July 5, 2000

July 5, 2000 The Long Weekend	Believe me, you don't want to see this sick girl at the moment.	Cycle 9, Day 7 Temp: 97.7 Cervical Mucus: Nothing Cervix: Low, closed, firm

Well, I'm back from Maryland, if not completely back up to speed on everything else. The biggest thing I was dreading about my return was facing my email, and, sure enough, my fears were justified; I had over eight hundred messages waiting for me. Curse those oh-so-addictive listservs! So if I haven't been as prompt as I should with responses, I hope that this reason will serve as an adequate excuse. (Hey, it's better than my usual excuses.) The other reason for which I am behind is that I seem to have contracted something nasty over the course of the long weekend. I have a sinking feeling that I've fallen prey to the Bladder Infection Fairy yet again. Due to a surprisingly common, yet no less annoying, anatomical anomaly, I've always been prone to these types of problems; in fact, for many years during my youth, I had to take monthly urine samples to the doctor in order to try to head off the infections before they became too horrible. I've had done with that routine, but I'm still inclined to get the infections every so often. It's been a couple of years since my last one, so I'm long overdue. I guess this means that I'll have to find time to trot off to the doctor's office for some drugs; hopefully, he'll have some pregnancy-friendly ones; I'm ever the optimist, you know. I am feeling much better than I did yesterday, though, so maybe I can put off the appointment until I can actually afford to take the time to go, rather than push myself even farther over the edge with work and the rest. The trip home was an absolute nightmare, with me insisting on pulling off at every other travel plaza for temporary relief. When we finally reached home, I collapsed and slept away most of the evening in a feverish haze. Happy Fourth of July to me, I suppose. At least that initial fever seems to have left me, for the moment.

The weekend was wonderful. It had been simply ages since I last saw Amy in person, and that was just one age too long, in my opinion. We spent the first evening, before Amy got to town, with my parents, and everything there was really relaxed, too. In fact, there was an amazing lack of stress throughout the entire weekend; no nagging, no bickering. Everything was extremely low-key, which was just what I needed. We went out to see the fireworks (on June 30? My hometown conforms to no man's patterns!), then crashed early. Amy picked me up bright and early the next morning; she had a fitting for her bridal gown, and I got to go along to take a peek. When she stepped out of the dressing room, I was in complete awe. I had seen the dress in a magazine shot before, but this was Amy! This was the little girl with whom I played horses; this was the friend with whom I had giggled over our first crushes. She was beautiful. I felt a mixture of pride, awe, and jealousy - the gown was absolutely perfect for her. Unfortunately, the seamstress quickly distracted me with warnings. Amy's dress may have been beautiful, but it was not simple, and the lengthy train was creating a rather formidable challenge. For the reception, the train would need to be taken up into a bustle, the creation of which was giving the seamstress fits. She had finally come up with a solution that satisfied herself, but as elegant as it was, it was going to be a bit of work for the bridesmaids to recreate. "I'll just stitch color-coded snaps here and there, and you can match them up, okay?" she said, rather briskly, to me. "Um," I responded confidently. "Of course, I had to remove a few stitches to make the bustle, so I'll have to add some more color-coded snaps for the train itself." "Hmm," I replied with complete understanding. I don't remember any such fuss over my own bustle at my own wedding. I suppose that's just one of the happy benefits of being the gal in the white dress. Now that I think of it, I seem to remember my mother worrying over the back of my gown right before we walked into the reception hall; at the time, I just wanted her to leave it be so that we could get on with the show. Positions have now changed, and with a vengeance. Remind me to call my mother and apologize for those moments of impatience. When Amy had changed back into her street clothes, she asked me whether I would like to try on my bridesmaid's dress. Happy that it had not yet been shipped off to Toledo for me, yet, I happily obliged. Thinking to just get a quick glimpse at it before I packaged it back up and took it home, I slipped into the gown, stepped out of the dressing room - and was immediately set upon by a woman bearing straight pins. I glanced at Amy in confusion; she stared wide-eyed back at me. Neither of us had expected that I would have any alterations done by this shop, but it seemed a little late to try to argue the point. The woman pressed me to select a heel size, then demanded to know what size of long-line bra she should grab for me from the back. Before I could say much of anything, I was pinned into the dress. As a side note, the dress is lovely. I will be doing strenuous arm exercises for the next month, but that's not the fault of the dress, but of its wearer. As a result of the eager seamstress' ministrations, Amy and I arrived late to her bridal shower. Various family members were seated about the room, as well as the maid of honor and her sister, who was visiting from Alaska. We joined the crowd, launched into the usual games, then watched as Amy opened kitchen appliance after kitchen appliance. I don't know about the bride, but I was disappointed. Isn't it common practice for the bridal shower to focus on gifts for the bride, not necessarily the couple? I was under the assumption that pots and pans were to be reserved for wedding gifts. My own gift to Amy, a gift certificate for a day of pampering at a spa, stood out like the proverbial sore thumb, but she seemed quite pleased with it. As of today, there remains one month until the wedding. This time will fly past for her and her fiance, if memory serves and if all things are equal. I can hardly wait to see her walk down that nave.

As for the rest of the weekend, we spent it relaxing with my family. Eric, the old war-gamer that he is, was thrilled to notice just how close we were to the battlefield of Antietam, so we went out and took the tour, crossing the old Burnside Bridge and examining maps of troop movements. We took a picnic dinner to a state park. We played around with my parents' new computer, showing them (gasp!) how to remove icons from the desktop and how to create bookmarks in their web browser. Being that we were gone from Thursday evening through Tuesday evening, we were forced to take the guinea pigs with us. They were thoroughly traumatized by the car travel, but seemed to enjoy their romps through the hotel rooms, which we permitted them each evening. New corners in which to hide provided them with more stimulus than they knew how to handle, I think. Now, of course, they're happy to be back home in their huge hutch. I'm glad to be home, too. We may not have continental breakfasts, maid service, or inground pools, but it's nice and quiet. Joy derived from stimulus can't compete with joy derived from peace, when all's said and done. Of course, that's my story tonight. Check back with me by this weekend to see how long this will last... Get notified! Comments?
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