Watermelon Ceiling

I'm not precisely sure why, but I've had a hard time letting myself truly believe that my baby girl will be here in about 10 weeks. Call it superstition, kinahora, or stone cold fear --- I just haven't allowed myself to fully dive in.

But she is big enough now that she could live outside the womb if she had to. Don't get me wrong - I hope she bakes for at least 10 more weeks, but it is reassuring to know.

So I took a big figurative and literal step and had her ceiling painted watermelon. Light watermelon, but watermelon all the same.

At first glance it appeared that someone projectile vomited a giant bowl of raspberry sorbet on her ceiling. But now I'm getting used to it and think that with the right accessories, her room will look great.

My childhood room was (is) yellow. The wallpaper had green vines, yellow flowers and tiny aqua butterflies all over it. I loved it. It felt so safe, so familiar, so mine.

And now I look at this watermelon ceiling that my daughter will stare at thousands of times as a newborn, an infant, a baby, a toddler and someday a teenager. She'll sleep, wake, laugh, cry, fret, stew, and pine over some dumb kid in this room. All under the watermelon ceiling.

Slow burn

The problem with having a few very hot dates and an almost summer fling is that you get all worked up, all hot and bothered, and then it's over. But the all worked up and all hot and bothered part isn't over. Hence, the problem.

The good part about a near miss is that it reminds you that not all guys find a woman who is expecting a baby (at a remote location) to be a turn-off. In fact, for some guys it's a turn-on (the whole independent, strong woman thing). And a near miss can remind you that some guys think you're hot - very hot. It's a reminder that you're still alive.

And so I'm trying to look at this strange near miss as a good thing. A thaw, a warm up, a slow burn. After all, there is still second session.

The Blender

When I started my job 14 years ago I remember my supervisor mentioning to me, in the middle of the day, that he was going out to get his hair cut. I laughed out loud. He looked bewildered because he was totally serious. He explained that he had to give a lecture the next day and couldn't look shaggy. It seemed so odd to me that someone would take time out of his work day for personal grooming and would consider it completely normal.

Fourteen years later I get it. There is no formal work day for me anymore. I check and return work e-mail from home at night and on weekends and vacations. I take time out during the day to do personal errands or to return personal phone calls, and e-mail my friends during low points in conference calls. I return client phone calls while shopping at BJs, driving in the car, or cleaning my bathroom. It all blends together --- I now do whatever is most convenient and efficient, and multi-tasking is my favorite hobby. This may sound very unappealing to the hardcore 9 to 5'er, but it works for me.

Lately I've been thinking about the boundaries between my life as a single person and my upcoming life as a mother. It has seemed until now that these are discreet circles that do not overlap. I can either wear a sexy dress, flirt, and date OR have a baby, be a mother, and talk incessantly about baby products.

Guess what? Not the case. I'm going to throw all of these things in the blender (sans baby product chatting, which makes me loco). This is my life, this is who I am. I don't plan to have a revolving door of men come through my life, or certainly my daughter's life. But guess what, again? I don't have a revolving door now. With a few notable lapses in judgement, I date a select group of really nice guys. I plan to wear sexy clothes instead of mom jeans AND be a good mom, a good friend, and a good employer and employee. No, I'm not going to be a poster girl for Madonna and Child. But even if I were in a perfect marriage with a perfect house and 2.5 kids, I wouldn't be that poster girl - nor would I want to be.

I don't really know what this life will look like --- and I certainly didn't know what my professional life would look like 14 years ago. But I created it, and I will create this balance, this picture. And the craziest thing is ... I think I'm sexier, more attractive and better company now as an excited, fulfilled 40-year old single almost-new-Mom than I was as a 35-year old swingle on the prowl. Feeling good about your decisions and your independence will do that to a woman.

A Vacation from Myself

I'm at a business meeting in the South, far from home. I sat in a room full of strangers all day. No one knows who I am, what I do, where I'm from, or any part of my crazy life --- it was refreshing. An escape.

I spent the evening reading the newspaper by the pool, reading a novel like it was my life plan, and eating (and enjoying) dinner by myself near the water.

Being alone is sometimes the best place for self-reflection. I'm at an interesting point in my life --- the last two years of chaos with my parents' separation, fertility treatments, miscarriages, surgeries, unexpected new home purchase, extensive renovations, and moving is now settled (phew!).

In a few short weeks (!) my daughter will be here and my life will again be thrown into a tailspin: delivery, newborn, having my mother here, maternity leave, daycare plans, returning to work, adjustment. This tailspin will now be my life.

I'm ready for a change. I'm ready for a big change. But unchartered territory always makes me nervous and this is no different. Will I have a happy and healthy baby? Will I be a good Mom? Will I be good at juggling the work/Mom combination? Will my friendships suffer? Will my health and peace of mind suffer? Will I, as a male friend recently told me, wonder what in the hell I've done and why I've ruined my life? I don't think so. But the nay-sayers are out in full force right now: my house will be trashed. I'll never sleep again. I'll never have sex again. No dude will want to be in a 1-mile radius of me for 6 years. My work will suffer. My waistline will suffer. You get the picture.

I do question how I will figure all of this out. But I will. I always do.

Conjugal visits

Some of you may have noticed that several of my recent posts are MIA: my plan to take a summer lovah, meeting the Marlboro Man, and realizing I was in over my head.

Let me recap for you: Book club friend introduces me to her builder-brother visiting from Montana for the summer. Liv bakes scones for builder-brother. Builder-brother comes over with his carton of Marlboros and body canvas of tattoos. Liv mentally notes that she would never date someone like Marlboro Man. A wave of estrogen hits Liv like a tsunami and her brain is swept out to sea. Liv learns that Marlboro Man kisses very well. Liv wonders what else he does well. In the middle of a jam session, Marlboro Man mentions that he got one of his tattoos in jail. Liv thinks he is kidding. He is not. Liv briefly considers being a jailhouse ho. Liv pictures her gestational carrier crossing the border into Mexico and selling her unborn child to a more worthy parent. Liv breaks up with Marlboro Man, who does not take it well. Liv calls police and in a paranoid streak worthy of an Oscar nod, erases related blog entries from this site in case her unborn child reads this one day.

Not kidding.

Several of my friends have had babies recently. I note with interest that their stories do not read this way, but more like Madonna and child.

I would like to fully blame my bibliophile friend for the omission of the century. As for my momentary lapse of reasoning, I blame the estrogen tsunami. As for my jailhouse ho dreams --- I know it wasn't realistic. But damn ... think of the conjugal visits I would have had. Damn.

Blink

Have you read this book by Malcolm Gladwell? I find the concept fascinating.

Here is the 50 cent summary:

If we listen to our inner selves, the answer to a complex question will sometimes come to us in the blink of an eye. Some call it a gut feeling or a premonition. These blink decisions are often dead accurate --- even more accurate than decisions made over time and with reams of data. The reason? We are actually using weeks, years, or decades of experiences, data, and insights which come together in a complex decision-tree to deliver a reaction in a split second. So, go with your gut.

One of the many examples given is a beautiful, ancient sculpture brought to an art gallery for auction. All of the paperwork, the background story, and the history appeared to be legit. But several art historians who viewed the piece independently said it was a fake, even though they couldn't explain why. Gut feeling. They were correct.

We often try to ignore these gut feelings, especially when they don't fit our plans. I find myself trying to do this all of the time. I was dating a guy a few years ago and trying to convince myself I really liked him. In the moment before I fell asleep a thought rushed through my mind in a nanosecond, "He is fine to date, but you could never love him." I jolted awake and spent an hour trying to convince myself why this wasn't true. But it was true.

Another time I was throwing an annual summer party and my serious boyfriend walked through the door after months of dragging his heels about moving to my area. This was supposed to be the first day of our life together. When he walked through the door instead of being thrilled to see him, the thought that flashed across my brain was, "He'd be a good friend, but I don't want to be married to him". Lightning bolt. Also true.

I'm still trying to ignore all inconvenient revelations in my life. But this book made me realize that sometimes you can't talk yourself out of the truth --- even when you don't understand the underpinnings that led you to that conclusion.

Trolling for Mr. Rhythm

A round peg does not fit into a square hole. We all know this, and yet we have all been guilty of trying to shove the peg in there anyway. This weekend I was the peg.

My good friend's husband, Eli, was in town this weekend for a wedding. My friend didn't make the trip, and so Eli asked me to be his date for the wedding festivities. We never get to see each other or hang out, so this was a treat.

Eli thinks I'm the greatest thing since sliced bread. I'm his wife's close friend. I've known them since they met. I know their families. I was in their wedding. I've been to the city apartment, house #1 and house #2. I flew down to meet their baby when he was born last summer. You get the picture.

Eli would LOVE to see me find Mr. Right. He met Glenn years back and was so happy I'd finally found someone --- and since that fell through, Eli has kept his ear to the ground for me. And taken out a few billboards.

I'm actually flattered that he thinks I'm great and wants to make my life even greater. But this weekend he took his matchmaking passion to a new level --- we'll call this level 'Code Red'.

There were several single guys at this wedding, and several of them were in the bridal party. When the groom introduced them at the rehearsal dinner, I leaned over to Eli and whispered, "This looks line a police line-up of my last 10 bad blind dates". Awkward, awkward, and awkward in a wrinkled shirt. Great guys, I'm sure, but no one rang my bell. Not even a 'ding'.

Eli seemed to agree. Until Sunday night rolled around and there were 30 minutes of the wedding remaining. He took his 8th Crown Royal on the rocks and started trolling the room for single guys still standing.

I watched the entire thing unfold like a bad slasher film on a budget. Eli sauntered over to a guy who I mentioned 'had rhythm' on the dance floor (which, Eli relayed to me, 'translates in the bedroom, Liv'. Oh boy.). Eli sat down. They started talking. They both glanced over at me. Eli got up and headed outside, Mr. Rhythm boogied on over and SAT DOWN NEXT TO ME. I tried to muster up a pissed off attitude but, to be honest with you, it was so freakin' funny that I couldn't even channel anger.

Mr. Rhythm is young, 5'2", and lives on the West Coast --- a mere 3,000 miles from me. He was actually very funny, but WTF? So we talked for a few minutes, as Eli watched through cupped hands on the window, and then Mr. Rhythm asked me to dance the last dance --- Sinatra's 'New York, New York'. Have you ever tried to dance to this song? Well, it ain't easy folks. So awkward I was forced to laugh.

Mr. Rhythm was catching a ride with his mom to the mother of the groom (MOTG)'s house, where they were staying and he'd been sleeping on the couch. That morning he had awakened to the unfortunate sight of MOTG ironing in her underwear, and was still traumatized. So, I encouraged Mr. Rhythm to squeeze his eyelids tight and we parted ways, as the DJ folded up his operation and the waitresses undressed the tables. How romantic.

I considered leaving Eli in the parking lot to thumb a ride back to his hotel. But then I realized that, in his own twisted way, Eli is trying to help me. He thinks I'm great, wants me to be happy, and thinks I'd be even happier in a relationship. Any relationship. The night was growing shorter and as he put it, "I had limited time and resources to work with, Liv". It was at this point he tried shoving the round peg into the square hole. With the best of intentions.

So here is what I have to say to all of my Eli's. Thank you. It means a lot that you love me, think I'm awesome, and want to help me find a great guy. But do me a favor ... wait for a GREAT GUY. And please don't slip a $20 to the parking lot attendant and have him ask me to dance ... he's got two left feet.