FF and FF

An interview with my wife, Mrs. Felicity Fenton. Tonight FF sits on her couch absorbing the wrath of today. Her belly is nearly 38 pregnant weeks swollen and her bosom is substantially larger than it's ever been. I like to refer to her these days as "jungle tits" or "lardo". Despite her physical hindrances, she appears awake and ready to engage.  FF- It's 6pm on the dot. I know you prefer to eat early. What are you planning on doing for dinner?

FF- I don't know. Lately I've been eating lots of chicken hot dogs. Nothing sounds absolutely delicious. Nothing aside from chocolate cake and ice cream, but I can't eat cake every day can I?

FF- Well you could. 

FF- Yes, I could. You're right. 

FF- As I usually am. 

FF- If you say so. 

FF- Are you planning on having anyone over for din din?

FF- No. I have little desire to socialize these days. There's not a lot to say. My brain and body are being consumed by the child inside of me. I like the quiet right now. 

FF- Yes, I understand. I'm going through the same thing. 

FF- I see that. 

FF- Do you have any regrets getting yourself into this state?

FF- Absolutely not. I'm enjoying the process. It's been tedious and fretful at times, but I'm fucking excited to meet this child of mine. 

FF- What is it about having a child that excites you the most? 

FF- I think kids are the most creative people on earth. They say what they want and have no filters. Though I've tried to keep my own kid-like qualities in tact, things like work and routine tend to suck the life out of me - and that's yuckems. I think having a child can stir the pot a bit. She'll add sparkle and spice to the mundane. And lots of poop. 

FF- Once the baby comes, do you think you'll still have time to do the things you like to do? Will you still get up early to move your body? Will you still write? Will you still make the things you enjoy making?

FF- It's part of who I am to do those things. They may come in slower increments at first, but that's fine. The brain needs time to ruminate, and pauses and slowness are good for that. I don't see the baby as an obstacle; I see her as inspiration. 

FF- And you can always get a kangaroo pouch to pop her into. 

FF- That too. 

FF- What about labor. What are your thoughts on giving birth? Are you afraid?

FF- I haven't had a lot of exposure to fearful mothers with horrific birth stories who have frightened me into thinking I'm going to explode during labor. I think most of the fear about giving birth comes from stories that are passed around, a truly corrupt medical system, and manipulative media. Women are built to give birth. It's been happening as long as human mammals have been around. Also, I once had a really good Russian OBGYN who told me I would pop babies out with no problem at all. He said something along the lines of "small tree, big fruits." Whatever it was, it was reassuring. I trust my vagina. 

rehearsal

I just finished up the first (and only) rehearsal with three lovely backup singers and two sparkly filmmakers for next week's rendition of Back-Up. For three strangers from craigslist who had never sung together before, their voices sounded superb. I even got a few goosebumps on my forearms. Nothing like backup singers to get me amped up to do something as mundane as cleaning out the fridge. Now I have to go and track down some red aprons, yellow rubber gloves and platinum wigs. 

YOu are loved

It's been a rush to make a nest for Beckett. I suppose I should have begun this process earlier, but was too unmotivated and confused about my role in such a thing to do so. What does a baby want in a space anyway? I imagine something cozy and dark. Something that replicates the womb. Something smooshy and warm. A place that has a cacophonous heartbeat and muffled talk talk springing from floorboards.  But goods designed for babies are far from womblike. Freakish stuffed penguins, bright pink pajamas with alligator feet, alien looking chew toys. Babies spring from the womb into a carnival of psychedelic consumerism. This is something I have mostly tried to avoid, but in experiencing nostalgia for my own childhood and the things my mother and father made for me - by hand (I recall a playroom with a blue and yellow truck bed and slide, a woodcut wall hanging of spiderman, hand sewn clothes with shiny buttons and frills, and dolls begging me to hug them with their splayed arms) Beckett's room echos a bit of what was passed down to me, most of which looks nothing like my innards.

I attempted (and sort of succeeded) making a rudimentary mobile out of sticks and felt balls, the mister and I made a painting that she can ogle from her crib, and here's a print I designed for another spot on the wall summing up precisely how I feel about her these days.