On This Hill

Apart from being utterly exhausted thanks to a lack of sleep (my own fault), I feel better today.

Maybe that's because Emilie loves, loves, loves bagpipe music. I remember thinking that she might while I was pregnant, and again during those early, insane months when she would stop crying to listen. All suspicions are now confirmed. The girl stops what she's doing, and grins when the pipes come on. And, oh boy, is that ever cute! She loves the sound of the pipes, but she also loves the accompanying drumming--well, the drumming as found in the music of The Wicked Tinkers. She is fascinated with rhythm and drumming of all kinds, now. (Go Em!) I can amuse her for almost a half hour by simply drumming my hands on my jeans. (She touches my jeans, but can't figure out how to make the slappy sound yet.)

</mommy>

I'm nearly done with the last fanfic story. I'm annoyed with myself for not having finished it already--but life intruded with graduation and family craziness. I'm to the end of the fic, now, where the fluff comes. This might be the favorite part for some writers, but I dread writing fluff. I wish I could say that I dread writing it because I love reading it so well (which I do!!)

Alas, emotionally, I'm about twelve when it comes to this sort of thing. When mushy scenes came onscreen when we were children, my brother would leap behind the couch and make farting noises with his armpits. Similarly, when I come to a "mushy" scene in my writing, even if the scene only hints at mush-to-come, I'm leaping behind the couch...

Dang. I wish I could make farting noises with my armpits.

::sigh:: Some people are just way, way more talented than me. :P

I did not mean to be That Girl who wore her Birkenstocks up to shake hands with the Dean, but I was.

I did not think that I would enjoy "mingling" afterward, but I did.

I still don't think that I deserve my Masters. I feel no smarter.

My parents made the drive up, which was rather nice. It was a bit bizarre introducing them to professors, friends, etc.--mostly because each party knows stories of the other. I was distracted at times, wondering who knew what. For instance, in conversations about my life history, some professors latched onto my unusual (wonderful!) childhood. In fact, my childhood became a part of the Jenn Mystique at Regent. ::rolling eyes:: [I feel quite normal, thank you very much.] I know that at least one of my professors expected to see my parents wearing costumes or looking at least vaguely eccentric, but dad cut his hair off years ago, and Mom always looks put together. Dad wasn't even wearing sandals. (Erm...I think...)

I hate medleys as a general, sweeping rule (I'm obnoxiously high-minded about my church music, and I really, really wish that I wasn't--kinda detracts from worship). However, Donna composed this wonderful piece that wove the best chapel songs together. I hadn't attended chapel for years, but the music brought back many excellent memories of early days and early friendships at Regent. Damn near cried.

The best thing, really, was saying good-bye to friends, especially the friends I thought had vanished forever. My old companions from the community group days (girls, I love you!!), friends from my arts seminar group, friends from classes. I was able to say good-bye to one of my favorite professors, my second reader on the icky thesis--she came out of sabbatical to attend. The woman is solid and gracious--I will miss our random conversations.

I'll miss all of the random conversations.

Another 2,000 word day. I'm almost done with the fic, which means that I should have enough time to finish the really fun one (that will probably only appeal to me, but oh well. :P ).

I feel a little guilty taking the time to write fanfics, but it's too much fun to stop.

Emilie is fully recovered. And rotund.

I'm now officially Battlestar nutty. I re-watched the episode I tivo'ed on friday at least twice today (whilst folding laundry, tidying, etc.). There's only one character whom I find annoying, but he was a little less unctuous. A little. Boomer/Sharon fascinates me, and Starbuck is just plain (my 8th grade level Hip vocabulary is just so inadequate, but)...um...Cool.

So...one thing about writing missing moments is that, when writing slowly about a scene that takes seconds to read, I find myself examining the facts more closely. Today, I was struck again by Madame Pomfrey's comment about thoughts leaving deep scarring. She is speaking about the brain that attacked Ron. Now I know that Harry's scar is supposed to be a curse scar, but what if these facts are somehow related?

Also, I can't help thinking about Riddle's diary. My brain keeps providing all sorts of ways in which these three things might be connected, but I keep telling it to calm down. My brain is rather fond of providing endless bad hypotheses. :P

Eep. I have officially ceased to make any sense. Bedtime.

Thank goodness E is back! I was able to sleep in this morning, and I feel loads better. Emilie, however, is pulling at her ears.

So, question for fellow moms: When your kidlet is upset/pulling her ears but does not have a fever, is something wrong? My mom insists that ear infections always come with fever, but who's to say that something else isn't going on? I don't think I'd be concerned (I'm a pretty laid-back mom), except that the doctor is a three hour drive away...and mom's health advice is generally dismissive, so I can't always trust it. :/ (Sorry, Mom!) Mom thinks that Emilie's just "found her ears," but she only pulls when she's upset, and it usually happens when she's particularly snotty.

Anyhow, lots of nursing and naps for the kid.

Work-wise: The book is on a week hiatus while I finish up a couple HP stories. The last book boxes are finally unpacked, so I've spent the last few days researching my approach. I think I found a good story to tell that both hits the theories that I wanted to put out as well as includes the scenes that I wanted to write.

Tomorrow is my thesis presentation. (Which is why I can't sleep, and why I tried to go to sleep early)

I'm terrified that there will be a lot of people there...and depressed, because I don't think anyone will show up besides my husband, daughter, one of my supervising professors, and my ex-landlord. Really.

Boo.

At 9:00 AM, I wasn't sure how much work on the story I could get done.
It is now 12:30. I finished editting the end of the book, AND wrote the prologue. AND I actually like what I've done. (Never thought that would happen) Yee-haw. It is now bonified finished.

At least...until my professor says otherwise. :P Now to get back to the academic paper that goes along with it. (12 days to go)

Well, I've been busy. This is as it should be.

Emilie does well. She's learning how to laugh, now, which is a funny little process. Her attempts are... Very Interesting. She's still in love with her mobile, loves chatting up animals, and delights in the smiles of others. Happily, she is one cheerful child (excepting at three am, when one wishes to sleep).

I finally started work on that audio course, and have been pleased with the class. It's almost fun listening to the tapes, now. I put Emilie down to sleep, pick up my knitting, and listen my way through the church fathers. It's pleasant to know I haven't lost my love for history.

The Book. The meeting with my professor went well. Thank goodness, he didn't bring up anything new. The revised story is to his liking. He says that I should finish the edit, slap a prologue on, and be done. Have I mentioned that I despise prologues?-they usually come out so self-important. Some boring narrator drones on about some super-powerful god and the sinister age of darkness that's reduced everyone to wearing burlap cloaks and eating stew. Blech. Ahh, well. The thesis review board is made up of people who don't generally read sf/f, and a ::gagging:: prologue might help. It's just irritating, because I spent a lot of time arranging the story to avoid the prologue--gradually sinking the reader through the layers of the world.

With one month to go until the deadline, I'm not about to argue.

Anyhow. Speaking of...yeah. One month until the deadline for the book and the audio course. I'm currently paranoid that Emilie's post-innoculation screaming may prompt Evil Landlady to kick us out this month. It would, after all, be the absolute Worst Timing Ever. We'll find out tomorrow.

Emilie Eowyn was born at 4:36 am on November 24th. Hurrah!

The 22 hours of labor weren't so bad, but the hours leading up to Emilie's eventual, cesarean birth were horrendous. Honestly. After nearly despairing of ever getting pregnant, after nine months spent pinching myself because I couldn't believe I actually was pregnant, the hours where I thought Emilie might die were horrible. After they broke my water, her heartrate plummeted and, though it never hovered long in the danger zone, her heartrate never stablized either. I'll never forget sitting on the edge of the bed, sucking laughing gas, feeling the gush of fluid as the distressed Emilie pooped, and watching the baby's heart monitor beat 140, 120, 100, 90, 81... Eep.

But, hurrah! All that is behind, now--fodder for nightmares, but nothing worse. Emilie is absolutely beautiful. She's the best napping companion I've ever had (sorry, hubby), and is clearly gifted with unnatural intelligence. Ok. It's too soon to tell about that sort of thing (and it doesn't matter too much to mummy), but no one can deny that she's a record breaker when it comes to peeing, pooping, and feeding. I don't know who writes those infant care books, but give me a break. Our baby doesn't poop 2-3 times a day; she doesn't seem satisfied unless if she's filled a good 11 diapers. Hee.

I swore it would never happen. I'm thrilled by the feeding and pooping patterns of my baby. Ahh, well.

Anyhow. I should probably get some rest or something.

Tags: emilie, labor

Well. I seem to be in early labor. Lucky me. :) Such a pleasant way to wake up...to this distantly familiar sensation. For a moment, I forgot I was pregnant at all and thought, "Ah, that time of the month again." The contractions are now about 30 seconds long, and anywhere from two to five minutes apart.

I'm a bit excited, though disappointed on two counts. One, I wish that I hadn't stayed up until 3 reading last night. Two, I'm disappointed that I won't be enjoying a nice, turkey dinner on Thursday. Somehow, I don't quite think my energy will be up enough to be hefting turkeys in and out of hot ovens in two days time... :pout: Mom had her turkey dinner when she had me.

Thankfully, these aren't major disappointments. ;)

For some reason, I don't think I'll be able to get much work done today. Should I feel guilty?

Anyhow. The bags are packed. I have Poocahp's distracting collage, my monkey slippers, and some degree of sanity. However: prayers, good thoughts, and other encouraging things are appreciated.

So, the Doctor says that the baby could come anytime now, and I've still not found a (stupid) picture to "meditate" on. The delivery video had some woman focusing on a picture of her cat while she breathed through her pain...though I like cats, the idea of meditating on a cute kitten makes me think of Dolores Umbridge (Harry Potter Book 5, for the uninitiated).

I thought I'd get sympathy from my mother, the skeptic of all skeptics, but she says, "Oh, a picture is a great idea!" and proceeds to suggest things like lakes and tropical islands. [Who are you and what did you do with my mom?]

Blech. Maybe I should do puppies in baskets? Horses? Colonial lighthouses? Random, muscular men with uncuddly muscles laying on beaches in indecent swimsuits? :making face:

Any ideas? (no matter how unhelpful...humor is always distracting...)