celebrate

Not a whole lot to say tonight - this NaBloPoMo thing is getting harder than I thought. Originally, I envisioned this great blog coming out of my fingertips onto my computer screen, full of original witticisms and gorgeous pictures. Kind of like dooce and her daily hilarious adventures being a mom of one adorable toddler, and who just remodeled her already-gorgeous website and now includes a new stunning picture of herself with glass-cutting cheekbones. Alas, I do not have such cheekbones. Nor do I have the website. Nor the toddler. Nor the daily hilarious adventures. At least, not the kind I actually sit down, remember, and write about.

Anyway...

I have two big challenges tomorrow: weigh-in and a baby shower. The weigh-in might be a special challenge because this week, though I have run and Jazzercised and worked on my body, has been full of little goodies, like tidbits from the Food and Wine Festival at Epcot, a tasty or two from Starbucks, and perhaps slightly larger helpings of foods that should be in slightly smaller quantities. Hmmm. I'm proud of myself for not getting neurotic over it - I have struggled mightily with my brain short-circuiting in the past when I've realized I've eaten too much over the past week, and then I find myself trying to not eat anything the day before I weigh in, only to get too hungry in the end and consume whatever I can lay hands on first, a lot of it. So, I didn't do that this week, at least not the neurotic aspect. But, tomorrow may not be the numbers I want. C'est la vie, ma belle, I must say.

The baby shower is a different story. It's a dear friend of mine who, unexpectedly, is finally getting to add a sweet bundle of pink to her Bruiser Farm. Both parents are completely delighted. I want to be so excited for them, and I am, I really am, somewhere inside of my heart, I really am. I happily spent too much money at Target yesterday to buy them lots of pink little lovelies, and half of them I had wished came in adult sizes because they were just that cute. I mean, what self-respecting girl would not want a huge bedspread of cabled pink chenille, even if her husband might heartily object? Tomorrow, I know, will be a great shower of pinkness. I love pink. I love girly stuff. I adore babies. But taped up on my refrigerator next to my friend's stylish shower invitation is an appointment card for my reproductive endocrinologist, and it just gives me pangs and the tears start up in my eyes and I just silently pray Dear God, please, DON'T FORGET ME. And I think about both times Jason and I got all excited, wondering whether to decorate our spare room in blue tugboats or pink butterflies, only to end up wondering what the hell happened and why my body decides to be fickle and change its mind.

Tomorrow, I want to celebrate for all the reasons I can.