When Worlds Collide

Some days, my identity lies in being an ever-growing first time mama. Other days, I’m just a free-spirited musician. Not that I’m exactly trying, but I tend to separate and compartmentalize the two identities pretty well. But sometimes it’s hard to do, especially when the two worlds come crashing together like they did this past Friday.

I had my 33 week sonogram in the morning, and then had my last gig before the baby comes that night. It was interesting shifting gears like that, but I guess it’s something I’m going to have to get used to.

It was a bitter sweet day for sure. I have never, in 20 years, NOT had a gig for 3 solid months. I have to admit it is a very hard thing for me to even think about, and must also admit I have specifically tried not to let my mind dwell on it, or my hormones get the best of me. It’s especially hard because I FINALLY have my own group together, and we are just starting to really gel. I really feel like we could step it up in the next year and really get somewhere. Of course, I have this sort of forced hiatus coming up… but I suppose I could use the time to my advantage. Start booking now for late summer and fall and come back more focused than ever.

On the mama front, it’s just all unexplored territory, so I don’t even know what to think. Before I got pregnant, I actually said out loud- “Ok, whatever little soul comes down to be my child better be ready to just go along for the ride. This is not going to be normal.” So, hopefully Patrick will just be cool. haha… Of course, I realize that once I have him, it will be hard to leave him for the evening, but at least it will be for something I love to do.

Swimming right along

Friday’s gig was great. It wasn’t the biggest crowd we’ve played for, but every person in there was having a great time. So many people had such nice things to say. It was a good “going away for now” gig. Not too much pressure- minus the camera man in my face for an entire set- documenting the 8 month pregnant chick singing songs like “Possum Kingdom”, “Just Dance” and “Killin’ in the Name Of”. It was a great night for cutting loose and just going for it. We did many songs we’ve never tried before… which is one of my favorite things to do in life. It’s better than a thrill ride.

To quote my sister upon sledding down a cliff at the age of three, “First I said, ‘Wee’. Then I said, ‘Whoa.'”

It’s surprising to me how much stronger my voice feels. I feel like I have no limitations. I can go as high as a want, as strong or softly as want, whenever I want. My range has grown. This goes against every single thing I’ve read about pregnancy and singing. I just hope that I keep it after the pregnancy! I’m hoping that all the compensating I’ve had to do breathing wise will make me that much stronger later. I’m also kind of hoping it will help me in the delivery room! (Eeeek.)

Maybe I can just sing through the pain.

As the big day approaches, I wonder how this is all going to work out. I know deep down it WILL all work out and that all of this may be the thing I need to really push me in the music world. Nothing like a little mouth to feed for inspiration to get serious. I’m such a creature of habit, it’s hard to look past the hurdles and just envision the prize. That’s what I’ve been working on the most- just getting myself in the right mindset to positively move towards putting all my energies into being a good new mom and a serious musician.

It Ain’t Over til it’s Over

I’m 33 weeks now, which places me in my 8th month. Almost in the home stretch- but like Lenny Kravitz once said, “It ain’t over til it’s over.” I still have PLENTY to do before then.

Last night I played a wedding gig in Charlottesville, VA. It was a good 3 hour drive, followed by lots of waiting. It was held at the manor of one of our first presidents, so there was lots of exploring to do. They had sheep, chickens, roosters and peacocks, but I found them very unfriendly, so that didn’t kill much time. We did have some fun making up dialogue for the sheep as they chewed away on cud or some such thing, but the novelty wore off. For some reason, all of us went for the same accent for the sheep- 40’s movie gangster dialect, “seeee?”.

"I'm a sheep, seeee?"

We wandered around a cobblestone path lined with hedges straight out of The Shining.

Creepy.

We came across a courtyard that had a game of cornhole all set up for the taking. After playing several very unsuccessful rounds, we gave up and just found a place to hang out and crack jokes til it was time to eat.

Been there, done that.

It’s been so interesting singing through all this. I mean, I’ve sung through every other major change in my life, so why should this be any different? It’s just that physically I’ve changed and I never know what each new day will bring. The biggest issue I’ve had so far is breathing. It takes me some time to re-adjust to my new lung capacity, but so far, I’ve been able to make it work. It’s not that my air is cut short. It’s all still there, I just have to access it in a different way.

Here's a good diagram of how pressed up my organs are, not to mention my diaphragm. Pretty crazy. I'm so thankful I'm able to compensate!

I really don’t know until I start how it’s going to be. Committing to these shows has been decided on a complete “feeling” level, since we have to commit so far in advance. “Do you think you will be ok for late April?” they ask. I think about it and say, “I feel like I’m going to be fine.” Of course there is no way of knowing for sure until it is upon us. I mean, thank goodness my cellulitis problem wasn’t going on this week instead of last week! I’ve finally finished my antibiotics (14 days of 40 pills=exhausting) just yesterday. I’ve still got my eye on it, though, as I’ve heard it can recur easily.

So back to the story. It’s time to sing… finally.  Interestingly, and possibly a blessing in disguise, was the fact that the majority of the requested songs for the night were mainly the responsibility of our male singer, so I didn’t have to press on all night, song after song.

To my surprise, though, I felt even more comfortable singing last night than I did 2 weeks ago. No trouble hitting those long, high notes. No trouble going low. No stamina issues to speak of. I just had be very aware of where I was taking breaths, and be sure to fit them in wherever possible.

Perhaps the most rewarding part of the night was when a guest came running up to me at the break. She made it a point to seek me out to affirm what I was doing. We had a really nice talk and she gave me some excellent advice at a time when I really needed it. So thank you, wedding guest. You really helped me and didn’t even know it. It’s amazing how the universe works. You get your answers and messages in ways that you will accept them- and for me, a complete stranger approaching me is the best way. Thank you again.

The night was a success. I celebrated with a hot chocolate and laughs on the way home.

Mmmmmm. Hit the spot.

But….. it ain’t over til it’s over.

This coming Friday, I have my last gig for a while with my other band, Megasaurus. This will be a full-on, 3 set bar gig. This will be my biggest challenge at this point in my pregnancy, but I “feel” like it’s going to be great. I don’t foresee any problems, and coming off a successful night last night, my confidence will be up. Which is a good thing.

After that, I have to concentrate on finishing up baby preparations and other loose ends. I can’t believe it’s coming to a close (err, an open?). I hope I reemerge like a phoenix at the end of this journey. I “feel” like I will.  : )

And because it’s probably in your head already, here’s Lenny:

Cat Calls and Cellulitis

We were coming home from a gig on Saturday night and stopped for sweet treats. This is a necessary ritual that Steve (friend and drummer) and I must perform after every gig. Of course, this doesn’t always mean something sweet, but after a grueling day’s work (ok, grueling mostly because of the length of time we have to be onsite- sitting around for hours and then performing for the last 2 hours) we need to re-fuel for the usual long ride home.

We hit a 7-11. It was an actual sweet treat stop for me this time, because the cupcakes at the reception looked SO DELICIOUS, but I did not get one. I replaced the idea with a Rice Krispies bar and a 12 oz cherry Slurpee. I can’t say they lived up to the beautiful cupcake, but I enjoyed them nonetheless.  So as we’re getting in the car, Steve says, “Did you hear that?” I was like, “Nooo.” “You just got cat called, girl!” I was like, “COME ON. Surely they were joking.” I remembered back to the time when Sr. Perpetua, my 5th/6th grade teacher, told us that a gang of construction workers had hooted at her at age 60 in her habit. We all thought it was pretty funny, she wasn’t sure if they meant it or not. Steve didn’t seem to think these particular guys were kidding. I glanced over and saw 4 dudes smiling my way. Jury’s still out.

Before I go on, I feel it necessary to quantify the following statement, as to not be confused with over-the-top, self-proclaimed beauty and writer Samantha Brick. I think every woman on the planet has been on the receiving end of cat calls and other unwanted advances. I don’t think I’m “special” for the attention. I believe we all deal with it. And on we go…

Don’t hate me for being beautiful, or conceited. Thanks.

Cat calls is something I’ve learned to live with. As a frequent walker, since around age 13, I’ve been dealing with it. As a young girl, you don’t even know it’s for you. Slowly you realize, and it’s “Who me?” Then you may find yourself feeling pretty good about yourself. “I must look a’ight.” Then, after the initial flattery wears off, these guys become “total losers”. They are total losers for quite some time- probably reaching the apex of annoyance in your late 20’s. But then, if you go out and nobody beeps or yells, it’s, “Hey. Where are all my losers?” You find yourself wondering if maybe you aren’t so hot after all. I’ve never quite broken it down before now, and I’m not proud- but it turns out cat callers can get in your head.

Total Losers

I’ve not been too much at a loss for the callers and the hitter-onners at work (another fun group of “total losers”).  I thought it might all be over when I got engaged, then married. No. Not so much. Almost worse, really. Then, I thought  when I got pregnant and started to show that MAYBE it would finally be over. But no. Not really at all. I’ve had several come-ons while dragging around, feeling horrible and looking (at least to myself) like some sort of bloated zombie. Granted, spring has been in the air since February. I think maybe men are blinded by biology. Maybe you’ve had this experience also- the one day you don’t shower, you are wearing sweatpants, no make up, hair all a mess and you just have to run a few errands…. that is the day you get the most “hollas”. It’s like some sort of cruel joke. Especially on the heels of going out to a bar when you actually tried to look good, and had no takers. I found around my mid-twenties, that it all was just kind of funny. The guys can be SOOOO serious about their hoot or holler… and then ZOOM, they are gone. I’ve often wanted to yell something back, like, “Wait! I think I LOVE YOU!” but really, we shouldn’t engage. Ever. Just let it go… in the end, it’s all just ridiculous.

Just yesterday, I went to buy some soft slippers after being diagnosed with extreme swollen ankles and cellulitis on my right ankle, which is some sort of bacterial skin infection. As I’m standing there waiting to check out, feeling pretty bad- rockin’ my “clankles” that have a diseased looking infection, this man rounds the corner and looks at me like he’s never seen a lady before. He was roughly 75. He stopped short and said, “Well, HELLO.” “Hi,” I managed to get out but just looked the other way. I couldn’t engage. It was all too much. Leave me be with my problems, kind sir.

So in regards to the infection, I’ve been ordered off my foot for the next 2 days. I’m not happy about this at all, for so many reasons. Turns out being pregnant is no joke. Doctors don’t fool around with anything. Whatever is going on on my ankle- whether it’s cellulitis or some other thing, they don’t even want to cut into it to culture it unless they absolutely have to- for fear of letting some other bacteria into it. So far antibiotics seem to be getting me going in the right direction, but doctors are still treating it seriously. I guess the big worry is that whatever it is could enter the bloodstream and hurt the baby. So I’m being closely monitored.

Ahhhhh, marvel at the shapeless wonder that is my ankle and foot. We’re in trouble if the redness goes outside the pen mark.

In conclusion, I’m going to go get my feet up. If my cat-callers could only see me now- “YOOOOWWWWW!” ; )

I am a baby in my universe- I live forever

I remember when my grandmother turned 80, my cousin Terrie, a college student, was living with her. I used to hang out with them many weekends. Terrie said to her, “Grandma, I can’t believe you are EIGHTY. I mean, EIGHTY!! What does it feel like to have lived so long?” I will never forget what she said, as it really stuck with me in regards to the way people view their lives.

She said, “I am the same person I was at 5, 20, 35, 50, 70… I’ve just always been me, I don’t feel any different.”

It was an eye-opener. At then 16, I thought, “Wow- you know, she’s right.” We are who we are, we just know more and have more experiences. But we are always that same person we were from the start. An interesting thing to think about with a little wiggle-worm in my stomach.

I feel like little Patrick is really starting to feel pretty confident in his own little universe. He’s able to do whatever he wants, live life on his own little terms. The feeling I get from him is that he is in there just having his own little adventure, already learning and practicing for the next step- even though he doesn’t know what that next step is, or that it is necessarily coming! It’s a lot how we live our lives and transition to death. We always think of death as the worst possible scenario- but really- it’s just the next step. In Patrick’s case, soon he will go from being a free-floating being to a helpless slave to gravity. He will have to figure it out as he goes along, as will his mom and dad. We will all be in it together.

Upon thinking about all of this, I wondered if there was a song that might encapsulate it all. So I googled, “in my own universe song”. I came across this crazy song by Daniel Johnston. Turns out the guy is manic depressive and schizophrenic, which could have been guessed just by listening to the song. I chose a cover of this song to share, because it was slightly less disturbing than the original. : )  The people who covered it took it a step further also, adding higher and higher ages, which brings me back to my grandmother. No matter where we are in our lives, we always have this feeling that we will live forever. The funny thing is, I think we are right to feel this invincibility- of course we will all “die” someday, but that doesn’t mean our souls don’t go on- forever.

“Where are Patrick and Megan?”

This question was posed to my sister by my 3 1/2 year old nephew today. My sister said he just said it out of nowhere. They hadn’t been talking about me, though they had seen me on Friday, where we talked about the baby some. I didn’t know he was on a first name basis with him yet, but find it so sweet. My little guy is going to have cousins his own age, which I never really thought would happen. I think of my cousins, and there are no closer people (besides my siblings) who understand me better than them. The shared family experiences and behaviors are the ties that bind. I’m glad Patrick will be able to experience that. Cousins are the best!

So, where were Patrick and Megan today? Most recently, we were stuck at my work, waiting for the police to show up. Lemme ‘splain.

We close at 9pm. I had a few stragglers in there tonight, but finally got everyone out by about 9:15. I was busy catching up, because my evening help didn’t show up.  I was working alone, yet again. At around 9:30, I saw an SUV pull up. I thought I better go hit the lights-usually that makes people pull away. Not these people. They were still there at 10:25 when I finally broke down and called the cops. I really didn’t want to- but there was NO CHANCE I was walking out there alone in my condition.

It’s amazing to me how vulnerable I feel right now. It’s not just me anymore. The old me would have probably just called a friend and closed up anyway. There’s a lot more at stake now. There was no way I was walking out that door alone- I couldn’t begin to make myself. I guess this is a new mother instinct. Already protective. Also, I can’t say that my instincts aren’t usually on. I genuinely don’t jump to conclusions, but if I do, there’s usually a reason.

A cop finally showed up and checked out the people and the vehicle.  I was dying as he shined the bright light in their faces, and talked to them over the loud speaker. Oh, man! They’d think again about hanging out in front of a store after hours! After a few minutes, he sent the people on their way and signaled for me to exit the building. He said, “They said they were customers- they were in your store earlier.” I said, “I really couldn’t see them with the rain and glare on their windshield, and we closed an hour and a half ago.” He said it was a man and a woman. When they left, the man got out of the SUV and drove off in another car. They left separately. What I don’t understand is why did they get in the same car and pull up to the building? I said, “I don’t know, but if that’s true, they knew I was in there alone. Plus, they parked between the door and my car!” The cop assured me I did the right thing by calling. I think I did too. Just because it was a man and a woman talking, doesn’t mean they weren’t up to no good. If it’s who I think it was, they were first time customers. I’d never seen them before. Who knows what they could be up to?!

And so concludes another ridiculous day in my ridiculous life.  I wonder what the rest of this week will bring.

And in the world of music…

I’ve got to give an update about how my St. Patrick’s Day show went.

I honestly did not know how I would feel during or after singing and performing for 3 sets. It takes a lot of energy to get up there and do what I do. I thought I would be ok, but then maybe would collapse after all. Only way to know is try. These long distance gigs are hard because we are gone for a good 12 hours total. It’s pretty exhausting. And I’m already  tired most of the time!

I have to say, adrenaline is an amazing thing. The drive down was good, and once there, it’s all gear up to the time we go on. Being on stage was an adrenaline rush that lasted me the whole way home. I did go right to bed when I got home, and slept pretty soundly. So really, it went on as per usual. I was less tired than I normally am.  The only thing I can say is that I found it took a little more time to adjust to my breath. I was a little breathless after a couple of challenging songs, but even that subsided pretty quickly as I found ways to compensate.

Now, what was little Patrick doing during all this? For the first set, he was moving right along with me, and then I think he was either deeply listening or maybe just fell asleep. I can’t imagine what my regular speaking voice turned crazy belting voice singing “Separate Ways” sounds like from inside the womb. What a welcome into the world.

Here’s “Separate Ways”…. because it rocks and this video is AWESOME.  : )

“Call the fire department- it’s outta control”- Heartburn and Clinton Cankles

Heartburn. I never had it before Tuesday night. I’ve had it once a day ever since.

At first I didn’t even know what to think. I’ve always thought that heartburn was a chest thing, but for me, it starts at the base of the throat and burns like holy hell. But it’s worse than burning… it’s like an all-encompassing pain that brings tears to my eyes. It makes my whole head reverberate. My husband said, “Go take some Tums!” I found the bottle in the bathroom, only to find one lonely singular Tum in the bottom of the bottle, as if it were a terrible prisoner and banished to an isolation cell. I promptly gave it the death penalty and sent it to a death of consumption. By me. “Thanks for the TUM.” I called from the bathroom, in my best bitchy pregnant voice.

Since then I’ve had a bout a day for 3 days in a row. I’m not convinced it’s even food related. I’ve eaten many of the same things, sometimes with a reaction, sometimes not. I almost feel like it’s a stress thing. IS that even a thing? I don’t know enough about it. I’ve read of some remedies that may or may not work. Eat small meals, avoid these foods, don’t drink alcohol (come on! haha) Finally, something spoke to me: drink chocolate milk. There’s something I can get behind! So I got a bottle and it really did help. I also picked up a whole new bottled prison of Tums for emergencies. I don’t like to do too much of one thing, so I hope I will only need the Tums sparingly.

And while I’m in a complaining mode, I may as well get it all out. Let’s talk about ankle swelling.

Standing on your feet all day is no easy feat (grrroan).  At about 5 hours in, I check my ankles and, sure enough, I’ve turned into Hillary Clinton from the knees down. I almost prefer this to my younger years when Hillary was in her early 40’s and I was in my early 20’s, and we bore a striking resemblance to each other. It was pretty annoying, really. People would stop me, like they were the first to figure it out. I could call it a mile away. A person would get “the look” and I’d stop them in their tracks.

“I KNOW.” I’d say.

“You know what? I didn’t say anything.”

“Just don’t say it.”

“I was just going to s—”

“No, seriously- I know and I’m not happy about it.”

“But you don’t even know what I’m going to say!”

PAUSE.

I then, with smug shame, would say those two words I didn’t want to hear, just to make them feel dumb, and make myself seem like I’d just hiked down Witch Mountain.

“HILLARY. CLINTON.”

Most people were astounded that I read their minds, but really, when something like that happens to you 3 times a day, you start to catch on. Hillary and I had similar hair, eyes and smile. The only thing I could do to set myself apart from her was cut my hair, and can you guess? Hillary cut her hair too. I’d let it grow, she’d let it grow, I’d cut it really short- so would she. I couldn’t escape it. Luckily, before she started to look older, I was able to cash in on a $250 look alike contest at a gas station. So I guess it wasn’t for all for nothing. Though I suppose I would have probably paid $250 to not have the comparison in the first place!

May of '93 was a do I didn't do. Thank God. What IS that?? I wasn't nearly as poofy as she was- I was more of a "Hillary caught after a rainstorm" type. But the lengths in those several years, always the same. I finally just died my hair red. That was it's own disaster.

Luckily having Clinton cankles (which I will refer to forevermore as “Clankles”) isn’t something people can readily see, since I always wear pants at work. I can’t imagine what I would do to the person who says, “Hey, you remind me of Hillary Clinton…. from the knees down.” I WILL stomp you. Who better than me with my giant Clankles?? You do not want to feel the wrath. Trust me.

“It doesn’t get any better.”

Tired and Sore

I’ve heard all these mommies gushing about their pregnancies over the years, and I think to myself, “I must be one selfish bitch!” Because really, this whole time has been kind of a pity party, and I’m the only one invited. I don’t bother others with it. I know I’m being overly emotional. The crying, the worrying… the sheer exhaustion of it all. But I haven’t slowed down, I just keep going. I have to. Instead of sitting around and dwelling on the all the ways things will change, I have just sort of put my feelings on the back burner. Let’s face it, I can’t trust hardly any of my emotions right now anyway. It’s like a super PMS when you make hasty decisions like cutting all your hair off or breaking up with a boyfriend over something silly. Best to wait until you are a normal person again before making any serious decisions. And I am not a normal person. I have, indeed, been body-snatched.

Well finally, someone told me some truth.

Over this past weekend 22 friends and family met up for a fun little weekend in the mountains. It was so good to see everyone and hang out, watching the kids of good friends play together made me think about my little one and how he would fit into the mix some day.  One friend, Ashley, asked how I was doing. I said, “I’m mostly just tired.. but lately my whole stomach and ribs feels like sore, like I’ve been doing sit-ups overnight. So, tired and sore I guess.” She replied without a thought, “It doesn’t get any better, just more interesting.” Jo Lee, another friend laughed and chimed in, “That’s the most honest advice I’ve ever heard! So many mothers downplay the hardships of pregnancy, and it makes you second-guess your own feelings.” She’s right. I think they both are.

Maybe moms forget what it was like, or they just had a completely different experience than me, but I don’t think this is something I will nostalgically look back on. But this whole time, I’ve been kind of down on myself based on the feelings regarding pregnancy of others. And I’ve never really allowed myself to fall into the old “comparison trap”- but then again, I’ve never been body snatched before, either.

I guess my takeaway from all this is just to do what I’ve always done in every aspect of my life thus far: Go with the flow and try to do the right thing. Don’t waste time dwelling on the negative and comparing myself to others. Just be the best me I can be.

Meanwhile, tomorrow marks a really interesting milestone for my little Patrick and me. I’m playing, funny enough, a St. Patrick’s Day gig. Now that he’s really moving around and reacting to outside sounds, this will be the first show with the full band where I will be able to really feel his reaction to the music- drums, bass, guitar, keys….the works. It’s going to be very interesting. I kind of can’t wait!

Wish me the luck of the Irish, and Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

I think my Patrick might look like this little guy... especially if he gets my pointy ears!

“I got 99 problems but a b!tch ain’t one…”

When you hear what I’m about to talk about, your reaction might be, “Wow. Harsh.” I quote Jay-Z, mostly in jest. The truth of the matter is, I REALLY wanted my baby to be a boy.

I’ve said before that I go through phases of journaling like crazy. I kept every one, and sometimes read them to see what I was thinking and feeling, and to see how things have changed in my life. I came across a journal from early 2008 recently and started reading. In between the regular work complaints and random gig stories I found something very interesting. I was writing about the possibility of kids and said, “I can really see myself with a little boy.” This was before my dear nephew came into the world in October of 2008, who solidified that feeling for me. But there it was on paper… one of those things you write down that even surprises yourself.

When we found out I was pregnant, my husband and I were in total agreement- we wanted a boy. The more we talked about it, the more scared I got that it wasn’t a boy. While we had a name picked out for a boy, I couldn’t even think of one for a girl. Nothing was jumping out at me. I already felt guilty for thinking things like, “What if it’s a girl??” as if that was some sort of death sentence! I REALLY wanted a boy. And let me say, it’s not that I’m against girls, I just didn’t want to have one first.

Oh, the horror. haha

I had to do a little self investigation as to why I felt so strongly about it. I suppose mostly it has to do with the fact that that is how I was raised. In my family, it’s boy, girl, boy, girl. In my extended family, my dad is one of 12. Their family started off with a boy, who sadly passed away at the age of 5. Of the remaining 11, 8 of them had boys first. Maybe it’s just a family thing? Or could it be that growing up with an older brother and best friends who were boys set a precedent of comfort around males for me, never truly feeling like one of the girls. While I rebelled in middle school and tried to turn around the tomboy thing by hanging out with chicks and going to mall and whatnot, I definitely fell back into the comfort zone of hanging with the guys, where there seemed to be no pressure.  There was less drama (ok a LITTLE less drama) but at least I understood it.  This spilled over into my adult life- I’ve been in many bands over the last 20 years and have mostly been the only girl within 100 feet. Hanging with the guys is a part of life and I’m glad my husband is understanding of that. Not many men are.

Now it’s not to say I haven’t had or don’t have girlfriends. Funny- many were younger sisters themselves, and it was as if we had a sacred bond that only little sisters can understand. The Little Sisters of Brothers Club. We didn’t have to explain much to each other to be understood, it was already there. The sisters with younger brothers had an understanding as well. Interestingly, the friends who most fascinated me were the all-girl families. I loved visiting their boy-free houses, as if it was some sort of scientific reconnaissance mission. These homes had a completely different feel and outlook. Strange things were afoot. We could play/dance/act/sing freely without having to lock some boy out of the room. A tease-free environment- a totally different way of life. They were fun places to visit, but home is where the teasing is. I think it was a learning experience for all involved. I remember teaching my girlfriend how to spit, while she taught me how to put on mascara.

But back to the story at hand. The time came for the big sonogram- the one where you find out the sex. We weren’t going to find out, but at the last minute, we just had to. I couldn’t not know. Once the sonogram tech said she could tell us 10 seconds into the procedure, my husband said, “It’s got to be a boy, because that was awfully quick.” She said, “I don’t know.. I’m good!” We decided right then and there to confirm, and there it was…. “It’s a boy!” she said, and I heard myself rejoice, “THANK GOD!!” haha… how’s that for a reaction?

So, like in Go Fish, “I got what I wanted.” I was so much more relieved about EVERYTHING just knowing.

Now that people are starting to ask me if I know what I’m having, I say, “It’s a boy.” I’ve had a lot of mixed reactions. Some people are genuinely happy, but most people assume I wanted a girl, which is so funny to me. They ask apprehensively, “Is that what you wanted?” Or a disappointed, “Ohhhh.” I laugh and say either, “It’s ok… I wanted a boy!” or, in more relaxed situations, you know, the Jay-Z line- “I got 99 problems but a bitch ain’t one.”

And in the world of music…

So I have this upcoming recording gig for a Prog project, or “progject” as I like to say. I got an email the other day from the writer/artist/engineer with a game plan and possible dates. He wants to get me in soon as I’m expecting. I have to say these music guys have really been very supportive of my… ahem… condition. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. I just assumed they’d all write me off. “She’s done.” they’d say. But they’ve all surprised me. I have agents trying to be all careful booking me, padding time before and after I’m due. I guess that’s a good thing. I envision myself playing til the bitter end, maybe even going into labor on stage. While it’s thoughtful, I realize it’s possible that maybe they are just trying to avoid a scene.

Here's MIA giving it her all when she was due to have a baby. I feel like I can do that. I guess we'll see!

But back to the progject at hand. This new recording is something that’s going to be pressed to vinyl, which is exciting for me as I never thought I’d ever be on an actual RECORD. I missed the boat on that one, due to the timing and placement of my musical life. We started as kids on homemade “demo tapes” in the 80’s and  finally graduated to CDs. It was really something to be on a CD. Now that’s nothin’. It’s cooler now to just have a file on iTunes. Hard to even think about, as it was a dream as a kid to make “an album”.  A real record with a cool album cover and all the lyrics inside, intertwined with pictures and artwork. An mp3 isn’t anything you can hold in your hand, or see for that matter. Technology really weirds me out. If I even start to try to figure it out, insanity starts to kick in. How does it all work? My mind wanders to Tron-like silliness and the thought is gone.

At any rate, I’m keeping busy at 6 months- just as I planned. Got the recording gig, a big St. Patrick’s Day gig way far in away in Virginia… not to mention a slew of my own songs that have needed attention for much too long now. I feel like time is running out. I won’t be so footloose and fancy free anymore- no running out to the studio at 8pm on weeknight and staying til all hours. I have to get this all in while I can.

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