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| March 2006 »
We are 7 months old, young. We have 7 months under our tiny, itty bitty belts.
Sometimes Jeff and I look at the wee ones and are amazed that these are the girls we brought home. They are just so sturdy and plump now.
Anya has finally begun to talk. I say finally, but it is still early for talking, really. Her sister started a month or so ago, saying Dada and Aya and Baba. Now Anya has started to say the same things. Mostly Dada. It sounded like she said "baby anya" the other day, which is funny because that is what we call her sometimes. I think the baby Anya stuff started because I am always looking at her and seeing future Anya. I am always dreaming of future Anya. Sometimes I see future Anya in the mirror. Sometimes I see Margie (my grandmother). But I am so tired looking that I rarely see me anymore.
In other news, Anya can now sit up for about 10 minutes unattended. Rachel is more of a roller, still. She loves to roll so that her feet are under the tv stand. She also loves cords. This is why we are, again, looking at our living arrangements. I feel like the only way to baby proof my life is to start over somewhere new.
Speaking of new. So, I have a new job. One thing about my old job first, though. I miss everyone there. I miss my old office, but I don't miss the work! Oh, yeah. I have to rant. I was at my old job for 10 years. I had about 4 different positions there. When I left, I got a nice lunch but no present. That is right! I didn't get a present after 10 years. What is the world coming to. Perhaps you only get a present if you retire. I was expected an ipod or something. Or maybe even a crappy clock. Oh well. My new job is great. I am working as the web content person for an education nonprofit right at Dupont Circle. The people are lovely and I get to go to Long Beach, California for a convention in April! Poor Jeff. I hope he can survive the girls. They may kill him.
Ok. I am behind on emails. We have all been sick and sick and sick. We are trying to learn to sleep in our cribs and sleep through the night. We are thinking of living in a house. We like to sit and roll. We will email you back soon.
It is only recently that I stopped introducing my brother as Mikey. And even more recently that I stopped calling him such. I never thought that would happen. He has and I thought, will, always be Mikey. Not Mike or Michael, but Mikey.
I think it has been the past few months that have done it. Mike got a job 3 blocks from my work. My old work. The place where I spent the past 10 years of my life. So, enter this new element to my life. Well, this new old element. My brother. My baby brother was now a man in khaki pants walking toward me on the street. Mike, not Mikey, was now coming to my office at lunch to watch "The Office" on the big screen in the conference room with my co-workers. Telling me not to repeat that I loved the opening theme song because I had already told everyone this. Laughing with me over crap workaday lunch time foods.
When Mike, nee Mikey was little, he was such a Mikey. A problem child, 7 years my junior, I was always trying to make sure he didn't get in trouble. Taking the blame for things he did, covering up things I didn't want to take the heat for. I watched his back. But there were times like when he took a meat cleaver to the countertops or hit my sister with a hockey stick that I just couldn't take the blame. Mikey was super skinny when he was little and I remember he used to wear pajamas until they were so threadbare that you could see through them. Skinny legs sticking out of the thinnest jimjams on the planet, I remember. It makes me think of my Rachel now. Mikey loved to drink coke and eat ceral in front of the TV in the morning, watching the Disney Channel. Oh how I hated Pooh Corner and all those other insipid shows with people dressed up in big animal suits. Live action, too happy, cartoons with terrible songs.
When Mikey was 14 or so, Jeff and I started dating. Mikey had always hung out with my friends and I, helping one boyfriend with a magic show, riding around in another friend's car on a Saturday night. But Jeff and I were interested in giving Mikey experiences we wished we could have had. Taking him to the Black Cat to see a band play, taking he and his friends to see Green Day at some big arena, going to see Clerks in the theater when it came out. Mikey was never really interested in these things, actually, which was a bit of a disappointment to us. But we tried so hard to make him cool!
The years went by and I didn't always see my brother that much. He worked at an ice rink, managing and driving a zamboni, so his hours never really matched up with mine. It has been rare that he, my sister and I have all been in the same room together as adults. I remember looking up at my baby shower and seeing them both and saying it was so wonderful to see them both within one frame of sight.
But this likely won't happen again for a long time. Mike is moving to San Diego where his soon to be wife, Sarah, just got a job. He gets to leave behind these east coast winters. The lucky bastard.
On his last day in the city with me, last week, we met at the girls' daycare at lunch time. I was late as usual, so he started walking in my direction. I notice him half a block away. All grown up. And I wave franticaly to which he says, "Do you think I won't notice you?" This makes me laugh. And I know I will never be this close to my brother again. And I feel what I have been feeling a lot of lately. Happy and sad and enchanted with the change of it all.
I knew that someday Mikey would become Mike. But I never knew he would be Mike far and far away.
We are nomads, Anya and I. Walking the dark shiny spring-winter streets of Washington. When she is 14, I will remember this day. I will remember how she laughed at all the bumps on the street. The dips and the rollercoasting of uneven sidewalks. She is one baby attached to a stroller made for two. She is a twin, I tell people who tell me she is beautiful. She has another. I tell them. All. Of them, I tell. As if Anya isn't enough.
The other space in the stroller is filled with bags and vintage orange wall hangings. Beneath is full, too. 10 years of things packed under there. 10 years of my life packed under this one baby girl. Washington winter is dressed up in spring time, so I drap my couch coat over Anya's feet. Corn toes who don't want to keep their socks on. She is wearing a lavender jogging suit with a cupcake on the front. Team cupcake. And she has a healthy bit of mashed carrots up her nose.
Jeff is at the doctor with the Rachel Roo. She is getting xrays for possible lung weirdness. And again, I find myself with Anya as my sole company. I take her for granted, this Anya. I know I do. She is the loveliest creature alive and I know I don't appreciate this enough.
I am lonely walking home after dark. I am lonely on a street of people with the world's loveliest baby smiling up at me. I take the long way home because I don't want to pass where the cab hit me. I take the long way and I start to cry. I don't know why I am crying, but I know I need to. I don't know if it is the physical difficulty of pushing the baby and my things nearly 2 miles or if it is the sum of my recent actions.
Said ten years of goods under the pram are from my old office. Packed away weirdness that I never needed is going home with me because after ten years of working at the same place with the same people, I have made a change. I am free from it. There were a million reasons to do this and a million reasons not to. I choose the doing. And this is the first time I have cried about it. And my tears are so hot on face. They are so hot in my eyes, like a sinus headache. Painy and hot and real. I want to break down long and hard and cry for a day. But the girl is looking at me, slightly concerned. So, I sing her to sleep. A song about silly Anya is a nomad. And mommy, too. After a long stay is on the move move move.
And we move move move. Up the hill to home. Away from the place where things are easy and people like me. Away from people who I didn't even know I loved.
And tomorrow, there will be new arrangements. And new faces and new configurations. And I will be new. And I will be fine. I will be just fine.
As you may know, I have no time. But just now, both babies asleep, I found this Frappr map thing strangely compelling. You can log in and then the map will show me where you all are. I hate getting sucked in by cool internet crap, but this is pretty cool.
ok... this map isn't working... there is a link on the right... over there on the right (top for IE, bottom of the column for firefox), click it and stuff. it is pretty cool.
Our world is white white white. I am still wearing my jimjams. It is nearly noon. More later. I must baby-wrangle.
Rachel can roll over now. I am sure she has been doing it at daycare all week, but they never tell you these things. They want you to think you saw it first. I would have rather known, though; because the first roll happened while she was in the crib with her sister. Anya started to scream and we came in to find Rachel on top of her. Poor Anya.
Archie is an alarm. He howls all the time now. Whenever a baby is in any distress, he stands near her and just roooos. Roooooooo! I think it is more for his sanity then theirs, though. I think he is saying, that crying baby is stressing me out! Poor Archie.
I saw a picture of Philip Seymour Hoffman in the new Entertainment Weekly. He looks remarkabley like Anya. This is funny because Jeff's mom's maidan name is Hoffman. I wonder if Anya and PSH are related. They are both fat cheeked and spikey reddish blond hair. He likes to play a creep, but really is kinda cute. Anya is never a creep, just always cute. I wonder how it feels to play a creep so much. Poor Philip Seymour Hoffman.
I am bleaching my hair right now. It is burning. I hate it when you have weird hair and strangers think they can tell you they don't like it. I like it when they tell you they DO like it, but not the other way around. My physical therapist told me she didn't like my pink hair. That a mom shouldn't have pink hair. What if my girls' want pink hair? I said, they can do anything they want except tongue rings cause I don't dig those. Anya has a faux hawk right now. I can't wait til she is three and asks for a real one. That will kick ass. Jeff thinks Anya is going to be painfully normal, though. That will be a funny thing to deal with.
Thank you all for the worries about my accident. I am going to try and not talk about it anymore. I don't want to be one of those people who complain about pain and accidents and things. I don't want this to affect my life more than it has to. Jeff said there are some people that believe that when something like this happens to you, the timeline is changed. And that it splits somehow. That in an alternate reality, I died from being hit by the cab. And in another reality, I jumped out of the way. I don't know how I feel about this. I do like the idea of other worlds and other me(s), though. I wonder if the girls look more alike when they are older, if they will feel like they live with another them. Anyway, how many other timelines yous are there out there? How many alternate reality twins?
My head is burning and I just remembered that I haven't told you my storm a brewing news. Sorry for being so mysterious. I got a new job. I have worked at the same place for 10 years. I am making a serious change. More on that tomorrow.
Gonna go rinse the bleach. I will have a blank canvas.
So yesterday, walking to meet my brother for lunch, I thought of something strange. I thought of the way that your feet and toes and ankle all work together. I thought about which would be worse, breaking your toes or your foot or your ankle. Ankle, I thought. Yes, ankle would be the worst of it.
Forward many hours of work and such to about 4:48 pm. I am about to cross the street at 17th and Rhode Island Ave, on the corner where the Human Rights Campaign, the YMCA and the Beacon Hotel all meet. The light changes and there is a white walker telling me I can go go go. I take out my aqua and orange gloves. The sun is warm, but the wind is cold and my hands are numb. It feels like a movie moment. I start out onto the cross walk, white lights counting down. I have 20 seconds to walk. My cell phone rings, but I don't answer it. No, I don't answer this call. Instead, from my left there comes a taxi cab. It is surreal as it hits me. The hood and I connect and I am shocked, wondering why couldn't get out of the way. Wondering why he is doing this. It feels like hours later when I am flat on the ground, wonder woman bag next to me. I look up and the walk countdown says 17 seconds. I am getting up, picking up my big orange hat. All these men in suits are running toward me. Are you ok. Are you ok. Are you OK. They are asking and I am saying yes, I am fine and I turn to keep walking. I have to pick up my girls, I say. They are just up there. I have to get them. I am colder than I have ever been before. So cold.
I am coaxed over to the curb where I realize I have been hit by a cab. The cab driver is strangely quiet and doesn't say he is sorry. He says he didn't see me. I am very confused because I am huge and blue and orange with a big bag that says WONDER WOMAN on it and how couldn't he see me. And I wonder for a second if I am invisible. The suit men are three. One rudy faced with a moustache, one smooth and white, one old and smiles with wrinkles. They are surpised I got up after being run over. For a while we stand there in the cold. I take down the driver's information. Then I say, should I call the police? Yes, I should. I do. I call Jeff and say these words. "I just got hit by a cab." I am still in shock and shock and dont' really understand what these words really mean.
The cab driver asks me if i want a ride home. I say, you just ran me over. I have to get my babies. He says he will take us all. I say, no they have carseats and you just ran me over.
Jeff shows up before the cops do. The firetruck shows up and is mad that i am standing there and don't seem to need assistance. They tell me to wait for the cops. Finally one arrives. I listen to the front seat suit man tell the cop what happened. I was in the right. I had the right of way. The cab driver was turning left and must have been sleepy or something and didn't see me. The suit man tells the officer that I came up onto the roof of the car and was thrown to the ground. I am surprised by this. I don't remember any of this. I only remember the tire rolling over my foot after I fell. I remember that hurting so much. I remember wondering if my foot would crunch like when you step on a bug. I don't think it did. I did not cry or scream. There was very lttle noise at all, really.
Jeff tells everyone that I am in shock. To this I realize that I am. That is what makes me so cold, so numb. The shock begins to wear off and I start to cry. Finally, I think. I whisper to Jeff that I knew this would happen today. That I thought about it. And I wonder what is going on with me. With knowing things before they happen and what good do they do you if you can't stop them.
One of the suit men slips me a 20 dollar bill as they go off to get another cab. The old smiley one does. It is weird. It is like a tip. It comes in handy as I decide to take a cab to the emergency room. An ambulance wouldn't let me choose where to go. And Jeff has to go get my girls. The cab ride to the ER is emotional. I am a wreck and am finally figuring out how bad this could have been. I am also finally feeling the pain. There is so much pain. Everywhere. My crunched foot, the knee I landed on. My left thigh which must be the point of impact.
I spend the evening getting xrays alone and telling the nurses where I got my wonder woman bag. When I put on the hospital gown, I notice just how fat my knees have become. I wonder if I was thinner if I would have been more banged up. My thighs are so big that they feel like cushioning, like you could bounce a car off of them without a lot of damage. Two of Jeff's coworkers come over to watch the girls while he comes to the ER to get me.
Amazingly, according to the doctors, I am not broken. There are no broken bones. I am mashed up a bit and my head hurts and the bruises are starting to take shape all over.
Jeff picks me up and asks me how I feel. Like I got hit by a car, I say. Later the joke will turn into a bus and train. Like I got hit by a train, I say.
So, I am ok. I am in pain, seeing another doctor on Friday to see if I have any lasting stuff from getting hit by a cab.
But what is more upsetting is wondering why. The emotional stuff. And karma stuff. Like, did I get hit by a cab because I did something wrong? Or did I get hit by a cab and not die or get totally broken up because I did something right? Will I ever know?
It is time to sleep now. I am ok. I am alive. I am luckier than I knew. I am invincible like the Eiffel Tower.
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