We had a nice fourth, if not a particularly festive one. The Mister had to work a ten-hour shift (hooray for holiday pay, though!), and I spent most of the day working on a freelance assignment. When he got home, he hung out in the dark bedroom with milk, cookies, and about a quart of water, unwinding for a bit. Then for dinner I made soy ribs (sounds gross, I realize, but even the omnivores in my life find them delicious), corn on the cob, and French fries. It makes me think of ancient Doonesbury to say this, but my husband loves my French fries. We chatted and watched a movie and he read to me while I fried fries. Later we watched a documentary called Crazy Love and then had strawberry shortcake. The man is thirty-one years old and he’d never had shortcake before! From our balcony we could see fireworks over the river. And then we went to bed all too early because Mr. Book had to be back up at 5 a.m.
I talk to my mother for an hour or so almost every weekend. Sometimes it’s pretty stressful, but not this week. I haven’t really talked about it on the blog, but my father just had surgery for cancer; I found out about the diagnosis a couple of months ago, and couldn’t figure out when to mention it, but now the tumor is out and officially pronounced a “wimpy cancer,” so it’s not such bad news anymore. We talked about my dad, and we talked about the pregnancy—I have tapered off one antidepressant at this point, had been planning to go off the other in a couple of weeks, but am now probably going to stay on the other for another month. I wanted to talk to my mother about the possible change in plans, her being a medical person and all, and I ended up talking about the uptick in anxiety that I have been experiencing. There have been a couple of nights when I lay awake for hours worrying that the little bird would die, for example. Both of the antidepressants I usually take are also anti-anxiety drugs, but for whatever reason I hadn’t really thought about that part when anticipating my tapering off. I’m not more depressed than I was when taking both drugs, but I am definitely more anxious. Of course, I don’t know how much of that is attributable to going off one of the meds; I’m always more anxious when I’m working, too.
My mother is worried that since I’m having a hard time with the pregnancy (and let me clarify that I’m really not having that hard a time; I’m the normal kind of tired and acid reflux-y, I’m having some anxiety, but it’s really not that bad. I’m healthy, I’m in a pretty good mood most of the time, and I’m overplanning for the baby in a way that is pretty normal for me) I won’t want to have any other kids. It’s important to her that her daughters have a bunch of kids for reasons that I don’t completely understand. I told her that no, the plan is still for two kids. I mean, we’ll see, but that’s the plan. Even better, if we do have another child and it is another son, he’ll be named after my mom (not as cruel as it sounds!), which she was pretty happy about. This is the most interested that she has seemed in the upcoming grandchild, and I want to see it as a good sign. I’m hoping that my family will be able to come here for Christmas, but I can’t really tell how likely that is; certainly my dad’s medical news makes it more likely than it was before we knew what kind of cancer and treatment he’d be dealing with. I don’t know when the little bird will be really, plausibly viable, but that’s the next point at which I would hope to see my mom feeling excited—but if not, certainly if they come she will be excited about a baby. I know this is something I would be better off letting go of; we’ll see whether I’m able to.