A heart beating...

I had another ultrasound today, hopefully the last for a while.  There was the peanut, a little blob with a head and knobs of arms with a perfect heart rate.  So, can I start believing in this now?  I am not really sick, although the texture of lettuce is starting to get to me, and I can smell bad breath from across town (Kirk and Anja seem particularly prone to, as Kirk would say in his medical-ese, halitosis.)  My boobs hurt, and I am tired.  But the headaches have been slim to none and no vomiting yet.  I am hoping at this stage (almost 8 weeks), I will miss that train altogether.

I am meeting my midwife-hopeful tomorrow.  It's a different system here than in Alberta; you get the first person who will take you and that's that.  However, I've had two friends recommend her.  My first question will be: what is your stance on epidurals?  Now, I had the best birth possible (comfy place, big tub, great midwives, no tearing) with Anja, but she was 9 lbs 10 ounces and has her father's gigantic head (at her 18 month visit, the family resident said I should watch for water on the brain.  Really?  Does she look like she has water on the brain?).  It took 3.5 hours to push her out.  I was miserable.  It was not remotely fun.   I did not feel orgasmic or godess like.   I have done many hard physcial things, including running a marathon and mountaineering for three weeks straight, and getting Anja out was the hardest. I remember distinctly asking why the midwives couldn't just pull her out, and stating that, beyond a shadow of a doubt, next time I was having a C-section.  I was unable to sleep the other night, panicking at the fact that giving birth is the inevitable consequence of pregnancy.  I am betwixt two worlds, fearing intervention and really thinking it might be necessary.

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I dislike my job significantly at the moment.  Not only do I have another 120 assignments to mark in the next two weeks, it all starts again in two weeks when the students hand in their next illegible assignments in which they can barely follow the instruction "Include your name on the front page." Which means I am marking every night after working all day and doing none of my prep.  I also dislike students who tell me I owe them an apology for not emailing them back over Thanksgiving, who question my qualifications and credentials, and send me emails telling me I am wasting the tax dollars of Canadians.  I also dislike having to tell people that they might as well leave if they are going to read a newspaper in class, or surf the internet, or talk when I am lecturing.  Though, right now I am marking my writing students, and it is like swimming in a beautiful ocean compared to what I have just been through with other students.  Basic literacy is an amazing tool. 
 

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I did not win a poetry award I was shortlisted for last night.  Oh, well - I truly did not expect to win and in fact pegged the winner correctly.  Attending the event in the presence of other writers and a horrid teaching day yesterday combined to reaffirm that I must write more.  I hope I can in January when my course load reduces.  And, of course, when the new baby naps. Ba hah hah hah. What makes me feel woefully inadequate is a writer who is nominated for both the Giller and GG this year.  She wrote her novel through the pregnancy and early childhoods of two children.  And I can't even seem to compose a decent line in a poem, though I have been trying for almost 5 years.  Oh, god.  5 years since I wrote anything half-decent.

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I need to sleep.  Not enough sleep at all this week.  Good night!

I miss the contemplative life.