CLEP In Relation To NaNo

know are stocking their cupboards with coffee, chocolate, and new pencils in preparation for NaNo (known to non-writers as November).  For those non-writers, NaNo is the time of year where writers—always a bit on the quirky side—go completely over the edge and attempt to write 50,000 words or a complete novel (whichever is longer) in thirty days.  Yes, I used to do this.  Yes, I won twice, and the last year, wrote over 100,000 words.  Then came Florida, a baby, Down syndrome, and Bad Stuff, and single mommyhood, and school and work…yeah.

Hard to believe that I wrote in one month more than I’ve written for the last three years.

Anyway, this time of year is a bit wistful now.  I still open all the NaNo updates which spatter my inbox, and I lurk the forums late at night when Hunter won’t sleep, and I watch everyone else get excited about words and writing and 30 days of crazy comradeship and I miss those days…

But I didn’t intend this post to be an melancholy reflection on the past, but a hopeful prediction for the future, and a giggle for today.  For the future, I’ve decided this year that I will do NaNo.  No, I’m not going to try to write a novel.  I’m not even going to set a word count goal.  What I am going to do is resolve to write something every.single.day for thirty days.  No excuses.  It doesn’t have to be fiction.  Most of it won’t be, I expect.  But it has to be creative writing of some sort, and it has to be every day.  And now I’ve committed it to blogosphere and I would love to be nagged at for the duration of the MonthOfCrazy.

And for the giggle…today I took my College Composition CLEP exam.  I was horribly underprepared due to the insanity that has been October, and I didn’t realize until last week that I had to write two essays, with only 30 minutes for each.  I had only one day to practice, and only time for two essays. 

The first one was a disaster.  I barely finished it in the time restraint, and it was full of grammar and spelling errors and confusing verbage of all sorts. I knew it wouldn’t even pass.

I sat down and had a quiet panic attack.  Then suddenly the 30 rang a bell.  This is just like NaNo!  As a quick insert here—everyone does NaNo in a different way, but my preferred method is to write out a very detailed outline, and then literally flesh out the outline.  So, that’s literally what I did today.  I NaNo-ed my way through my two essays.  And although I made two stupid mistakes in structure (forgot to indent the first one and forgot APA citing format on the second) I think overall the essays turned out very well. Perhaps it’s just the 4 hours of sleep I’m running on, but I think it’s absolutely hilarious and not a little bit plain and simple awesome that I NaNo-ed a test.

So in conclusion to this very jumbled post…to all those of you who are putting the finishing touches on your NaNo preparation, GO GET THOSE WORDS!  And please comment and let me know what your November plans are!

I'm Driving My Son Crazy

"Hi Mom!"

"Are you taking photos of me again?!"

"I hate it when you point that thing at me!"

"Fine. I just won't be cute. NOT. CUTE. AT. ALL."

"Maybe I can sneak off when she's not looking..."

"Nooo! No MORE PHOTOS!"

"Fine. I'm just going to sulk."

Baby's Got My Brain!

In which we discover the Awful Truth that pregnancy destroys your brain. Either that or the baby steals it. Supposedly the baby's brain mass doubles in between now and due date. Suspicious, that. I mean, come on. If you have two piles of gooey brain cells, and one of the piles is getting bigger and more productive, and the other pile shrinks, decays, and in other words, ATROPHIES, what does that lead you to think?

Not that I'm not happy to make the donation. Of course I want a brilliant baby. And after all, we only use a hundredth of our brain, so I have some to spare. I just hope some of that 99% of unused brain starts kicking in soon.

How do I know my brain is shriveled? There have been a few small clues, such as...

The day I spent forty minutes glaring at the unboiled teapot before realizing I'd forgotten to turn on the stove.

The day the timer went off for the oven and I blithely waltzed into the kitchen, shut off the TIMER and danced (er, waddled) away leaving the OVEN on.

The day (er, days) when I call T asking when he'll be home, only to hear the understandably irate reply "When you remember to come pick me up!"

The fact that I have a new fine on my library card EVERY time I visit the library.

The discovery of $50 dollars in the tube of the toilet paper. (don't ask ME why I put it there!)

...and on and on...

The sad part is, it's all starting to feel normal.

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I'm developing a whole new perspective on the Genesis verse about women and childbearing. Everyone assumes that refers to labor; however, I think it refers to pregnancy. And the sin being expiated for is pride. Pregnancy and dignity do not go together. What is dignified, for instance, about:

wearing adult diapers. (the Birth Center hands out free ones for after the birth)

waddling instead of walking.

spending more time in the bathroom than any other room.

bursting into tears in WalMart. For no reason.

pregnancy rashes that change your golden-brown tan to Purple Spotted Leopard Skin.

having as much stamina as a 90-year-old.

or, the Ultimate Humiliation: getting Stuck. This is when you accidentally sit or squat or bend over or lean and your body locks up, effectively freezing you in place. This can take various forms, but the most humiliating for you (and most amusing for passers-by) is the bent-over pose. You drop something in the middle of an open space. You look around and realize there are no handy handholds for you to lower yourself gradually floorwards. You take a deep breath and bennnnddddd dooooowwwwwnnnn...

Oops. Stuck. And there you are, touching your toes with your fanny pointing skyward, unable to do a thing about it.

Vanity? Pride? Dignity? Ummmhmm.

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Sarcasm aside, life at 35 weeks pregnant actually isn't bad. In fact, I was at the beach recently, huffing and puffing my way out of the water after a good tussle with some 5-foot waves, when a passerby stopped to chat and inquired if I was "miserable yet."

That opened my eyes. Sure, I'm uncomfortable. Yes, I'm tired, emotional, and itchy. But I'm also happy, excited, and looking oh-so-forward to snuggling with my little rib-kicker. This whole process of pregnancy and birth is a miracle. It's like being present on the Day of Creation. It's given me a whole new outlook on life. I hope it's made me a better and more appreciative person: I certainly appreciate the work my parents put in more.

So have I been or will I be miserable? Nope!

The Karate Kid

So I’ve been feeling the baby move for about a month and a half now. The moves have gone from the sensation best described as a “fishtail without the fin” to fullblown kicks and punches. This baby knows karate! Sometimes it feels like Neo and Mr. Smith are having a little practice bout in between my bladder and my lungs. (Oh yeah, and the bladder punching bag thing Baby does at 2AM is just adorable. Not!)

The other movement I feel a lot is the Squirm. This consists of Baby jamming hands or feet (depending on whether this is a headstand or not) against my spine and pushing. Sometimes I think Baby is seriously going to pop right out my abdomen! The cool part about this, though, is that I can often discern body parts. Feet feel different from hands. The spine has little bumps the size of peas. And what a bony little behind!

In ancient times people believed the first movements (“quickening”) signaled the advent of the baby’s soul. While I believe the baby has a soul from the moment of conception, I understand now why that belief was held. In one incredible day the baby goes from a strange bump inside you to a squiggling, moving, alive child. In one lifechanging moment you go from an ordinary woman to a Mother. It’s…well. It’s not very easy to put that into words.

(The writer in me likes the term “quickening” btw, because it literally means “coming to life”. The term “quick” was used interchangeably with “life” or “soul”. Hence the term “to cut someone to the quick.”)

The baby’s quickening has been a diamond in a sandbox indeed. After the first three months of not knowing from one day to the next if the baby was even alive – to get reassurance every day that baby is very much alive and kickin’ – that’s finding the Kohinoor in the sandbox!

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Oh yeah. Bad news. Apparently the Mom Syndrome (safety first at expense of fun), that awful disease I swore never to fall prey to, leaves no one untouched. I’ve gone from being a reckless daredevil to someone who actually pauses at the edge of the cliff and contemplates the risks. Now that is a disturbing development!