24/7

It began with Johnny Cash . Now, The Boss has taken to roaming our house like a three foot tall, straight-haired, sober Janis Joplin . I've got the Southern Comfort under lock and key. It's just a precaution.

Sometimes I wonder if The Boss could fall any further from the most proximate branches of her family tree. Take this recent manifestation of her altruistic nature in conversation with yours truly: Me: I'm sooo hungry. The Boss: Do you want dinner? Me: Mmmm, yes. The Boss: Do you want my dinner? Me: No, thank you. Your dinner is for you. The Boss: But I'm not hungry. You're hungry. There's no way such sensitive logic could be a learned trait, not in our fend-for-yourself household. And if it's genetic, it almost certainly skipped a generation. In spite of--or maybe because of--that fact, I can't help but marvel at her perspective. She forces me to look at things differently. I appreciate that.

The Partner informed me the other day that I am a failure as a wife due to my lackluster attitude toward housekeeping. After listening to an exhaustive list of my failings, I asked him to cite a few of my positive characteristics so that I might have something to cling to as I teeter on the edge of a maritally-induced depression. He thought for a while. Then he told me I was perfectly good as a girlfriend, back when I would visit him at his apartment and then go home again (to my own pig sty). At first I was shocked and appalled by his line of thinking. Then I remembered that he is always right. By forcing myself to look at the issue from his God-like point of view, I saw everything with a strange sense of clarity. He was on to something. Things were better back then. I was a nicer person, more carefree. He was unstressed each evening as he tossed another Skillet Sensation on the stove top. I made my own money. He drove a big, black truck, factory-fresh. We were two autonomous beings ...

Sometimes The Boss wears a look that makes it obvious she's just humoring us. She's our teenager in a two year old body, and we're thankful.

I have no time to blog. I'm too busy stuffing my arm up a turkey's butt. Happy Thanksgiving.

Another thing: pregnancy infringes on my ability to write. It's not the words that are affected; it's my ideas. I've got none. I've been reading more lately than I have in a long time. I think that goes along with the whole living-inside-myself thing I discussed yesterday. Books fit well in my bubble. I happily absorb whatever crosses over, from Howard Stern's Miss America to Jane Smiley's A Thousand Acres . I used to accomplish things while The Boss napped. Now I sit in the living room and read. Unlike The Partner, though, who is probably reading this while casting troubled sideways glances at our mess of a kitchen, I find value in these months of inaction. I feel like I'm storing energy and inspiration for when I'll really need it. Writing, unlike reading, begins as an introspective thing but ends up having to fend for itself on the outside. I have no interest in that right now. I think about the fact that best selling author Jodi Picoult began her ...

I am not a worrier by nature. I mean, I'm not completely oblivious to the world around me, but I am adept at sweeping my everyday apprehensions under the mental rug. However, my natural inclinations are trumped by pregnancy. From the moment of conception through the fourth trimester, I am ridden with anxiety. About everything. I can't have a good time amongst family or friends without wondering who's going to drop dead before we get together again. I can't listen to the news without my imagination turning every typhoon, car accident and prediction by Ben Bernanke into a personal disaster. Each edition of NPR's All Things Considered convinces me that the Apocalypse is that much closer. It's logical that pregnancy forces one's thoughts to turn inward. Worrying isn't the only manifestation--the introspection also engenders a greater understanding of parts of oneself not often recognized, and it heightens the bond with the developing fetus. So, it is logica...