April, eh?
April, eh?
April, eh.
It is almost a mantra the way my brain chants it at me, searing right through hallway politics and the emergency of the day.
April, eh?
In april there'll be a civil ceremony for my parents and Dave's aunt and uncle. We will exchange rings and have dinner and spend the weekend in a hotel instead of my parents basement. I need to remember to ask Maria to take photographs to make my parents happy.
Well, relatively.
In April also, we will have a handfasting ceremony on a farm in Apsley, North Ontario. It will be delightfully simple and hopefully serene and filled with the joy I feel whenever I look at the names of the people who've been with me all our lives when my family wasn't.
My family won't be there. I won't argue the point anymore, but I will send them an invitation. They want grand-children desperately and when they arrive perhaps they will reconsider respecting my choices rather than beat about my ears with the ways that I am pushing them away.
That's a story for another day, long past already despite being some time from now.
April, eh?
In April Dave's vasectomy will be reversed as we learned yesterday, the weeks of waiting and sudden newness of birth control, and last night when I asked
"When do you want to start trying"
He looked at me that way, this indescribable sort of way, and said "April?"
April, eh?
I've been looking forward to this for months, since the initial shock of the first conversation when he'd said that he'd just assumed that was the plan for right after the wedding.
I've been watching raptly Aleta's midwife appointments and her habits and tribulations as
she prepares herself to begin labour. I've been trilling my excitement for my singing teacher whose contractions began during our singing lesson last week. (I bet her she'd deliver on my Birthday but it looks like she missed it.)
I've been slowly desisting my protests as Catherine urges me to be her baby-buddy or some such, they've been trying since September and she's two months now.
April, eh? I'm terrified. I don't have maternity leave. I don't have eighteen different little practicalities and I am fully aware of how ridiculously I am trying to occupy my imagination with practical things.
I will have months to get used to the idea, months to learn how everything I've learned about who I am will have to be applied. I will have years to practice.
I still have months before April.
Last night we fell asleep curled up debating details.
On Sunday at birthday dinner we discussed the wedding ceremony.
All weekend I filled up my quiet pre-morning hours with the website details for the handfasting invitations, directions, maps, admonitions to bring no gifts, only food, plans and memorizing the things left to do.
April, eh?
We have a vague idea for a honeymoon. I've never planned a vacation with hotels before, let alone beaches.
April, eh.
I keep wanting to giggle as I tear today's random victim a new asshole.