Baby Baby

Kristin sent me a text last week saying that she had been invited to do an interview on a local cable station. She asked me to contact one of my other volunteer speakers, a liver recipient, to join her. I did, but when this girl got back to me she said she was sorry but she couldn't make it as she couldn't line up a babysitter for her six month old son.

I quickly verified and found out that her baby would be welcomed on the set. "You can do the interview with him on your knee or I can hold him off camera but close by." I told her. This speaker is great, she had a great story and great chemistry with Kristin so I wanted to do everything I could to get her to come, even offer up my very limited babysitting talents.

The interview was yesterday afternoon. As it got closer I got nervous. Not about possibly being asked to join the interview panel, but about having to mind a small child, which I am not known for getting excited about. Also, this wasn't just any old baby, this one came from a young woman who is living on a donated liver and had to go off some of her meds in order to safely carry it.

Kristin and I arrived to the studio a few minutes behind due to me driving around the parking lot six times while having a bird about the lack of available spots. All flusteredness disappeared though when I saw The Baby. He had bright red hair, lots of smiles and even a dimple in his right cheek. The first thought that entered my head was, "oh good, he's cute. Really cute. This will make things much easier." 

The two gals got mic'd up and positioned at the interview table. The Baby was relaxing in his stroller/carseat/carrier thingamajig. When the lights dimmed and the tape started rolling I wheeled The Baby over to give him a better view of his mama, which hopefully would lessen chances of panic and tears.

The Baby didn't seem to mind at all that Mom was not nearby though. He smiled and looked around a lot. I noticed he was looking squirmy though, so again, in the name of ensuring an interruption-free interview, I decided to attempt picking The Baby up.

I got him into my arms without too much difficulty and he immediately latched on to my necklace and poked at my collarbone with his itty-bitty fingers. It tickled. He drooled and spit up a bit on my dress, sucked on the sleeve too but I didn't mind. He was quiet and happy so I was happy.

I walked around the room with The Baby and pointed out anything that might be remotely interesting, since he didn't seem to have the need to keep his eye on Mom. Sometimes I rocked him side to side, sometimes we bounced. As I did this I found myself talking to him. My voice was hushed, but the words and tone were entirely unrecognizable to me. I think I was cooing.

Where was this stuff all coming from? I didn't think I had any of this in me. Should I be concerned? It's not going to get all up in my brain now, is it, this baby-liking stuff? I don't want to be on the clock. I've heard about those ticking maternal clocks and how they can make a woman mad for offspring. Please Lord, do not send me any dancing baby hallucinations. I've got stuff to do yet.

Half-way through the interview I could see that The Baby was getting ready for a cry, a big one by the look of pain on his face. I quickly checked to make sure I wasn't pinching him in my belt or pinning his arm in some awkward position. I wasn't. On came the tears and the wails. I wanted to cry myself.

The Baby was just hungry. Nothing I could do. I handed The Baby over to The Mom so she could give him a bottle, which quietened him immediately.

I thought about The Baby today. Remembered the fun we had, how soft his skin was, how big his green eyes were and how cute his little dimpled smile was. Good times.

What 30 means to me

Finally I have some time for blogging. This also means I have time for catching up on the two weeks of PVR'd TV programs. I apologize if this post starts trailing off on quotes from House.

I'd wanted to say some words on my birthday to my family, but I ran out of time to pull my thoughts together so all I could muster was a story about how I had been singing along to a favourite tune on the radio that afternoon (That Song by Big Wreck, a tune of nostalgia if there is one), feeling great until the announcer came on and said "hard to believe that song is 15 years old now". I have favourite songs from high school that are now 15 years old. I am an oldie, moldy crust of bread.

So you crank that song
And it might sound dumb
So just leave the room
While I sit'n stare
Cause yeah that's rare
I really love that tune
Man I love that song
I love that song
I love that song
--That Song, Big Wreck


Turning 30 didn't really cause me any pain. Yeah, it's kind of a big number and yes, it means I have closed the door on the 20-something category. But really, the best thing about your 20s is that you're young. And the worst part about your 20s is, well, that you're young. I won't miss the days of being another recent grad with a generously spaced resume and limited awareness of my own strengths and talents.

At 21 I was a college/university graduate, at 22 I was seven months into my first career job and at 24 I was in the world of corporate communications at a large Canadian company. I also bought my first vehicle, brand new, and started blogging--my first public act of writing since grade school. A year and a half later I bought a house.

So many big and exciting moments happened in the first half of my 20s but 29 was probably my favourite year of that decade because in that year I believe I found my own two, very well-shoed feet. Some of my most frustrating, upside down and lost moments happened in that year, the year that my mom had to come to my house to scrape me off the floor where I was drowning in a puddle of my own tears. But even in that moment when I didn't want to open my eyes or for my mom to stop holding me, I had inside of me a flame I'd never sensed before. It's my pilot light that never goes out, even in the darkest moments. My fire in my belly is the small but mighty voice of wisdom that either took 29 years to grow or 29 years for me to finally hear it and believe when it says no matter what, everything will turn out and I'll be okay.

In mid-November I went to a craft show and spent probably 45 minutes reading all the fun and inspirational quotes a girl had printed on magnets, coasters and plaques. The most basic magnets were only a dollar. I bought a stack of them. One of my very favourites featured a quote from contemporary poet, Maya Angelou:

“You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated. In fact, it may be necessary to encounter the defeats, so you can know who you are, what you can rise from, how you can still come out of it.”

When I'm in a hole at the depths of despair, I can't climb out of it fast enough. But once I am in the warm sun again I have an enormous appreciation for the challenge and the opportunity to use strength I didn't realize I possessed.
 
I learned so much about myself in the last year and a half or so. This knowledge is what made turning 30 so easy breezy. I'm sure I don't know it all, but I feel like I at least finally have a grasp of the territory. For now. Which brings me to the other favourite magnet I picked up:

"Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten"
--Natasha Bedingfield

I took the day off on Monday so I could enjoy a full day of celebrating. I wanted to spend time with as many people I love as I could. It started off with a free, birthday coffee from Starbucks that I drank while visiting with my senior citizen friends from the mall that I used to walk through on my way to work. Brownie and Emil gave me a box of chocolates along with their good company.

After that visit I went to the Urban Oasis Spa. (Thank you, Manitoba Blues Club, for that gift certificate parting gift.) I thoroughly enjoyed the steam room and the mineral pool before receiving a wrap treatment. My sister met up with me after the wrap and we got our nails done together, which we've never done before. After that we went to the bridal salon and Sister selected her wedding gown with big nods of approval from me and Mom. After that I rushed home and put on my party frock for dinner with the family. I'll let the pictures tell the story from here.

Sweet Sisters!

Birthday manicure and birthday glass o'wine

I told my sister, who planned my special night, that the most important thing of all for me was the Birthday Cake. She nailed this.

What a slice looks like

What the whole inside looks like. Cake, then cream, then cake, cream, cake, cream, fruit and chocolate garnish topped by a smattering of candle wax.

When I got home that night, alone with me, myself and I again, I lit one more candle, sat down in front of it, and unleashed all my joys, gratitude, and heart-bursting hopes for the future. When I was about done I said, "God/Universe, I don't know if you heard--" and before I could finish the sentence with "any of that" and the rest of my not-really-so-eloquent-yet-full-of-passion-and-conviction speech, the candle went out. Poof. No draughts and plenty of wax and wick left to burn. Spontaneous de-combustion* I guess. Or, a simple message reminding me to not worry, sit tight, drink lots of fluids and go to bed so I can get plenty of rest for the ride to come. I went to bed a little before midnight but I woke up on Tuesday feeling like I'd been hit by a truck and have been battling the sniffles all week. Ugh, this has been the most unpleasant welcome to a new era I've ever encountered.

Last magnet of inspiration, I promise (I have a very inspiring refrigerator):

If I'm not happy
in this time,
in this place,
I'm not paying attention.
--Jodi Hills

*un-combustion? anti-combustion? None of these is a word, according to Webster. Whatever, 30 means you are old enough to write your own dictionary.

Someone got a new camera for her birthday

This means I can blog pictorially again when words just won't do or I am short on time, like tonight.

I'll also share with you my birthday roses:

Thanks Mom and Dad.

Born this day

Last weekend when it was looking like I was safely in the lead in a Facebook Words With Friends (knock-off Scrabble) match with NAF I smugly asked if he was going to let me win for my birthday. This was before I got stuck with the point heavy (if you can find a place for it) QUEEN. I was not happy about the loss in my near future.

Yesterday, after he played his last letter and left me holding 15 unplayable points he wrote me: Happy Birthday and challenged me to another game.

I laughed. "Every year you try to age me earlier. Or this is you ending that game so as to spare me the blemish of a loss on the actual special day?"

"Aargh dammit you ought to be born on the third."

I emailed him a note with the subject line: Facebook is good for two things: playing Scrabble and keeping track of birthdays.

Last year NAF thought I ought to be bore on the fourth of the month. Do I mind? No, it makes me laugh and even though he would never admit it, his heart is in a good place for trying to get it right. There are only 31 days in the month of December, maybe by my 60th birthday he'll have it figured out. I kind of hope he never does, it's just more fun this way.

I went out with five of my girlfriends last night. Got dressed up and ate some cheesecake.

Today I got a message that my mom and dad had posted on my Facebook wall.

"Happy Birthday Dear Daughter!"


I can only suspect that my dad saw "Jill's Birthday" in the upcoming events section of FB and without thinking decided to click and post, because I know my parents know when I was born. Or maybe they are in cahoots with NAF to drive me crazy. I did check a calendar first to make sure I hadn't lost a day before I emailed NAF with this image attached.

"I stand corrected" I wrote.

"So there." he wrote back.

I know tomorrow, my real birthday there will be many well wishes--in person, by email and on my wall, and I will be grateful for the good thoughts, but they will not be able to make me laugh as hard as I did today and yesterday.

Run!

I am home, by the way. They didn't keep me at the border.

On the bus ride home they played chick flicks. The second one of the ride was The Lake House with Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves. I almost turned to Amara and said, "Sandra Bullock always reminded me of X." X was a girl I went to school with, long before I met Amara. She would have no idea who I was talking about, but I had forgotten in that moment that she and I haven't known each other since we were small, it just feels to me like we have.

On Saturday night we went to Tucci Benucch, an Italian restaurant in the Mall of America. The dinner started off well, but our server changed her disposition halfway through the night and did a number of things to make Amara and me feel like the meter was up and we needed to move along. When we asked if we could take our desserts home in a box, the sour peach dropped a to-go box in front of each of us and walked away. Amara lifted and plunked her cheesecake into the box fairly easily, but we both looked at the glass dish containing my tiramisu and wondered how the girl expected me to make the transfer.

"I double dog dare you to just put the thing,  dish and all in the box," Amara said. I grinned and swiftly boxed up the dessert, dish and all. As we walked through the mall on our way out I randomly broke out into a giggle thinking about the dish I'd swiped. I don't know why, it was just a deliciously funny thought for me.

Tonight Lisa and I went for a run before supper. When we finished she said, "you're ready to do a 5k." How did I get here? When did I become someone who can run 5k? So cool. Could come in handy next time I swipe something, huh?

I like the glass dish I swiped better than I liked the dessert it held

Forgot to show you these shoes I got at DSW. I think they were $32. Not fit for running.