This morning, I called the fertility clinic to make our appointment. The woman kindly asked whether September 29th would be all right, and I heard a small alarm clock begin to ring in the back of my head. I scanned my Day Runner; Eric's birthday is the next day, but I hadn't written anything else on my calendar. "It sounds fine," I said, "but if I have to cancel, I'll let you know."

I hung up the phone and began to flash over the conversations and thoughts of the previous days. Yesterday afternoon: I had told Eric he needed a haircut, and he said he might get one before his plant's next big testing date. Was the 29th the day of that test?

JournalCon? Nope, as eager as I am to get there, that's not until the next weekend. The Festival? Also fast approaching, but not until later that month.

Ugh, I haven't done my book or video ordering yet for this month, and the orders will have to be ready by the 29th. I won't be able to work on it at all this week, what with the giant move taking place all around me. Bad Carrie! (I wonder if anybody else at the library has forgotten to do any ordering this month?)

Oh, yeah, and there is that move to consider. Still, everything should be in place by the Monday; taking that Friday afternoon off shouldn't create any problems.

Anybody else's birthday that I could be forgetting? I thought.

Oh, yes. Now I remember!

I went out to take a look at the new building today. Perhaps massive work will be taking place there over the next few days, but as it stands, I don't think we'll be in any danger of falling in love with the temporary building. There is a line of small floor-to-ceiling pipes running the length of the main library room, creating an atmosphere that screams "warehouse." Everything is so white and bright as to cause eyestrain. In the neighboring building, which we've turned into our office quarters, many rooms have no ceiling at all. Some of the walls are nothing but drywall. Plaster litters the floor, which is only carpeted in rough patches.

The other librarians oohed and aahed over the place, but the thought of moving in there in only a few days brings out the skeptic in me. I'll bring my own bottle of cleaning fluid, I believe.

(Pause to pull some Frog and Toad books for a rather rude woman who just called. Honestly, I can't stand these books; how is it that so many wonderful books of my childhood - Clifford Hick's "Alvin Fernald" books, for example - are mostly out of print, but Frog and Toad will live forever?)

We had to lay off our two "special needs" pages for the week. The one with Down Syndrome was told today, and she was most unhappy about it. I understood her displeasure, especially since she so very much wants to be treated just like any other adult staff member, but she simply would not have been able to handle the levels of mass confusion of the coming week. I've seen her reaction when somebody moves her carts from where she thinks they ought to be; it's going to be hard enough for her to grow accustomed to the new building without having to take part in the actual moving.

She and I have that in common, I suppose. It's only for a year...it's only for a year...

"You don't get it. It's not that I wasn't driven; it's that I was waiting. Ever since we started trying to conceive, I've been planning my life only as far as nine months in the future." He looked confused. "I've talked to other women, and it's the same for tons of us. We can't even buy new clothes, since we may be getting pregnant in the near future. I haven't wanted to get involved in any career moves that I might not be willing to drop should I become pregnant. Everything has been in stasis for me."

Eric was looking at me, dumbstruck. "I had no idea you were thinking that way!"

"This MLS decision is the first long-term move I've wanted to make in a long time, and it feels good." I sighed. "I'm tired of waiting. If I get pregnant, I get pregnant, and it'll be a wonderful surprise. Right now, I want to think about something else."

And with that, I went out and bought a new pair of jeans. They flare around my ankles and make me feel oddly, yet happily, hip.