minute to write papers or study. I always buy and send birthday cards, Congratulations cards, Just Because cards right on time. Clutter has also never plagued me, in fact, it freaks me out and is something that I avoid on a regular basis. But even we, borderline OCD-quality house-keeping fanatics, have some domestic projects we put off - in lieu of others that are more pertinent or desirable, like cleaning the toilet. Really. Cleaning the toilet or bathroom, which is something I do several times a week, and is significantly more enjoyable to me than cleaning my bedroom or even worse .... my closet.

While being the buffalo, I have purged, cleaned, and organized my drawers, my closets, separating clothing by color (as well as a color-blind woman can) and function. Next I tackled kitchen junk drawers. Then on to the Cd's that needed to re-filed (alphabetical and by genre - what am I an animal?) and the pile of documents that needed to be shredded. Not all of the looming tasks were related to clutter though, some involved starting or completing tasks or projects that have been put off for way too long, like beginning the process of re-applying for Irish citizenship and starting a blog.

So, here I am at 9:13pm having just checked one more off that ever evolving To-Do list after 11 hours of work outside the home and what is next for this animal impersonator? No more buffalo being for me tonight. No more purging or writing. Reading, maybe. TV watching, possibly. Sleeping certainly.