That settles that!

RC says that it's okay if we use disposable diapers sometimes, because Ian Mackaye did.

What does it mean, that there are certain people with whom you will always feel the need to ... compete? I remember that throughout my childhood, it was always me and Jennifer Eden---we were frenemies, really. We'd study together all the time because, well, we were pretty well-matched and it was effective, but there was always the undercurrent of wanting to see who would come out on top. She turned out to be way smarter, more motivated, more driven, more accomplished---got into all sorts of private colleges and Ivies while I settled for a handy public education---except she could never outscore me in four years of Latin classes and it drove her nuts (and made me laugh). I think, actually, that our Latin teacher just liked me more and therefore, in her arcane grading system (somehow, she was able to score short essays to the 1/4-point increment), I always ended up with a half-point or one point more in total. But back to my question, what does it mean? Does it mean that there is something unresolved that should be resolved before I am fully self-actualized or emotionally matured or some other psychology crap like that? Or is it okay for me to just ignore the irrational competitiveness and let it be, until it's so far away, so long gone in the temporal sense, that it's effectively nonexistent?

The Angels Have Smiled Down Upon Me

A family emergency unexpectedly pulled my evil overlord out of the office, with no certainty as to whether she will return for the day or even the week (though I'm sure she will be on Blackberry). It sucks that I feel this way, but honestly, this is pretty much the best surprise Christmas gift that has been bestowed upon me in the recent past. Thank you, Santa and Chanukah Charry!

We started our childbirth classes (at RealBirth). For us, the philosophy behind and tenor of the classes are just right---the focus is on imparting a solid understanding of normal labor and delivery; concrete coping strategies to get through labor (in short, my years of yoga practice and therapy are paying off!); and options for pain management (local and epidural) and ways to think about when to choose those options, if at all.

Some of the coping techniques to ride out labor and each wave of contractions (and make the contractions more effective, hopefully shortening the duration of labor) are rocking; shifting positions (sitting, standing, leaning); walking around with some support (either human or a railing); and diaphragmatic vocalizations (if one is so inclined). So now, I am imagining the maternity floor of the hospital I'll be at, full of moaning, groaning, half-clad women, slowly shuffling up and down the hallway, intermittently leaned up against the wall or squatting alongside a rail or dragging themselves behind a partner. It's going to be a friggin' zombie hospital ward---totally awesome! At least I'm not giving birth in Denmark.

NYMag's 40th Reason To Love New York 2008.

I am beginning to think that the main hallmark of every person I have ever found difficult or unpleasant to work with is EGO (a large one; and theirs, not mine, naturally).

However, here's the new web presence of one person I've worked with whose ego is just the right size!

We survived the week with my mother. Much as I love and appreciate her and recognize her good intentions, it is exhausting to interact with her for extended periods---especially because she lacks self-awareness about how very dogmatic she is. And she is dogmatic beyond reason, to the point where you start to treat her like a child, nodding and agreeing with everything she says so that she stops talking for a bit, since any amount of dissent merely raises her level of insistence even more.

For example, the fact that we do not own a dining room table (choosing, instead, to sit on the couch with our meal spread out on makeshift coffee tables) became the leading signifier for the uncivilized, louche, perenially-renting and never "settling down", careerist manner in which we lead our lives. Phone calls to non-New Yorkers tended to include the words "They don't even have a dining table!" at some point in the conversation. I am certain that over time, our lack-of-dining-table will be equated in some way with being bad parents. Because the only possible reason for us not wanting a dining room table is that we are unrepentant, selfish people in an arrested state of adolescence who will make their deprived children sleep in shoeboxes in a cramped old apartment in Manhattan.

In fact, my mother even went so far as to write to me that when she got home, she appreciated even more her big kitchen and her hair-less house and that she hoped that one day, we would move up in the world (to more space and no pets). Which is a pretty underminer-y thing to say, all things considered. But of course, she sees it as expressing "sympathy" for our plight. What she remains in denial about is the fact that what we have---the intangibles---is far more valuable (priceless, really) than a dining table (the reason we don't have one is because we haven't needed one and also can't figure out what style we like) or a gourmet kitchen or a house with a backyard (all of which I would happily welcome!), and that if she thought about it a little more, she would make the connection that those things still don't mitigate the fact that she is in an unsatisfying marriage to my kind-of-an-asshole-probably-alcoholic-and-definitely-at-times-an-idiot father. I think I'll take my life over hers any day, thanks.

On the other hand, she did gift us with round-the-clock cooking, kitchen supplies and super cute baby stuff from Bergdorf's. So there's that.