an open letter to baby x, or embrace immobility

dear baby x,

it's hard to believe you're six months old now! i want you to know that your father and i are excited and happy about your progress. it's thrilling to watch you take in your surroundings, to begin to recognize people and places.

ahem.

i want to talk to you about something, though, something that's been bothering your father and me. lately, at night, when we check on you in your crib, we find you, um, not exactly as we left you. sometimes you're moved just a little to the left or right. sometimes, you're rotated 180 degrees and have flipped from your back to your belly.

now you're exhibiting this disturbing desire to move all the time during the day as well. today, for example, i put you down for a nap in your crib. i swaddled you, as insurance that you'd stay wrapped up tight on your back. when i checked on you 20 minutes later, this is what i found:


baby x, that's you there, with your swaddling cloth wrapped all around your legs. and also, you appear to be trying to break through the bars of the crib. you appear to be smiling.

your father and i are very happy about your progress, did i mention? but, let's consider taking things down a notch, huh? i'm beginning to miss the days when you stayed put, when your arms and legs hardly flailed at all, when you were super content to lay on your back watching the ceiling fan spin.

just something to think about.

love,
the baron

like sea turtles hatching on a beach...

when the baron was a senior in high school, she participated in academic decathlon. the details are extremely fuzzy to her now; she remembers that there were 10 areas of competition (um. duh. decathlon.), but of those 10 she remembers only the music (listen to and identify this piece of music!) and speech sections.

of the music section, she remembers nothing save this: one of the pieces was by Aram Khachaturian and she could only recognize that by the fact that it was, that year, being used for a pork commercial as well (pork! the other white meat!).

the speech, she was much better at. she crafted 5 minutes about moving on from high school to college, and the metaphor she used was sea turtles. she chose them because she liked sea turtles. they seemed sublime and content, floating out there. her speech began with baby sea turtles hatching on a beach, then moving unprotected into the ocean... like children moving on, unprotected, to college. clever, eh? (it's worth noting, maybe, that the baron lived at home all through college - college that her parents paid for; not altogether too treacherous.) when it came time to apply to college, she turned her baby sea turtle speech into, you guessed it, her application essay. she got a lot of mileage out of those sea turtles.

she still likes sea turtles. she's not the only one, and thank god for that.

open letter to baby x: integrity

dear baby x,

this week your father had an unfortunate experience with some men with whom he had been professionally friendly. the men and your father parted ways, initiated by the men, but the situation was badly handled: common decency wasn't afford your dad. it's a shame, because some of these men have children, and i worry about the message being sent to them. integrity and courage are important, in big ways, yes, but also in small ways: everyday, common acts of kindness. perhaps it was time for your father to say goodbye; new plans abound, and he's already moved on.

baby x, we hope many good things for you: success and happiness, health and wisdom acquired in youth. we also hope that you'll walk tall, and know from an early age that the hard thing and right thing are sometimes the same thing, and that there's no shame in struggling to reconcile that fact. the shame comes when we recognize that the hard thing and the right thing are the same, yet choose instead a path of least resistance. in short, we should be ashamed when we act the coward.

i want you to know that, in spite of the sober tone i've taken, not every situation will be a challenge. fortunately, oftentimes, the right thing and the easy thing are the same thing. these are moments that you should recognize, that we will help you recognize, so that you may be more prepared and comfortable to make the hard choices that will inevitably be presented to you.

your father spent a good part of his childhood, and a good part of his adulthood, with his fist in the air, so to speak, raised in defiance. i want you to know that he has never been averse to a challenge, even when the odds were very, very clearly stacked against him. i also want you to learn from his example, and to know that while things are often shades of grey, they are also often black and white: if your father and i do our job right, the best thing to do and the right thing to do will always be clear to you.

love,
the baron

barney doesn't live here

early in her pregnancy the baron and the husband decided that no "children's music" would darken their doorstep: no barney, no dora the explorer, no mickey mouse... you get the picture, reader, right? their only concession to baby x's age and need for soothing sounds are a series of cds called rockabye baby, which re-imagine popular songs as lullabies. they've got the beach boys, coldplay, u2, and the beatles, all retooled enough to keep baby x sleeping, but still highly and easily recognizable as music the baron and the husband actually like.

baby x and the baron share their first nursing session of the day with the amelie soundtrack, scored by yann tiersen. (they used to start the day with simon and garfunkel, until one morning when the husband happened upon them listening to 'bridge over troubled water' and suggested it was kind of heavy for the baby). lately, before his bath time and dinner time, baby x is danced around the living room by his father to 'everyday people' by sly & the family stone. sometimes it's led zepplin, and once it was the cars... but no one wanted a repeat of ric ocasek. baby x's days are filled with a playlist the baron and the husband built for baby x, containing the likes of phoenix, the rolling stones, vampire weekend, rem, the killers, the beatles, u2, coldplay, and one song by cat stevens (you can guess which one, reader, can't you?).

their house will likely, eventually, see more conventional children's music, especially once baby x gets out and about into the world. until then, though, the baron and the husband are liking their chance to shape his musical tastes. fingers crossed that what they teach him now will stick.

the things she is grateful for

miss you, chester.

mourning glory

the baron, the husband, baby x, and the two big dogs have plans to travel to upstate new york later this week. the husband has made this trip many, many times; the baron just twice.

they'll be visiting the husband's members of nuclear and extended family, one of whom is very, very ill. this trip is will give baby x a too-brief opportunity to meet his kin, and the baron wishes the circumstances were better.

she's got no sense of humor about this; pithy is the best she can do.

summertime reading

'you have given me a country', by neela vaswani, was released earlier this month. neela is a friend of the baron's, a good writer, a good woman, just good. also, she's not afraid to speak a thoughtfully placed curse word, so.

the baron has yet to purchase 'you have given me a country', but will soon (it's on her list of things to do this weekend).

read an excerpt here, and a bit about neela here. then maybe add the buying of 'you have given me a country' to your weekend list of things to do as well.

incomprehensible, uh, ramblings

reader, the baron was recently wondering why she hasn't written in so long. she wondered this while scraping curdles of her own breast milk from under her fingernails and realized, oh, right.

from her last post, which she titled 'part 1', the baron sincerely intended to flush out a series of 'parts', describing her first few weeks and first few experiences of parenthood. that, sadly, will not come to pass... because of, you know, the scraping of curdled milk from under her fingernails. also, because of the profound lack of rest. also, because she lately has a hard time laying her hands, so to speak, on the right words:

the baron: the husband, will you hand me that... uh, that... uh... ...
the husband: [expectant look on his face] yes?
the baron: that, uh...
the husband: come on, honey, use your people words.

usually, the baron is scraping around for food processor, burp cloth, spoon, water - you know, reader, really rarefied words. NOT. to say her mental acuity has taken a significant hit is to state the obvious, but it has and duh.

most days she's carried along by the gentle motion of repetition: feed baby x, burp baby x, play with baby x, baby x naps, watch 'the west wing' (josh and donna, can't you just admit you love each other?), feed baby x, burp baby x, and so on until the evening when the husband comes home and the day's tenor changes. the baron looks forward to 6 pm, when the husband gets home; he's much needed company, and a much needed reminder that she's not in it alone. also, he's a dab hand at pouring her a glass of wine, so. that makes a difference.

after baby x's bath and bottle (of which he gets two or three a day, after his bath and overnight, if he wakes up, and one for breakfast), the baron and the husband prepare their dinner and have conversation while doing so. reader, it might be the baron's favorite part of the day: a real conversation where the husband tells of a world outside babies and curdled breast milk, where anecdotes don't begin and end with the contents of a dirty diaper. he always listens intently - or mostly intently - to her rantings about the day, even if her stories are pretty much the same. see: paragraph above. at this point the husband usually reminds the baron to take a shower, because reader, sometimes she needs some reminding. having gotten the curdles out from under her fingernails and having simply taken off the peed-on pants seems like 'clean enough' to her. sometimes she needs reminding.

they end their day together, on the sofa, with dinner and whatever television is on, or something from netflix if it's come. they're working their way through 'the wire': dinner and 'the wire' is a good night for the baron. they're usually in bed by 9:30, and the baron typically falls right to sleep, unless she doesn't. sometimes she stays up listening to the baby, unable to sleep though wanting to so very badly. some nights she stays up wondering how stringer bell can be so handsome and so evil at the same time, or worrying about the fates of omar little and bubbles.

anyway. about those other parts, she had originally intended to write a series of posts on a series of themes, but reader? let's just shorthand this one, ok?

part 2. the baron loves capri sun, or, breast feeding makes the baron very, very thirsty.

part 3. seventh generation was the best option, or the baron and the husband looked around for other, more viable and earth-friendly option than standard diapers but didn't come up with much. though it bothers the baron that baby x is starting his life with a big gaping soul debt to the planet (hello, earth, sorry about all those diapers...), she couldn't find a better option than this.

part 4. diaper rash is a real threat, or, make sure baby x is very, very dry before closing up that fresh diaper, because dude. some body parts should never be that color red, if you catch the baron's drift.

part 5. contrary to her own beliefs, the baron can function on just a few hours sleep. for days and days and days.

part 6. 'the new yorker' comes just once per week, 'good omens' is kind of hard to hold with one hand, but 'the lorax' never gets old, or, the baron reads to baby x. a lot. baby x has a number of those cardboard books, the ones that are good for babies to chew on, but reader? the baron spends hours and hours per day entertaining baby x and is only able to read 'five little monkeys' and the like so many times before wanting to claw her eyes out; early on, she decided that it couldn't actually hurt to read more sophisticated fare out loud to him. courtesy of 'the new yorker' and 'harpers', baby x will be able to speak to you at length about the war in afghanistan and the current state of the economy.

part 7. counting to ten doesn't actually work. having the husband repeat the refrain 'i love you. stay calm.' does, or, the baron is short tempered. the baby tests her limits on a daily basis. parenthood offers no shortage of opportunities to FAIL. the baron is just trying to have more good days than bad.

part 8. the baron hated being pregnant: the morning sickness, the weight gain, the sore breasts, the shrinking wardrobe. the baron loves being a mother; it makes the morning sickness, the weight gain, the sore breasts, and the shrinking wardrobe totally worth it. or, this baby? kind of amazing. he's recently figured out how to roll over, has begun babbling and cooing, can reach for toys, and is interested in the world around him. he's a delight and everyone who meets him comes away with a smile.

it's very early in the morning now, and the baron is thinking about going back to bed. even though baby x is sleeping nearly 10 hours nightly, the baron isn't: she gets up every night around 1am, no matter what, to pump and refrigerate breast milk. she thinks of this early morning ritual as the penance she must pay for, you know, pregnancy and stay home parenthood, but oh wait.

more later, maybe.

parenthood: 1. getting there

the baron's cesarean section incision (and her insides too) are very nearly healed.

six weeks and two days ago, the baron and the husband went to the baron's obstetrician for her 39th week checkup. the doctor checked the baron's overall health, then checked her cervix for dilation and came up with a whopping 1/2 centimeter. the baron, at one week from her due date, was one-half inch dilated, suggesting that the baron's body was saying 'hello? not quite ready for this. let's wait a bit longer. just a bit.' baby x, conversely, was pushing down on her cervix, hard, the in-utero version of, 'hello world? i am ready to come out.'

the doctor suggested that labor be induced, that very afternoon. to this, the husband said (and reader, the incredulity was heavy, heavy in his voice), 'wait. you mean, we go to the hospital today and we get a baby tomorrow?' to this, the doctor said, 'yes.'

that afternoon found the baron and the husband making for the hospital. traffic was kind to them, and they arrived at the hospital just on 4:30 pm. by 6 pm, the baron was hospital gowned and waiting on the on-call doctor to begin her inducement.

inducement: it comes in two parts sometimes, as it did for the baron. she received prostaglandin gel at 9 pm, intended to, uh, ripen her cervix (thus making dilation more likely). in theory, this sounded like a great idea. in reality, the insertion of the gel caused baby x's heartbeat to decrease. in a really frightening way, the kind of way that made four nurses and a doctor rush into the baron's room. they laid their hands on the baron, pushing and pulling her this way and that, trying to find a good position for baby x, one that would alleviate pressure on him. they put oxygen tubes into her nose. the medical people held their breath and watched and waited, a collective whole, and the baron and the husband did too.

baby x recovered. the baron and the husband passed the evening awake but pretending to sleep, or trying to. reader, it was a very, very long night.

the baron was meant to take a room in the labor and delivery unit the following morning at 11 am when she would receive the second drug - pitocin, to dilate her cervix.

however. no bed was available in labor and delivery at 11 am. or at noon. or at 1 pm.

in fact, no bed became available until after 5 pm, which meant that the baron did not receive her pitocin as scheduled. which means, reader, that the baron's cervix stayed locked up tight, hovering at right around 1 centimeter. but reader? the gel, the one meant to soften? that gel started her contractions, gently at first, then not very gently at all.

so not-very-gently-at-all, reader, that by 5 pm (when she as finally moved into labor and delivery), the baron began courting the friendly nurses, chatting them up about the odds of her receiving an epidural post-haste.

near 6 pm, the baron was connected to the pitocin drip. it didn't go well. baby x's heartbeat slowed again. and recovered, again.

at 6:15 pm, the baron was introduced to the anesthesiologist, a lovely man bearing a lovely gift. the epidural was administered, but it didn't go well. baby x's heartbeat slowed for a third time. and recovered.

at 6:30 pm, the on-call doctor - the man who would be delivering baby x - entered the baron's room and examined the baby's heart rate monitor print out. he seemed perturbed and was quiet, and the baron and the husband were too. too much quiet coming off a doctor makes a person nervous.

doctor: how invested are you in the idea of a vaginal delivery?

the baron: uh.

the husband: uh. can you talk us through the benefits of one over the other?

doctor: your baby's heart rate has dropped three times since you've been here. when he passes through the birth canal, because of the strength of the contractions, we'll expect his heart rate to drop again - that's natural - but for your baby, given these three incidents, i say why not just go with a c-section and remove the risk of his heart rate decreasing for a fourth time? also to consider, if we begin the vaginal delivery and his heart rate drops too precipitously, we may end up having to do an emergency c-section anyway.

the baron and the husband took the doctor's advice. it was 6:45 pm.

by 7 pm, the husband was being outfitted in too-large-for-him blue scrubs, and the baron was being shaved. she had long since shed her vanity.

by 7:15 pm the baron was being wheeled into an operating room.

at 7:20 pm, the husband was allowed to join her, taking a seat near her head. their view of the baron's nether region was blocked by a blue sheet.

at 7:25 pm, the baron - totally, totally devoid of feeling from the ribcage down - was being mined for baby x.

at 7:44 pm, baby x was born.

at 7:44 pm, the husband leaned over the baron's face and kissed her forehead. he whispered words into her ear, and the baron's insides swelled with emotion bordering on ecstasy. reader. the baron and the husband made a baby. he was born, scooped out, and with him came more love and light than words here can convey.

at 7:45 pm, one of the nurses charged with cleaning baby x gasped, 'oh my god, is that red hair?!'

by 10 pm, the baron, the husband, and baby x were back in the labor and delivery room, waiting for transport to the recovery floor.

below, how the baron and the husband kept themselves occupied during their 5 day stay.

it's been a long time, reader

reader, the baron is pregnant. still. she's about three and a half weeks out from her due date, though really? isn't that due date just a best guess? so at this point the baron is pretty much on tenterhooks trying to listen to her body's every tic and sigh. as in, 'hm. is that the baby kicking or the start of labor?' it's kind of distracting, actually.

her behavior - this constant self-monitoring on the lookout for labor - is not a recent development -she's pretty much been obsessively listening to her body for the past nine months... thus, she has no real, good excuse for her prolonged absence these last few months. where has she been? the answer to *that* question is, she's been nowhere. let's chalk the silence up to job stress and nesting distractions, how's that?

so.

three and a half weeks out. this home stretch is taking forever, in the baron's opinion! she's very much feeling her weight now, as well as every little shift the baby makes. she's tired all the time, and wanting to sleep all the time (these developments having come on in the last week or so)... but has a hard time sleeping for anything beyond three hours before having to pee again. and the pee? can still be measured in teaspoons. her blood pressure is elevated, and she's having nausea again, as well as wicked, wicked indigestion. though she knows it's best for everyone if he makes it as close to 40 weeks as possible, the baron is kind of ready to expel baby x post-haste. well, ready except for the lactation specialist she and the husband have yet to find. ready except for the pediatrician they have yet to interview. ready except for the hospital bag that languishes on the bedroom floor in anticipation of ALL THE THINGS YET TO PACK INTO IT.

so. mostly ready.

however, things aren't entirely bad for the baron. spring is very nearly upon her, and the last week was gorgeous beyond the telling of it. she and the husband had a baby shower, thrown for them by very good friends, and baby x is ready for his converse closeup. and that last photo? that's a cheesecake with apricot glaze and strawberries. baby x, see all the wonderful things waiting for you?

harlan in repose.


baby shower courtesy of gina, kathy, and kevin.

itty bitty converse courtesy of lady x.

cheesecake by the baron.

baby x, the future might be ok

exchange of the day

the husband: what is the going rate for an irish chinese greek french baby?

the baron: like to sell? depends on the hair color.

baron gets a bath

photo essay: a series of snow days II

photo essay: a series of snow days

30 week checkup, everything's just fine

the baron and the husband went for a sonogram earlier this week. sonogram checkups are always exciting for them because - unlike at the obstetrician's office, where they only hear baby x's heartbeat - they get to see the baby! it's true, neither one of them have mastered the art of reading the sonogram scans, but they can always pick out his breathing and his heartbeat. they pretty much take the word of the tech that oh, yes! that is clearly his foot! and yes, i can see his hand right there! still, it's pretty exciting.

the techs who administer the sonograms vary from appointment to appointment. on monday, the baron and the husband got a lovely woman who was only too eager to comment on every sonogram image she took of baby x. this, the baron mostly liked.

there was, though, one thing the baron didn't like:

tech: wow. that's a big baby. wow.
the baron: what?
tech: well, you're 30 weeks 3 days today, and he's the size of a baby at about 33 weeks 4 days.
the baron: what? is that ok?
tech: that's fine. looking back over your scans, he's been like this - large - the whole pregnancy.
the baron: better bigger than smaller, right?
tech: absolutely right. that's what the doctor would say too.
the husband: the doctors are obviously all men.

modern medicine is such that the tech, based on his measurements, was able to tell the baron and the husband that baby x is 4 lbs.

so.

there's 9 weeks left to go.

readers, keep your fingers crossed that baby x tops out around 7 or 8 lbs. the baron's vaginal canal thanks you in advance.

a wicked case of writer's block

the baron, as the post of this title suggests, is currently suffering from a wicked case of writer's block. this forum, where she's come often in the past year or two to lay her thoughts to paper (so to speak), isn't really working for her lately... mostly because she doesn't actually have any thoughts worth sharing! instead, over the past month, she's had a fragment here, something small and interesting there, but nothing worth sculpting into an entire series of sentences, a narrative.

sigh.

so.

reader? interested in some scrap thoughts?

----

the baron is tired of being pregnant. in the last 4 weeks, she's gained a frightening amount of weight, so much so that she fears what the next 10 weeks will bring. really, reader? how much bigger can this baby get? and, will the baron have to buy more (bigger) clothes for herself to accommodate him? yikes.

----

the nursery (which the baron has only just become accustomed to calling 'the nursery' rather than 'the office') is nearly done. everything a newborn baby needs is ready to go - clothes, diapers, a place to sleep, a place to be changed. sometimes, the baron gets a little sad, looking at this room, a newly painted space that seems to be holding its breath in anticipation. the baron knows she's holding her breath too.

----

hey, douchebag [name redacted] (says the baron), lay off my husband. sorry your guys can't swim at home OR at work, but really? do all small states yield small-minded people? grow up, hoser.

----

so. baby showers. what are they about? the baron always thought they were about bringing together all the good people in one's life, and mingling over cocktails. it turns out, though, they're really about getting presents (and, evidently, simulating baby excrement with candy bars). which is kind of sucky. because the baron didn't really want to ask all the good people in her life to buy things for the baby.

however, the buying of things seems a foregone conclusion, so the baron thought that she could give back by participating in the planning of the shower; alas, she was shouted down by a friend via this exchange:

the baron: well, can't i do the invitations?
friend: it's poor, poor etiquette.
the baron: what?
friend: i didn't really mean to double up on the poors
the baron: where is that written?
friend: it's just, you shouldn't participate too much in something that is asking for gifts because then it's like YOU are asking for gifts.

admittedly, this perspective had not occured to the baron and after this exchange, the baron felt very small. in her mind, by offering to help, she was taking pressure off the hostess! it seems, though, that to everyone else, her involvement might actually appear as a solicitation of presents on her own behalf. she felt very small indeed.

----

baby x is kicking, with regularity and surprising strength. he's not striking out with enough force to, say, break a rib, but he is able to push his arms and/or legs outward and into the baron's abdomen. it's very strange for her, to see a lump suddenly appear and pulsate just to the left of her belly button.

also, her belly button? she thinks it's going to pop out very soon. so. that's great.

----

is spring here yet? the baron was happy when she realized that her pregnancy would take her through the winter months (and not an awful, awful summer), but now she's realizing that - at this late stage of her pregnancy - none of her outerwear fits. and. it's. still. cold. outside.

----

the baron and the husband have lately discussed the difference between being a cynic and being a realist. the husband believes he is the latter, though the baron would have called him the former. the baron would call herself the latter, though frequently sees herself veering into the territory of the former... which, she admits, is ugly.

it seems to her that now, this time in her life, is not the time for cynicism, not when she and the husband are about to be responsible for an entire new person.

----

writer's block, the baron thinks, happens from time to time. she'll get over it, and reader? giving life to her half-thoughts is making her feel better already.

something quiet

a dynamic performer

a good long while ago the baron made mention of mr. c, the lovely librarian/composer/humanitarian who also happens to wield a mean dust rag.

in that same post, she also made mention of his boyfriend, a six-foot plus, opera-singing charmer of a man who now has his very own website. said website, designed by a super professional web-designer, is tricked out with all sorts of bells and whistles (video! audio! a link to his vlog!!!)... reader, meet chris jones.

in with the new

happy new year, reader. the baron can hardly believe it's 2010. it seems to her that only very recently was she worried about y2k viruses and the like, but alas: time, she passes.

the baron, as a university employee, enjoyed a pretty hefty chunk of time away from work, from a few days before christmas to a few days after new year's day. in the months running up to this break she had in her brain half-formed plans about what she'd do with the spare time. for instance, she thought she might make two more roman shades for the sun room, and finish a floral quilt begun sometime early last summer. she imagined, too, that she'd spend some time making baby-centric lists and rearranging the office into a nursery.

ahem. the best laid half-formed plans, eh?

in the days immediately before christmas, the baron baked and cooked and grocery shopped and raided the advent calendar. they were good days. christmas itself was a good day too - the baron and the husband slept in and had a lazy morning of pancakes and coffee (decaf for the baron).

the day after christmas was horrible. and the one after that. and the next one too.

on december 26, the baron lolled about in bed, ready to dive deeply into one of her christmas gifts (reader, the best thing the baron has read in a long, long time). the husband murmured something about packing up a few boxes of books or something like it. the baron, half listening, took this to mean, "the baron, i will be making slow progress in the office, taking my sweet time packing up our books - THE VESTIGES OF OUR FORMER, PRE-PREGNANCY LIVES - into boxes. this is a tragic and difficult process. sigh."

ahem.

the husband actually meant, "the baron, you stay here and read. i will ruthlessly pack away ALL of our books and dismantle the bookshelves to boot. don't worry; we won't need books where we're going."

ahem. that might be an overstatement, reader, but that is certainly how the baron felt when she stumbled out of bed three hours later to find the office in a shambles, books gone, bookcases dusty and waiting for transport to elsewhere. to use technical language, the baron, seeing the office laid waste in front of her, lost her shit. all over the place. see, she expected to find a few empty shelves, not a newly emptied room - it was jarring! the husband, excited about the baby and deep into the packing-things-away groove, saw nothing wrong with what he'd done. sigh. such is cohabitation, such is married life.

from there, the situation devolved into clipped barbs, to shouting, to pouting, and back again: where will the desk go? and the computer? why can't we get estimates for built in bookcases? just estimates! what seating would go into the baby's room? what color would it be? when sanding and painting, doesn't a drop cloth make sense so things don't, you know, filter into the basement? does everything have to be staged in the living room? why is there no room in the basement? why? why? why? reader, it was a lousy series of days. the mess, the rearranged furniture, the living in semi-squalor, the faint smell of paint lingering for days and days... really, really lousy.

see, it wasn't just the books being gone. it was also that the room needed to be painted. it was also that the husband's sister gifted to them a LITERAL metric ton of baby stuff; clothes and swaddling cloths and in-car bottle warmers and books and mobiles and five pairs of the tiniest shoes you've ever seen. it was also that the baron was - and remains - overwhelmed by these things.

but. the baron learned something, something she had known but momentarily forgot.

the baron is slow to take to change. she likes her change meted out in small doses.

the husband likes movement. movement, to him, is akin to progress.

so, while the baron was lamenting the slow death of their lives together - after all, the baron is a complicated woman who is capable of experiencing excitement about the baby coming while simultaneously experiencing sadness about the end of her family of two - the husband was delighting in the arrival of someone new.

she'll get there too, eventually, even though her steps? they are very, very small.