Wednesday, July 12, 2006


Gentle readers. I know you're all just dying to see another shot of my bedroom. I am here to please. Doug had to leave the hizouse early this morning for work, so Mom came over to cook me breakfast. Ever attentive and helpful and cheery, she made me an omelet, coffee, english muffin with marmalade & butter, sliced fruit and then sat with me while I told her all about Brittany's vegetable dyed hair, Nicole's possible pregnancy, Reese Witherspoon's non-pregnancy, and Tori Spelling's feud with her Mother. My, things are very dramatic out there.

Mom decided a good way to cheer me up would be to wash the 2 bedroom windows. Inside and out. So in this lovely photograph (and yes, don't you think my panoramic skills are improving?) you see her stepping in and out of the window, out on the roof of the sunroom out back to wash the outside of our morning window. Devoted, isn't she? While on the other side of the room, she could only wash the inside panes, I am assured now that the afternoon light in this room will not be muddied by years of neglected grime. Little BjornMouse will have a crisp patch of sun in which to bathe for his afternoon nap.

Thanks, Mom.

My exciting plans for the day:
I will venture to my desk in the studio at the end of our upstairs hall after lunch today to calligraph some labels for a client. My Dr. said it was OK to sit at a desk for a bit. I am walking slowly and gingerly. Without reaching or bending, I'll be ever so careful.

Last night I had a dream that I was in a very old city made of marble, crashing down around me like it was ancient Rome. I fled the city with everyone else, while remarking on how surprisingly fragile and undependable marble was as a strong building material. You assume because it looks so strong, that it will last forever and never break. But it's just as brittle as any other material. I fled for safety. Can't remember how I got out. Or if I did.

They say places in your dreams are metaphors for your own body and mind. I am thinking that my body should respond to this pregnancy perfectly and without a hitch. There's nothing wrong with Bimp. And I am fine. My life is fine. It's just that the placenta decided to attach in a not-so-ideal location. And that's all. Gravity, chance and stress are working against me here. And I am having to reframe this experience. I am not abnormal. I am adaptive. And will be mother to this child.

When I feel alone, I remember that I am not alone in this bed.

Bimp is with me. And we will make it together.

8 comments:

minus five said...

you should take up soap opera watching. don't laugh because you'll get hooked. just like you did on those magazines.

have you heard about the tom/katie baby conspiracy theories? that she was wearing a prosthesis? my aunt is all over this one.

i've got to catch up on my tori news and find out what happened. i know she didn't get to say goodbye to her dad, but i only know that because there was a quote from her on one of the magazines at the register.

you could also take up driftwood carving. i've heard some good phrases recently that you could use.

Anne-Davnes said...

L O L

(that means "laugh out loud" in case you didn't know)

or how about

G C S D

(go carve some driftwood)

minus five said...

while i was at the rite aid this evening, i thought of new time waster for you. jigsaw puzzles. those things are awesome for killing large chunks of time while exercising your brain muscles.

Collin said...

Can you send your mom over to my place? :)

Anne-Davnes said...

Absolutely! She'll also paint your portrait!

Anne-Davnes said...

M5 - I'm not smart enough for word puzzles.

minus five said...

no, not word puzzles. jigsaw puzzles. you know, the 1000 or 5000 piece ones that take over whole tables.

Anne-Davnes said...

Oh now I agree - sorry , misunderstood you there for a sec.
Puzzles are fabulous fun. I'll shop for some online today! This'll bring back childhood memories of puzzles at the beach. Thanks, Sarah.