An incurable bibliophile confesses...I'm a book club junkie. I'm currently in three groups and I know I'll have to give up one or two when I become a mom. But look at what I've read in the past 6 months (including several non-club selections):
The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell
Children of God by Mary Doria Russell
Surely You're Joking Mr. Feynman by Richard Feynman
Behind the Scenes at the Museum by Kate Atkinson
Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
Not Without Laughter by Langston Hughes
The Two Towers by J.R.R. Tolkein
Personal History by Katharine Graham
The Red and the Green by Iris Murdock
The Coalwood Way by Homer Hickam

I'm already sad thinking about the books I won't have time to read once the baby comes. "Pat the Bunny" just isn't the same.

We rented the film Waking Life over the weekend and were sorely disappointed. The animation technique employed is actually quite fascinating, but on the whole, the film left a lot to be desired.

First of all, we had the silly expectation that the film would have a plot. Second, we believed there would be something of a consistent visual look to the animation, so that characters are recognizable from scene to scene. The choppy incoherence might have made the film more fun for the animators--each obviously given license to do their own style in a given scene--but it makes for tedious watching.

The script seems like a poor attempt to be profound, giving random samplings of world views of benighted postmoderns and other poor schmucks of our day mired down in a moral and epistimological quagmire. Scene after scene, the protagonist wanders into conversations with various individuals who spout bankrupt philosophies. It struck me as being forced to sit up all night listening to sophomore philosophy majors jabber on and on inventing crackpot theories.

In no sense is any hopefulness expressed about our lives having meaning. The theories and stories the protagonist hears as he wanders in a dream state serve only to clarify that his waking life is an illusion. He is trapped in this existence of passivity from which he cannot wake.

I have not in a long time seen such a loud cry for help from a God who loves, who cherishes, who enlivens and fills his people with meaning and purpose.

Last week, I finally finished up the tome I was slogging though for a book group, Personal History by Katharine Graham. I knew little about Graham except that she was in charge of the Washington Post during the Pentagon Papers and Watergate. I was more familiar with the former story because of my final graduate class, Journalism History.

I was concerned early on that this would be another "poor little rich girl" kind of story. After all, Graham's rise in her career can be attributed largely to her birth into a prominent family. Strangely, she is remarkably uncocky about what is handed to her. In fact, she downplays her education and work experiences from her single days. It seems strange that such a privileged background, growing up in two mansions run by hordes of servants, would produce such an unconfident person.

Graham attributes much of her lack of confidence to the ways in which her mother tore down her children, when she wasn't ignoring them completely. Only over the course of many years does Graham realize that her self-centered mother is not the only cause of her timidity. The entire culture fed her constant messages that she was nothing and that her talents would never stack up to a man's.

Graham never puts herself forward as any sort of poster child for the women's movement. She in fact faults herself for not being more sensitive to women in her workplace and of doing too little to improve working conditions for women. As a leader, she often deferred to the judgement of male colleagues, often against her better instincts. The way in which she fumbled around professionally actually made me see the women's movement in the 1960s and 70s in a new light. Many women were not bra-burning radicals, but simply intelligent people struggling to make a living and do their jobs competently. I don't think I appreciate enough what the last generation did to overcome barriers and remake our culture so that women could have opportunites to excel intellectually and professionally.

The other thing Graham's book helped me appreciate is how far mental health care has come since the early 1960s. Graham's husband left her a widow when he committed suicide in 1963. He showed all the signs of bipolar disorder, which experts then were just beginning to understand. Lithium treatment was experimental those days--bipolar patients usually received only counseling. I'm close to several bipolar people, including a relative, and I'm awed at what a difference medication makes. Tragic stories like Phil Graham's would be the norm if not for scientific breakthroughs in neurology.

Thanks to Dawn and her talk of wine tastings, I am suddenly craving something alcoholic. I could really, really go for a Woodchuck dark and dry hard cider right now. :-(

It's been a while since I've had a chance to blog. My organization's annual convention was two weeks ago, which meant several long days producing a daily newspaper for the show, then returning to the office to whip together the May issue of our regular magazine. The May issue went to press this morning, and I can now breathe again.

And now for the real news...drumroll please....

After our last disappointing ultrasound, we got our wish of learning the gender. We will be having a GIRL!

I realize that ultrasounds are not 100% accurate for determining gender, but none of us--the tech, her trainee, Joel nor I--saw evidence of boy parts.

Come August, we will welcome to the world Claire or Johanna or Amelia. We will pick the final name at the hospital.

Since you all gave us such great prayer support while we were trying to conceive, I thought I'd mention our current challenge.

With Joel working full time in the fall, it means he will not be able to be the primary caregiver for the baby, as we had planned earlier. We are working out some preliminary plans for childcare in the fall and appreciate your prayers. Joel's schedule will be heavy on M, W, F and light on Tu, Th. I would like to telecommute on his light days so that I can be with the baby some during the week, but still be able to put in hours my employer expects of a full-time employee. It's possible that Joel's mom will help at least one day a week. We would like to find a Christian stay-at-home mom near us who might be willing to watch the baby a few days a week at a reasonable rate. It's a lot of details to work out by October, when my maternity leave will end.

We got some very good news regarding Joel's job situation starting this fall. But it's his news to tell, so let the spamming begin: Bug him at garver@lasalle.edu and perhaps he'll take a moment to blog about it.

I had my "big" ultrasound done on Tuesday, and it look's like we're going to have....a baby!

Nope, we weren't able to discover the gender of our incubating little one. S/he was face-down/spine up the whole time, with legs crossed at the knees. In fact, the tech couldn't even get a very good scan of the entire heart, just a side view, so I'm scheduled to go back for yet another ultrasound in three weeks. We're praying the insurance company doesn't have a cow!

So, the waiting continues. I'm gradually coming to accept the fact the we might not be able to learn the baby's gender ahead of time. I've never been too great with surprises, but that's a large part of parenthood, so I suppose I need to learn to deal with it now.

Keat's last pre-surgery feat was to haul an entire 4-pack of toilet paper halfway across the house and hide it in the guest bedroom. At 6.5 months old, and just under 8 pounds, this is quite a show of strength.

The neighborhood racoons had better beware!

Our feline son Mr. Keats had his surgery yesterday and seems to have fared just fine. Joel jokes that he is now a cat-strato.

He was just about as rambunctious as ever last night. We brought him with us from the vet's to Joel's parent's house for dinner and time using Dad's Turbo Tax program. While I filled in tax forms, Joel chased Keats all over, trying to keep him from destoying any of Mom's copious collection of knick-knacks. (I sure hope she realizes that she will need to pare down to make her place safe for the new grandchild to visit!)

We decided to let Keats keep his claws, since he hasn't been destructive and also because of the expense of the surgery. I hope our reward will be a continued mouse-free home.

I beat my record set on March 5, 2002.

Last night I went to bed at 5:30 p.m. and slept until 7:00 a.m. this morning. Is it a virus? The sin of sloth? Nope. The baby factory needed to run second and third shift. Another growth spurt must be imminent.

I'm beginning to suffer from blog withdrawal!

Points of interest since my last blog.
-Our book group held a dramatic reading of "Much Ado About Nothing." Joel and I played Beatrice and Benedict. It was great fun, though some of the lines are real tongue twisters.

-On Jenn's recommendation, we borrowed (free from the library, yeah!) the BBC/A&E miniseries Pride and Prejudice. I plowed through the six videos in just two days and enjoyed them immensely. The pacing was a bit closer to the actual book, and I think the film captured the right mix of humor and seriousness. My only complaint was that wicked Wickham was a bit too homely to be believable as the handsome rogue. The casting and costumes sure beat the BBC version of Mansfield Park, though. The women in that particular film had totally wrong hairstyles for the era, and rather unbecoming dresses. And I'm a huge fan on Georgian clothing--it's flattering to most body types. In fact, our wedding was Austen-themed.

-We received our first installment of baby hand-me-downs from church friends. We put the baby shoes on Nicky and laughed ourselves hoarse. Keats is fascinated by the rattles. He took a particular shine to a teething toy that plays "twinkle, twinkle, little star" and carried it off in his teeth to play with it some more. Both were fascinated and freaked out by this ball that makes all sorts of strange noises when you roll it on the floor. Each of them would poke it, then run away. It will really be amusing to see how they and the baby interact with the toys.

-We watched the BBC/A&E version of Emma that a friend lent us. I enjoyed Kate Beckinsale in the title role, but otherwise was disappointed with the film. The version with Gwyneth Paltrow was more engaging and funny, and the plot easier to follow. The overall feel of the latter film was far more warm, possibly owing to the more yellow-toned cinematography, and sunnier outdoor scenes. The BBC version felt overly gray and heavy. I generally consider Emma to be Austen's funniest novel.

Whoa! I think I'm feeling some kicking!

Pretty weird. It's like poke, poke, fizzzzzz, poke, ping, pull, fizzzz. What sort of acrobatics is this kids getting into? No wonder I've been so darned tired. Last night I napped from 5:30-7:15 and from 8:00 to 9:10, then went to bed at 10:15. In fact, I could use another nap right about now. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Well, I finally gave in to temptation.

Our friend Paul has been bugging me for years to join one of his monthly role-playing game sessions. I had been RPG-free since 1991, thank you very much, and hadn't played D&D since 1989. I'm not sure if my sense of sobriety has weakened, or simply that I felt compelled when Paul's wife reminded me that I would never have time for such frivolity once I'm a mom.

I can't say D&D has the hold on me that it did when I was in high school and my pal Becky and I would spend Saturdays playing on the phone, she as dungeon master and I controlling 4 or 5 characters. I think it used to make me feel powerful, something unusual for a skinny 14-year-old who's the youngest of 5 kids.

The game also doesn't have the hold it did in college. On a Christian college campus, playing D&D was considered equivalent to joining a coven, even though all of us players were Christians and none ever played evil characters. So it was kind of thrilling to have such an "underground" hobby. I also became more and more enchanted of trying on new roles and being in this pretend realm something I'd never be in real life--like a well-armed tough or a seductress. Theatre and writing became other outlets for those urges as well.

I sometimes wonder if it was actually theraputic for me to work though the unhappiness in my life, like growing up with a mentally ill parent, though these fairly safe outlets for fantasy.

I know now that I don't really need to be someone else, or even find any enjoyment in being someone else, because I've reached a certain sense of contentment with my life as it is. Who'd have thought I'd reach the day when I'd prefer to be a 30-something bookish editor with morning sickness who wears glasses and hates her thighs over a 22-year old half-elf paladin with gorgeous red hair, super-strength and charm galore? Call it a comprehension of grace.

To declaw or not to declaw, that is the question.

Our feline son Keats will reach his 6-month birthday next week and will be old enough to be neutered. What were're trying to decide now is whether to get him declawed in front while he's going in for the other procedule. The surgery is now done with lasers and is much less painful for the animal. As someone who grew up with outdoor cats and even barn cats, this whole indoor cat lifestyle (the litterboxes and toys, etc.) is new to me.

I can think of several reasons to not declaw: the expense, and loss of his ability to kill mice if we get some.

The reasons for the surgery are many: To prevent him climbing so much (like the curtains!) and clawing the furniture (though he hasn't wrecked anything yet). My bigger concern is how much he now claws us and how he might hurt the baby. Joel seems to think the neutering alone will calm down these bad behaviors, but I'm not so sure.

Any thoughts?

How does he do that?

I'm talking about Olympic silver medalist Evgeni Plushenko, the only man who can do what's called a Biellmann spin (lifting his free leg behind his back, and holding it over his head, fully extended, while spinning).

Here's how, according to an article in Sports Illustrated: His mother, Tatiana, wanted him to learn the move to improve his skating fortunes, so every night in the kitchen of their Volgograd home, she stood behind him and pulled his legs up in the Biellmann position, first the left one, then the right. He still frowns at the memory: "I told her, 'I'm a small boy. It's so much pain. I don't need this.' But we work every day and stretch hard. Now I say, 'Thank you, Mommy.' "

I had a bit of a scary experience last Thursday. I went for my monthly obstetrics appointment, and everything seemed fine. My bloodwork was all great--no anemia or rubella immunity problems. I'd only gained a pound in 4 weeks and my blood pressure was okay too. But when they tried to pick up a fetal heartbeat with a Doppler device, nothing. Neither the nurse or doctor could pick it up. I was getting kind of tense, so they sent me for another ultrasound right away.

Well, the baby was simply hiding under the placenta. S/he is growing well. The u/s tech did a very thorough scan, looked at several major organs and all the limbs. The spine especially was very visible. At first the baby was curled in a tight ball, the way Joel sometimes sleeps. Later s/he stretched out and started kicking and waving. I haven't felt any of this movement yet, so it was good to see the little one so active.

We now have a new pile of fuzzy, hard-to-distinguish photos to hang on the fridge. Joel hopes to scan a few for his site. Stay tuned.

Was the Canadian pairs team robbed? I'm not entirely sure. I watched the top medaling performances on tape last night, trying to ignore the commentators' comments and simply look at what they did. The Russians skated with more speed than anyone else. Their lifts were more complicated and dangerous. They did more interesting maneuvers between big elements. And yes, Anton nearly fell once. Their scores took a hit as a result.

The Canadians made no mistakes, no question. Buuuut, they didn't have the speed. Their routine was pretty straighforward and not especially risky. They didn't have as much expressiveness or unique elements as in their short program.

The top two were very close score-wise. That seems fair to their complex with a mistake vs. straightforward and clean performances. I have my doubts that this investigation into "score fixing" will uncover anything. It's a subjectively scored sport and the judges could easily back up their decisions.

Maybe the Cold War isn't really behind us yet?

I only saw some of the men's short progams last night before cueing up the VCR and heading to bed. I was amazed to see for the first time ever, a MAN spin while holding one leg above his head. It was Oksana Baiul's most breath-taking move--something I didn't know men were capable of doing. No wonder the guy has had a groin injury!

Joel stayed up later and told me about Todd Eldrige's performance. I feel sorry for the guy. I think he should have gone pro after the last Olympics so he can just enjoy his skating. He does well in every other competition, but cracks under the pressure. Run away, Todd! Go be great somewhere that the media doesn't hound you. Enjoy your gift and forget the stupid medals!

Last night Joel and I listened to several taped lectures by John Barach from a pastor's conference. I wanted to cheer. He totally hit the nail on the head regarding the issues that bug me most about our church. Time and again I become annoyed by the hoop jumping required for converts to be baptised, children to become communicants, and anyone to become a member. Requiring people to prove some spiritual attainment to be worthy of entering the life of the Body runs counter to what we say we believe--that salvation is all of grace, and a gift. It also, as he said, exposes an unhealthy tendency to make judgements about whether our brothers and sisters are "really elect."

I was especially moved by his examples of how rightly understanding election can help Christians who are struggling with temptation and sin. I found it really helpful, especially as I've begun coming to grips with my less than godly response to the crisis of infertility last year.

Morning sickness (or more aptly gestational nausea, since it lasts all day) has not been a fun experience. I realized last night just how unforgiving my body can be of poor food choices. I was so thirsty after napping that I drank two glasses of orange juice, followed by toast, followed by girl scout thin mints. Uugggh. grooooaaaan. Never, never, never again!! Acid + chocolate = ugly, ugly mess in tummy (or back out of it, as in my case).

Growing a baby is not glamorous work.