twenty three

May 23rd, 2007 |

May 23rd marks the beginning of the last month of my twenty-third year. Somewhat complicated, a touch of crazy and on the odd occasion, peacefully mundane. Overwhelming moments, immense satisfaction and pure, unadultered delight. And even moreso than usual – the unexpected (I have never been genuinely surprised so many times in one 335 day period). Perhaps a little grittier than usual too. Altogether, an impression of slight awe; that one year can be so saturated with complex, trying, exhilarating experience.

See, I knew twenty three would be a good year. . .

and I still really, really, really like my life.
May the twenty fourth be just as lovely (in my personal sense of the word – absolutely not the hearts & flowers definition).

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my inner victor trumper

May 22nd, 2007 |

My little brother (traipsing quintessentially around Europe with his girlfriend these days) responded to my latest e-mail with:
What a way to enter the world, ensconsed in green feces, and into the arms of the least sure-bet backcatcher in history… nevertheless, A+, well done, you ought to be proud. Perhaps its just when things are more meaningful, when more is at stake that your inner… victor trumper? comes out.
Thanks for not sparing the appetizing details, I would have wondered all night whether the accompanying fluids were yellow, green.. runny or congealed.

It’s true, I can’t catch a ball to save my life (in fact, to many people’s amusement, it will probably hit me in the face if thrown in my direction) but apparently I can catch one fast, slippery baby. I even have the stomach-churning pile of filthy laundry to prove it!

(and if you’re wondering who victor is – one word – Cricket)

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when half spent was the night

May 18th, 2007 |

and then there are the nights when you find yourself standing on a dark residential street at 2 am wearing your favourite little black dress next to a woman in silk stockings. . . holding a placenta.
(yes, the little black dress has blood on it, and the silk stockings a run in the big toe)
Under a stunning Southern Cross studded sky, the world’s latest mother was born in a dark and quiet room of the house, farthest from the door, in the safest corner she could find; in her partner’s arms.
Birth, like life, is risky and unpredictable and interupts your friday night. But, like life, doing it without trying to control all the variables from your position of precarious, human fallibility. . . is often stunning, simple, monumental. . .better than anything we might dare to concoct.
Certainly, in my humble book of opinion, the best way to spend half your night.

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G1P0

May 12th, 2007 |

I ate homeade chocolate brownies for breakfast, delivered to my bed via NZpost, my 3 year old housemate, and a very sweet friend in the US of A.
It is now 6p.m. and that’s all I’ve eaten (but never fear, there’s a banana/blueberry/yogurt/rice-milk smoothie, carrot/cauliflower/advocado oil soup & a grilled cheese sandwich on sunflower seed/barley bread in the works. Yes I am half health-insane, half insane. It makes for a great combination)
I have also accomplished an insanely long bath, which, thanks to the sugar high from aforementioned baked goods was resplendent with raucous singing and the blowing of bubbles.
Which is all to say, I’m having a day OFF. I should probably be twitching with guilt, but I’m already twitching so much from the sugar that additional twitching would ricochet me off into full-blown dervish-ness.
Plus this week, I already wrote an essay, did my first VE (9cm, fully effaced & station +2!) and caught a slippery boy in what his father described excitedly over his cell phone as “an unbelievable rush”.
that is all. really.
for those of you who understand ob-speak, yes that title means what you think it means. no leaving public comments now!

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my little pink bum

May 8th, 2007 |

One of the best things about studying in New Zealand is that there is such a large community of midwives. Case in point: although the town where I study has about 1/3 of the population of my hometown, there are about 10x the number of midwives practicing independently (nevermind the university lecturers, students and midwives employed by the hospital).
This photo is from an New Zealand College of Midwives ‘meeting’, and appropriately we are all learning optimal practice of pelvic floor exercises (Kegels for the North Americans). And it all looks so innocent.
(for reference, my housemate Jane, the head of our program and my midwife are all in this photo)
Oh, and my essay is done and ready to be e-mailed off to my inifinitely understanding lecturer sans late-deductions.
Making the current tally: 2 (somewhat more minor) assignments and 4 exams left to go.
morbido!*

*as in ‘soft’ in Italian, not ‘morbid’

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tragedy, revenge & essays

May 6th, 2007 |


If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me!
If I do wake, some planet strike me down,
That I may slumber in eternal sleep!
Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands
Have lopp’d and hew’d and made thy body bare
Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments,
Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in,
And might not gain so great a happiness
As have thy love? Why dost not speak to me?
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,
Like to a bubbling fountain stirr’d with wind,
Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips,
Coming and going with thy honey breath.

Act II, scene iv, Titus Andronicus, Shakespeare

This merry month of May:
– the thought of writing one more word of one more essay makes lobotomy sound like a distinct relief
–going to class results in the ownership of a lurid green book titled “A Guide to Certifying Causes of Death” and more rapid-fire sharing of dead baby anecdotes than I can safely squeeze from my consciousness in a sanity-keeping period of time
–it becomes irritatingly clear that it’s possible for some people to regard vast periods of silence as invitation to continue doing the opposite
–I become so incredibly feeble-minded that I cry watching America’s Next Top Model vote out another contender so devoid of admirable characteristics that it’s actually extremely embarassing I even sat through 3 seconds of the show at all.
–my classmate washes my dishes, massages my back with lavender/orange/chammomile oil and makes favourable comments about my mammary glands, all in one night. She’s a keeper.

At least I end things on a less gruesome note?

(my apologies for the grisle, but I do love Titus – I reccomend you go watch the movie if you’re feeling bloodthirsty and literary at the same time)

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