Anne-Davnes Elser

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.