Pregnancy Sleep.

Coming to you live at 6:23 a.m., it's me! Tired and confused over broken sleep that abruptly ended around 3:30 this morning. Yep. So I've been surfing the internet and washing dishes. I've heard this nonsense lack of sleep in a random unfathomable pattern is nature's way of ensuring I'm accustomed to the sleep deprivation that is new parenthood. Well, colour me used to it. I am, in my way. Don't much care for it, but I can deal.

I'm not really expecting to enjoy motherhood at first. I'm not doing this because I think 2-month-olds are charming and fulfilling companions. Oh, I'm sure I'll love my baby, but what I'm really looking forward to is having a smiling baby who is learning words, and more than that, a child, one that can walk, talk and dress him or herself and say silly shit. This is not the fun part, and nor will the immediate future be either. I consider it all an investment in my future joy.

Yesterday I found a glider rocking chair on Craigslist for $200. I haggled it down to $175 and the Dude picked it up and now it's in our nursery. I'm too lazy right now to take a picture of it in the room, so here's the picture from the ad:

It also came with a matching ottoman.
Chair normally retails for $500 before tax.

I have this lamp en route:

From Lamps Plus.

And this nightstand will be the last item I require.

Sears item. Handy for holding my water, snacks and Kobo reader.

It's taken a lot of work to find sales, but the savings has been somewhere in the neighbourhood of $600+. Not to say we'd have spent more without sales (We wouldn't have), but we would have had to sacrifice quality. We've borrowed a few things, like a Jolly Jumper and a bouncy chair. McPal gave us his old rug. The diapers were a sale item, as was the crib, car seat and lamp. The stroller was both a gift and sale win. The glider is possibly my biggest coup. I feel very satisfied with my shopping, all of which, and this is no exaggeration, was done online. I don't know how anyone can haul ass around the city looking for sales and not lose time and patience (and of course the best prices). I love the internet.

Today is the Dude's birthday. There are literally no special plans afoot. He wants to order in Indian food, watch TV and open a present. That's it. I'll make him a morning coffee in a couple hours and also some pancakes. Maybe we can have nachos for lunch. He's not much for his birthday, but he certainly enjoys a day of having nothing to do. Since those days will soon be behind him, I can understand the day of laziness he's asked for. I was hoping we'd go out for steak, but it's not my birthday.

In order to have today be free of responsibility, he re-organized the kitchen yesterday. I can't even believe it. The fridge, once a haven of expired random shit now looks empty and gleaming. Under the sink is now debris and garbage-free. The cupboards are clean and organized. There's actually storage space available now. Someone's nesting in this apartment, and it ain't me.

WTF, I'm 30

I'm 30. It has happened.

I got this in my email from futureme.org, a letter I wrote myself years ago:

Dear FutureMe,

You're 30. I'm 27. I'm envisioning motherhood, marriage, home ownership and a better job.

If you're not dancing, get back to it. It makes you happy and confident, not to mention healthy and in shape. You have the time, no matter what. It's a priority.

I've changed in the last three years, and I can't know who you are anymore. Hopefully someone better than I am. A little wiser, a little more patient and someone you'd want to know.

If you're a mother, please be the kind that doesn't get trapped in the idea of needing too much stuff. Don't sweat the small things. Encourage good manners, empathy, kindness, authenticity and imagination. Let your children fall down and learn.

And maintain who you are as a person and don't neglect your marriage. I have high hopes for you.

Good luck.

Thanks, me. Now I have to figure out if I need to change my blog title.

Two weeks till 30

So, I'm turning 30 in a little over two weeks. TWO WEEKS (and change). Oh, what a world. With gray hairs sprouting, fine lines developing and a bun in the oven, I'm approaching the milestone year with a relative amount of acceptance, if not unaccountable bewilderment. You go through life feeling like you'll never get old, that somehow an exemption will be made in your case. Not so. Though, like my godmother said, aging beats the alternative.

I'm not sure what the plans are. The Dude said he would sort something out, so I'm leaving it to him. So strange to have named my blog after this pending birthday and now it's approaching at an inhuman speed.

One thing I realize I forgot to include back at Halloween was a picture of my costume!

I posted this on Halloween:

Bumble bee minus antennae.

This is an old costume from 2009 that somehow still fits thanks to the powers of spandex. The Dude threw on his Super Grover costume and we sat out on the porch and handed out candy. Or at least we tried. We actually got snubbed by a lot of families! Heck. I mean, it's free candy.

Then at the McPal party the following weekend I had on my real costume:

Greek goddess, and yes, the Dude is Mugatu and loving it. 

Now, when you're pregnant, no matter what you dress up as, it's going to be seen as a pregnant something or other. There's really no escaping it without being a pumpkin. Pregnant nun. Pregnant witch. Pregnant Cookie Monster. So, you roll with it, and thus what was I the goddess of? Fertility.

The party was, as always, a great time and had a record turnout. It's really awesome to be out and about, enjoying my friends. Time is really ticking for me on the hang out freedom front and it's important not to take this time for granted.

The Dude started painting the nursery and we've ordered the crib. Inch by inch I'm growing and piece by piece we're putting together our new lives.

Almost 29

I'm 29 years old in about two weeks. I've been blogging about my impending 30 years of age since I was 26. 26 is when it hit me that it was actually going to happen. I was so excited to turn 20 because I felt that was real adulthood. But 30 is different because that's actual real adulthood.

20 is nothing. 20 is time to make mistakes and be silly and figure out how to pay rent and buy your own groceries, which is adult, yes, but it's more of a starter challenge, something to master before you really take on some responsibility. Eventually, you get a job with some level of permanence, or take on a career that builds on past jobs. Maybe you get a pet, or even a child, or barring those two you at least take on some houseplants or a garden.

You get an apartment you plan on staying in, or if you're financially sound you get a condo or a *gasp* house. Maybe you buy a car, if you're not an urbanite, and keep up with all the maintenance that entails. You have to sort out your own vision, prescription and dental plans, and generally manage your own health concerns.

You plan vacations that don't revolve around a school schedule. Your evenings are free because homework and assignments are no longer a part of your life, and so you have to really figure out what it is you like to do with yourself. Meeting people is now much harder because you're out of school and so you actually have to put yourself out there or nurture your existing relationships in order to have friends. Socializing doesn't just happen on its own anymore, you must make it happen yourself.

I spent my 20s in a few relationships and making new and re-energizing old friendships. I took up belly dance, did some travelling, got my job, some pets, an apartment I finally plan on staying at awhile, and I've begun gardening and baking. I'm going to enter my 30s married, childless, kitties in tow in a homey apartment with a decent job.

When I was a teenager, I envisioned an artsy existence for myself. I thought I'd be working and living in a studio space, managing motherhood with my art in the city. Or something. Then I thought I'd be a journalist in the city. Then I toyed with living in the country and actually learning to drive. That didn't last long.

Like I said in my last post, I've always looked to the past. Looking ahead and planning my future was never something I did. I had vague ideas, but generally I just tried to focus on things that happened and otherwise meandered through my life, making choices as needed without too much direction. I sort of let my inclinations and heart lead the way.

Turns out I hated going to bars and concerts. I don't like high-powered work or too much stress. I need alone time and I enjoy opportunities to be creative. I like a small circle of friends that are tight-knit and welcoming. Big parties are not my thing, most of the time. I like having cats and I enjoy trips. I don't care much about having a great body, only a reasonably decent one.

These are the things I've figured out about myself and the way I like to live. I'm not living a dream life, per se. It's not exciting or dynamic. It's not the sort of life people dream of. But what I am living is an authentic life, authentic to myself. My life makes sense. I don't worry. Freedom from worry is something I haven't always had.

I'm turning 29, I'm almost 30. Three years I've been writing this blog and who I am has changed a little, in ways I'm okay with. More self acceptance, I think that's the key.

28

I'm 28, and one year closer to 30. Despite the name of this blog, I don't fear 30. It'll be kinda neat in a way. I think I've spent my 20s pretty well. I've had a ton of apartments, some relationships, travel experiences. I've made and nurtured friendships and developed some hobbies. I've also done a lot of reflection on my past, as well. I've learned a lot about myself.

Basically I feel like I've made good use of my time.

My 28th birthday was exactly the sort of evening I love. It was entirely about sharing time with my friends and eating delicious food. When I was younger I used to despair over who I wasn't and what I wasn't doing. I didn't "go out". I wasn't a drinker, I never went to concerts, I didn't have a wide circle of party pals.

Turns out I don't like concerts. I really don't. I'll go to the odd one if it's easy, or if the act is truly impressive or someone really wants me to go. But I like quieter settings. I like being able to make out the lyrics to music. I need to be able to sit down. Concerts just rub me the wrong way and they always have. To be honest, they bore me. And try explaining that to most people. I enjoy music as a human being, but I never have the urge to go out of my way to experience it in more authentic and personal ways.

And drinking? I get sick from alcohol really easily. After a few drinks, I'm drunk. Anything beyond that sends me to toilet town and my night is over. So I have to nurse my drinks and turn people down who shout, "SHOTS!" or who think they're doing me a favour by placing a drink in front of me. Which of course makes nobody popular with anyone.

As for a wide circle of friends, I'm picky. I'm just plain picky. I suck at small talk and I really want to know someone if I'm going to spend time with them. I have a knack, if you want to call it that, for getting people to get super personal with me with total ease. That's where I go, and that's where people go with me pretty much all the time. I enjoy it. But you only have so much energy to nurture so many friendships. I also wonder if anyone ever regrets telling me certain things, because sometimes what I hear is pretty out there, and then never wants to see me again.

So my birthday had my friends, dear friends who I love. A couple were missing, but most of the people I really value were there. We drank, but not to excess. There actually was no music playing. Our conversation and laughter would have drowned it out anyway. And we stayed in and played Scruples, and philosophized over bizarre topics most people wouldn't touch.

They're my kind of people. This is my kind of life. The closer I get to 30, the happier I am, and the more comfortable I am with who I am. I wouldn't be a younger me for anything.

29

Hey, last post was my 100th! Awesome.

Yesterday the Dude and I celebrated his birthday a few days early. He's been working so much, that we figured a Sunday was the only day safe to make firm reservations. I like his birthdays. They're always so relaxed. He's not big on parties for himself.

So we slept in and he opened his presents. I gave him some Adobe Photoshop manuals he wanted, which made him happy. We lazed around all day, then went out to dinner at the Keg Mansion. It serves his favourite steak, so it's an easy standby. It's not really much of a causal dining experience. Every time you go they ask you if it's a special occasion. They brought the Dude an ice cream cake with a sparkler.

And so now he's 29. Well, he will be on Wednesday, but who's counting? He says he won't care when he turns 30, but who doesn't care at least a little? I know I'll care. Hell, I named my blog after it. It's a milestone birthday. Your body changes in your 30s. Your priorities often change. It strikes me as one of those ages where you've got to be more serious about your life. The 20s are about making mistakes, figuring out who you are and what you want. You're allowed to be an idiot.

If you're still an idiot in your 30s, you're not just young anymore. You are actually an idiot.

Thinking on my parents, my dad was a married father of two by 29 (though the married part would not last long into his 30s). And at 29, my mother was childless and unmarried. I know how she spent her 30s. She got started on a family. But her 20s were spent working, some travel, moving around, living in the city and having relationships. Had I been more curious about her when she was alive, I'd know more.

But as a kid I only wanted to know about her childhood. And as a teen, I only wanted to know about myself and my friends. Her 20s have a lot of question marks for me. My aunt, her closest sister and friend, tries to fill in the blanks. But trying to tell someone else's life story is a challenge. No matter how close you were or are, you still don't know all the details and chronology can get confused and you remember things differently, and it's from your perspective so certain events or people may have seemed more or less important to you than they may actually have been to the main character of that life story.

I was thinking about this at dinner, though less organized. The Dude wanted to know what I was thinking about. I kept these thoughts to myself at the time. It wasn't really Keg Mansion conversation.

I've been thinking about the daughter I hope to have one day. The more a woman knows about her mother's past, the better off she'll be. Even if it's sad or terrible or boring. I wish my mother had kept a diary. Or written some letters. There's something that seems wrong about her dying, beyond how untimely it was. I should have known more about her.

Almost 27

Tomorrow is my birthday. I turn 27 and officially enter the world of "late 20s". It's going to be nice, I think. I've requested a cake. That's really all I want. I know the Dude is getting me something from his sister-in-law-to-be's fashion collection. He's also cleaning the house tomorrow and making me dinner and we having drinks with my friends on Friday. My aunt sent me a gift in the mail, which I am excited to open. All of that is awesome.

But hot damn, the cake! Jazzed is the word. I'm jazzed to pieces about it. It's come to my attention I haven't had a proper birthday cake in years and I've been craving one. I have a deep-rooted soft spot in my heart for cakes.

My cats, usually unaware of my birthday, bestowed a gift upon me today. They both fell in the tub while the Dude was taking a bath. Owning a cat is sometimes better than owning a TV. Owning two geriatric lunatic cats makes life worth living. Smokey was pushing his water dish around last night and woke up the Dude, who filled the dish back up irritated, and said, "Here you go, your highness."

And something in his tone struck me funny and then I was the one keeping him up while I chortled. And now I refer to Smokey as his Lordship. Happy birthday to me. My cats are awesome.

Mellowed

I think I'm at a point in my life where I want to keep things simple. I'm not entirely sure why that is. I used to get warm fuzzies over the thought of being made a fuss over. Not so much these days.

If I were to get married, I think I'd like to bypass a lot of the typical stuff and just get it done with some friends and family present. Maybe I've heard too much being made of the whole deal. It's not that I don't think marriage is important. It is. It's just that half the people who do it get divorced. And then they have second and third weddings and all with the same hooplah... it's just not that big of a decision, it seems to me, if you'll do it with more than one person and you can take it back later.

And for me, I've been living a la sin for two years now, just about, and taking that step wouldn't dramatically change my life, other than allowing for more future planning and some more merging of finances. I think I'd feel stupid throwing anything big. And that's odd because I never feel this way about anyone else's wedding, no matter how long they've been together, lived together, have had a child etc. Just me.

Same thing with a baby. Some women get pregnant and from that point forward they're showing every jerk in a three-metre radius their sonogram picture, throwing their own showers, doing up an expensive baby registry in one theme and taking back stuff purchased that does not fit that theme, Twittering their labour progress and update their Facebook statuses with diaper mishaps and about 500 pictures and inviting everyone they've ever known to baby's first birthday in a gift grab blaze of glory.

Not that I ever wanted anything like that, but the more I think about it, the less "stuff" you bring into the house and the less pressure you place on yourself and everyone around you to perform to these standards of giving and attention for this whole birth thing, seems the more joyful and less overwhelming the whole thing could be.

Then there are birthdays. I'm turning 27 in a few weeks. I've been accidentally calling myself 27 here and there for a month or so now, so this is not a big deal birthday. All I want is my friends and some good food. Whatever happens, happens.

Past birthdays were harder on me, and after several disappointments I started inadvertently measuring them as how loved or liked I was, which the answer seemed to say to me: not much. But the less importance I put on the day, the more I tend to enjoy it. This year the Dude is going to sort something out, and whatever it is, I'll be happy with it.

Funny. Maybe I'm getting old. Not like old-old, but mellowing out. And maybe that's a difference when you do things for the celebratory purposes and the fantasy, and when you want to do things because you want to actually go through with them. I think I'm at a stage where I'm ready to buckle down and actually think about these choices in a real way.

This isn't some sort of blogging announcement about my upcoming shotgun wedding and I'm due in March or anything. But I have been thinking about this change in me lately.