blakspring

Working quite a bit at the public library this summer reminded me of some of the questions I’ve been asked about librarians.  Even with articles such as this one from The New York Times about the “new generation” of librarians, and cool sites that break stereotypes, it is still amazing how many misconceptions there are about this profession. Here are some of the gems I get to hear:

• “What do you mean by ‘librarian’?”
• “You don’t look like a librarian.”
• “It must be nice to just sit there and read all day.”
• “Library school? I never heard of library school. You gotta go to library school?”
• “I guess it’s really quiet where you work.”
• “Can you tutor my child?”
• “So do you use one of those card catalogs?…What do you mean it’s online?”
• “Where are your glasses?”

And my absolute favorite:

“Do you get paid for this or are you volunteering?”

Yes, I can think of nothing better than answering your idiotic question for free…In the meantime, may I recommend that you watch Party Girl.

I’m off to Newport, RI with Ron Russo.  We were there last year, but it was pretty early in our relationship so I just posted some pictures but hadn’t mentioned him in that post.  Which means that I couldn’t write about how, when we went swimming in the hotel pool, Ron Russo wore his boxers.  Of course, he was absolutely convinced that they were swim trunks; his main reason was that “they have octopuses on them.”  I finally convinced him that he was wearing boxers in the pool because 1. swim trunks are not cotton, 2. swim trunks have a mesh lining, 3. swim trunks don’t fade from chlorine, and 4. swim trunks don’t have a peepee hole.  (Thankfully we were the only people in the pool.)

Now Ron Russo is the proud owner of genuine swim trunks.  Too bad our hotel this year is poolless.  But maybe we’ll pack our swimmies just in case.

I’m now about 6.5 months along, and (I think) I’ve been really good about not writing too much about the pregnancy.  I never NEVER want to be the kind of mom who only talks about her child and seems to have lost touch with other aspects of life.  And I try to keep the preggo talk to a minimum, usually not saying anything unless asked.  But, hey, this is my blog and you have been warned, so I am indulging myself for once.

First off, I have been blessed with a very easy pregnancy so far.  I never had any nausea or morning sickness, played volleyball for almost the first five months, traveled with ease, and have been able to put off buying maternity clothes until now (when I finally broke down last week and bought a pair of dress pants for work).  I did go through a two-week period of really intense pelvic pain but, amazingly, that has almost all gone away.

I have gained 10 pounds so far.  Apparently that is not a lot.  My doctor is hoping I get up to 25 by the end, but I don’t know how the hell I’m going to put on another 15 pounds in 2.5 months.  I get full so fast and have to eat smaller portions because there just seems to be nowhere for the food to go.  I picture baby blakspring with a hamburger and fries squashing her.  If I overeat, my belly feels like it’s stretched to the max, like it’s going to burst open and my little critter will pop out like Alien (only cuter).  You’d think at least I’d have huge boobs by now but at this rate I won’t be modeling any Victoria’s Secret any time soon.

And speaking of boobs, now I’ve got the whole breastfeeding vs bottle feeding dilemma.  I definitely want to breastfeed when I am home for that first month.  No bottles to clean and warm and re-fill, no formula to mix, and talk about convenient.  But that’s assuming that baby blakspring will take to it.  From what I’ve read and heard, most women have a hard time and sometimes the babies just can’t feed that way.  And even if all goes well, what happens when I go back to work?  I’ve been researching all sorts of breast pumps - manual, electric, single, double.  I’m going cross-eyed from all the reviews and options.  And then I picture myself in my little back room behind the library (the one with no lock) attached to an electric double-pump, squeezing the life milk out of my boobs, the motor whirring…it’s like some sci-fi scenario.

There are so many new feelings and sensations.  I miss sleeping on my stomach.  A lot.  I daydream of cutting a hole in my mattress to fit my belly into.  It’s getting harder to be comfortable, awake or asleep.  Sometimes standing feels best because then nothing is poking me in the ribs.  But I love feeling her move around inside me.  Already in the womb she is one tricksy little girl; every time someone else puts their hand on my belly she stays still.  Once in a while she’ll let daddy feel a kick or two but she definitely doesn’t like to perform on command.  At the last sonogram she just mooned us, kept her butt up and face down so it was hard to get good measurements.

And I actually like when someone rubs my belly, though so far it has been people I know, mostly sweet older ladies that I work with at the public library.  I’d probably feel different if a stranger did it.  Surprisingly, people respond positively to my “condition”.  Patrons at the library ask about the due date and gender, strangers on the street smile at me.  The other day I was giving some suitcases to a fellow freecycler and the first thing she did was beam and exclaim, “Oh look at the baby”.  It was early in the morning, I was still half-asleep, and started looking around for the baby she meant.  Then I realized she meant my baby.

And that’s the last piece here - those two words - my baby.  Honestly, those two words scare the crap out of me.  Tucked between the days when I can’t wait to meet my baby are the days and moments when I wonder what I got myself into.  I think about her in elementary school, maybe getting teased or bullied.  I think about her in high school, arguing with me and doing things I’d rather she didn’t.  I think about her first broken heart.  And it scares me that I can’t prevent that.  I think about the years of making school lunches and helping with homework, and I wonder if I’ll be able to stand the tediousness.  I think about not being able to go on extended vacations or traipsing around South East Asia by myself, about not being able to do what I want when I want it, and wonder if I won’t resent it.

And then I wonder if these thoughts make me a bitch.

It’s official - Ron Russo has made an honest woman out of me.

I wasn’t sure what to expect or how I would feel on Friday.  Clearly, the impetus for the wedding was baby blakspring.  This is not to say that we don’t love each other but marriage is a big step and certainly not one that I was in any hurry to make.  In my mind Friday was going to be more utilitarian than celebratory.  I figured everyone would have a nice time, especially since we were going to a really great restaurant after the ceremony, but other than getting the license and booking the restaurant I hadn’t put much thought into the day.

But Friday turned out to be such a beautiful day and so many things touched my heart, and when I woke up Saturday morning I felt so blessed.  Both of our families took care of so many details that I would have not even thought of.  To surprise us, Ron Russo’s mom called the restaurant to order champagne for a toast and, along with my mom, ordered a beautiful and delicious cake and took it to the restaurant the day before so that Ron Russo and I could feed each other the first slice.  His mom also thought to get me a beautiful bouquet that went with my dress perfectly (and camouflaged my belly), and my mom reminded me that I need to get thank you gifts for our guests.

Though the ceremony at City Hall was your average City Hall ceremony, having about a dozen family members with us, all dressed up and excited, made it very special.  The ceremony officiant was a bit of a grouchy old lady who spoke quietly and gave the impression that she’d done one ceremony too many that day.  After the ceremony, we walked over to the South Street Seaport where Ron Russo’s brother (who was also our photographer) snapped tons of pictures of us.  Random people on the street were clapping and congratulating us and wishing us good luck; one woman called after us, “I want to get married too.”  While we posed for a photo with the Brooklyn Bridge behind us, two little girls took pictures of us.  I told Ron Russo that we should walk around New York each week dressed up like we just got married because it was so fun to see people’s reactions.

At the restaurant we had a few more family members show up for a total of 20.  Everyone had a great time, the food was delicious, and at the end of the night when I stood up and thanked everyone and made a little speech about how happy we were, diners at the tables around us clapped along with our family.  Afterward, we went with our siblings and cousins to one of our favorite local bars.  It was kind of funny to be so dressed up, mingling with hipsters and rockers, and playing darts (which I lost as usual) and erotic photo hunt.

Our wedding was small by most standards, there was nothing extravagant about it, and yet it will probably be one of the happiest days of my life.  There was a lot of laughter that day and funny moments that I will never forget, because they made the day unique:

• Padre calling for cars service in the morning, not realizing he was calling the Chinese restaurant.  Imagine two people whose first language is not English, both with very different accents, trying to figure out what the other is saying
• Ron Russo and I facing each other by the podium.  As the officiant starts speaking, Ron Russo turns to face her and she asks, “What’s the matter?”.  Ron Russo is a bit flustered and says, “Nothing.  I never got married before” and turns back to face me.
• realizing that I had accidentally canceled the champagne that Ron Russo’s mom ordered, when I called the restaurant mid-week to confirm.  The man said that everything was on track and that the three pre-ordered bottles were ready.  I told him I didn’t order any bottles and made him cancel.  Luckily, I mentioned this to Madre (who was in on the plan) and the bottles were re-ordered.
• knowing I was officially part of the Russo family when I became the recipient of the gag gift (a bottle of very stinky, very cheap cologne that Papa Russo had gotten l5 years ago as a present) that has been passed on for years.  The smell was still on my hands the next morning even though I’d washed them several times.

So there you have it.  We are officially ball-and-chained:

These last few post-Canada days have been a tangle of work at the public library, doctor appointments, freecycling, and mini panic attacks about all the things that will be happening in the next few months.  It dawned on me a few days ago that Ron Russo and I are getting married on Friday (holy crap…Friday…pardon me while I have another heart attack) and we hadn’t bought wedding bands, hadn’t even thought about them.  Little Sister as well as the Russo sisters have gotten the ball rolling on the baby shower but now I need a registry.  There seems to be soooo much crap that babies need, and even though I am trying to stick to the basics (mattress, onesies, booger-sucking contraption) it is overwhelming.  And once baby blakspring arrives, I will take some time off but nowhere near what I’d like because I am the only librarian in the school, the book budget will come through about four weeks after baby does, and the buying frenzy will begin.  I am freaking out that I can’t do it all.

OK.  Deep breaths, deep breaths.  One thing at a time.  Ron Russo and I went to the local jewelry store (actually, it might be the only jewelry store in the neighborhood) whose owner I’ve known since I was a kid, and in about 20 minutes we decided on what we wanted.  Ron Russo, who could care less about rings, was actually drawn to a particular band and I picked one to match because 1) I too am not into rings, 2) I liked his choice, and 3) it looked very different from my first wedding ring (which had also been purchased in said jewelry store - *cringe*) which is probably a good thing.

A good friend who went through the registry ordeal about a year ago walked me through the whole process, helped me get started with some of the bigger items, and explained every baby-related thing to me, from bottle warmers to snuggle mes to feeding pillows (yeah, it’s like another language), offering honest advice about what I would really need and what was pointless crap.  She had even prepared a checklist for me to take home so I could continue on my own.

As for work, the first step is learning to worry less about things that are still pretty far ahead.  Once September comes, I will prioritize my tasks differently.  Weeding will take a back seat to making lists of books that I want for the new school year.  If I really focus, I should have most of my books picked out before my water breaks, so that when I return from maternity leave I can just start ordering right away.

There…I feel better now.  This post was actually supposed to be about how airport security and customs seem to have it in for Ron Russo (who does look a bit thuggish in his passport photo but not in real life) and how Ron Russo was vowing to never fly again, but I’ll leave that for next time.

I am so behind on everyone’s blogs (not to mention my own) but the intensity of the last few weeks has not stopped.  And now it’s gettin’ round to midnight but my alarm is set for 4:00 AM.  Why this ungodly hour you ask?  Well, since I figured this was my last chance to fly on an airplane for a while, Ron Russo and I are heading over to Vancouver and Victoria for six days.

Good-bye heatwave, hello cool weather and fun adventures.  After 42 coats of paint this week, I need a break.

I’m not sure what happened to half of July because other than having a fun-filled Fourth of July weekend (yeah, I can still rock a bikini, belly and all) I feel like I haven’t done anything fun.  And considering that I am on vacation, I should be having fun.  Part of the blame goes to Operation Closet Doors.  Ron Russo and I took off the six huge doors and seven small doors from the closet and are in the process of putting three coats of water-based sealer on each side.  Do the math - that’s 78 coats of sealer which is a hell of a lot of painting, not to mention the sanding in between.  I feel like every few hours I’m stopping what I’m doing and putting yet another coat if sealer on the next batch of doors.

There’s also been various errands and working extra hours at the public library.  But the real culprit has been my new addiction, Freecycle.  Freecycle is sort of like eBay or Craig’s List but instead of trying to sell your stuff you merely give it away.  You join your local group and then you get emails from people offering everything from plants to clothes to furniture and everything in between.  And if you have something that you want to give away, this is the place to do it.  I originally joined about a week before Ron Russo moved in because I had a few larger items that I wanted cleared out to make room for his stuff.  At first I was little freaked out because I was essentally making a deal with a total stranger to come to my house (where I was still all alone) and pick up said object.  But my first two experiences were very pleasant and getting rid of two large items within twelve hours after posting my offers was awesome.

I hadn’t even thought about using Freecycle to get stuff for myself because I’m a minimalist and feel like I have too much stuff as it is.  However, when I saw an offer for a fancy Italian cherrywood crib, I had to jump on it.  I left my information but didn’t hear anything for over a day.  I figured I got on it too late because an offer like that would surely be scooped up in a heartbeat but amazingly the woman called me the following day and arranged for a pickup.  People, I am not a shopper and I don’t know anything about home design but this crib is gorgeous and in fantastic condition.  And what I saw on the sticker that the model was the Angelina I knew that it was meant to be because of my obsession with Angelina Jolie.  This crib is something that I never would’ve splurge on for baby blakpring; she would’ve gotten a crappy American one.  But now she’s gonna be stylin’.

Not sure if I ever mentioned it here, but Padre is a bit of a hoarder.  He hates to see anything go to waste and so he’d rather hold onto the most ridiculous things for decades than to put it out in the garbage or on the street.  I mentioned the Freecycling to him and now he’s infected too.  Of course with him being an immigrant, and always very busy with work, I’ve basically been assigned to freecycle all the things that he’s accumulated over the years.  Last week I managed to get rid of some of his items, including some rather large items that took up a lot of space in the basement.  I figured that was it for while but now every day he comes up with something new.  He’s showing me all sorts of old appliances, tools, and machinery that may or may not be in working condition.  I figure at some point some hipsters somewhere will take these things.  The trickiest part is translating Padre’s explanations and instructions into English, especially when he’s explaining the technical aspects of some giant machine that I’ve never heard of.

As annoying as taking on this endeavor can be, because I am an anti-hoarder I get a secret little thrill from seeing all the stuff leave Padre’s basement.  Maybe one day, we’ll be able to walk down there without bumping into empty compound buckets and knocking over precariously stacked magazines.  And may I be even more optimistic and say that perhaps his inventory of 12,793 tools may be reduced by half.  In the meantime if you need a lathe or an air compressor and are willing to trek to Brooklyn to pick it up, be my guest.

Well, that was an unintentionally long break.  Seems like there were constant errands to run, friends to see, and World Cup matches to watch.  I don’t have cable TV so at first I was only watching the weekend matches on ABC but one day, while flipping through my channels, I came upon Univision Spanish television and realized that they broadcast all the matches live.  Jackpot!  I know a tiny bit of Spanish but those announcers talk so fast that it was mostly jvbbvbvdncgghrin pelota vkjbkjdffbjhkhgeun astroboy jkjngvm;bnbvvvbcvcg falta.  Of course the most important thing, which everyone understands even in Spanish, is GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!

But the main thing that had been keeping me busy lately was moving Ron Russo in with me.  We spent all of last week going through his stuff, packing what he was going to bring, and getting rid of tons of paper.  Ron Russo is, what I like to call, a slobster.  His previous roommate was a slobster too and their slobsterly ways just fed off each other.  If you walked into their apartment for the first time you would think, “Oh no, you guys were robbed.”  But they weren’t, it was just a bad habit of not putting anything away or getting rid of anything.  Ron Russo was especially guilty of this so we ended up making at least 10 huge bags of paper recycling.  Once we were down to actual stuff that he owns, it turned out to be not all that much.

However, Ron Russo does play guitar and is in a band and all that equipment takes up a lot of room.  Add that to the instruments and equipment that I own and our place is starting to look like Sam Ash.  The musical inventory consists of:

• electric guitar
• two acoustic guitars
• guitar amp
• electric bass
• bass amp
• a Russian mandolin from the 1960S
• didgeridoo
• bongos
• maracas

The final instrument to add to this list is a little red children’s guitar.  It mysteriously appeared one day on the front steps leading to the house.  I asked the neighbors above me if it was theirs because I know their son plays guitar, but they too had no idea where it came from.  Padre was convinced that someone left it for baby blakspring, or as he put it “the young guitarist who will soon be living here”.  After a few hours, and no one else claiming it, and the old man down the block who hoards everything walking past the house every two minutes, I decided to bring it in.  Ron Russo tuned it and managed to get some decent sounding Johnny Cash tunes out of it.  I’m hoping our little girl takes after him because the only thing I can play is a kazoo.

On Friday, as I was getting ready to leave work for the day, I got a text message from one of the three work friends who knows about the pregnancy.  The message was “I don’t know how but Creepy Teacher knows EVERYTHING about your business.  I swear I didn’t tell him”.  I mentioned Creepy Teacher recently, and out of all the people in the whole school he’s by far the last person I wanted to know about this.  So I ran downstairs to find my friend and get the details on what happened.

Creepy Teacher had come up to my friend and said, “So I hear that Ron Russo and the librarian are getting married”.  My friend couldn’t hide the shock from his face to which Creepy Teacher replied, “Your look just told me what I needed to know.”  He started to walk away but then turned back and said, “Let me ask you one more thing.  Is she expecting?”.  At this point my friend was ready to fall over because only he and two other people knew about it, and none of them would have told anyone.  Creepy Teacher then said that we seemed like a nice couple, etc., and that he wasn’t going to tell anyone.  Which probably means that he told everyone.

I was in complete shock after hearing this.  I couldn’t figure out how he would have known unless somebody had overheard something.  Some of the guys in Ron Russo’s department have a theory that one of the teachers has a hidden tape recorder, but I don’t quite buys that.  (Yeah, there are some wackadoos at work.)

About fifteen minutes later as I was leaving the school for the day, my friend had more info for me.  He’d managed to compose himself and when he saw Creepy Teacher in the hallway again he said to him, “That’s pretty clever of you to have figured it out.”  Creepy Teacher replied that he hadn’t figured anything out but that someone else had told him.  My friend tried to play it cool and said, “But it’s not like you’ll tell me who that person was”, to which Creepy Teacher replied that it was one of the female teachers in Creepy Teacher’s department.

Hearing this person’s name totally blew me away because even though it’s someone that I like and am on friendly terms with, she and I never talk about our personal lives.  So I guess there are three possible explanations: 1. Creepy Teacher is lying, 2. Creepy Teacher’s colleague overheard it, 3. Creepy Teacher’s colleague heard it from someone else.

I was upset about this on Friday although Ron Russo told me not to worry about it and that it really wasn’t a big deal, especially considering the school year is basically over.  After having the weekend to think everything over, I realized I overreacted.  I mean, it’s not like we’re teenagers and we have something to hide,  and soon enough everyone would know anyway.  I guess one of my main concerns was that I wanted my principal to hear it from me and not through the grapevine.  I had been planning to tell him on Monday morning all along and so that’s exactly what I did.  I could tell by looking at his expression that he honestly did not know.  He was very happy for me and congratulated me but there was genuine surprise on his face.  There was an even bigger shock on his face when I told him I was four and a half months along; he thought maybe I was about two.  Then he wouldn’t let me move the chair back in case it was too heavy.  Aaaw.

So perhaps Creepy Teacher has an ounce of self-restraint after all.

A few weeks ago on a Saturday, Ron Russo and I had spent the morning at his parents’ house, then went on a 10 mile bike ride, one which left me exhausted from its many up-and-down hills.  After the bike ride we stopped by his parents’ once more and then went back to my place because I had to get ready for my evening out at the strip club.  (Yeah, yeah, I’m knocked up and going to strip clubs.  But it was for a friend’s bachelorette so you have to forgive me.)

When we walked into my apartment, Ron Russo kicked off his shoes and hurried around the corner to the other room.  A few moments later, as I came around the corner, I almost collided into him.  He was on one knee, with a little box in his hand, and said, “Will you marry me?”.  Although I knew this moment was coming I was speechless for a bit until I finally got my voice back and said, “Wait, is this for real?  There’s nothing in the box, is there?  Or is it a decoder ring from a cereal box?”.  In hindsight, it’s probably not what a guy wants to hear.  Seriously - decoder ring?  I guess it all seemed so surreal and I honestly didn’t think it was happening.  It almost seemed like it was practice for the real thing.

I’m guessing Ron Russo was very nervous because there was no romantic speech or flowery words, just a simple “Will you marry me”.  And it was probably his nervousness that made him forget to open the box, which he finally did, and sure enough there was a ring inside.  Clearly, he was serious so I told him that of course I would marry him.  There we were for a moment not knowing what to do, and he wasn’t making any move to put the ring on my finger, so finally I took it out myself and put it on.  It took me another few minutes to realize that I put it on the wrong hand.  The ring was way too big on me and I was very confused about the whole scenario until Ron Russo told me that the ring had belonged to his grandmother, which really touched me.

I was teary-eyed for a second and then we kissed and Ron Russo looked extremely relieved.  Apparently, one of the reasons we went to his parents’ house in the morning was to pick up the ring and he had taken the ring on the bike ride with him and ridden all 10 miles with the ring in his pocket waiting for the perfect moment, which never came.  It was then that I understood why his mom and sister asked me so expectantly how the bike ride went.  They were probably a bit surprised when I simply said that it was fun but strenuous.

So there you have it.  It’s official.  We’re getting hitched and probably soon.  Fingers crossed that this one will be more successful than my first.