Nom de Plume

“Don’t try to cut a frozen salmon in half with your circular saw. The ensuing pink dust is gross.”

Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday. And here I am at the ranch. Actually, I’ve been here for a week–came down because Millie has lung cancer. We went down to Escondido for her chemo last week–50 miles each way–to find out that her white blood cell count was too low, and back up the hill we came.

Actually, this sort of thing has characterized this trip. I have been fighting off a cold for the past month and a half, and the day before I came here, it finally settled in to stay with a wheeze and a hack–and that’s all I’ve been doing. The other thing is that all the various projects I have somehow converged into this past week, and I’ve been working insane hours. Which hasn’t helped the being sick part.

But enough woe! Millie, despite it all, SEEMS well. She certainly looks great. I went to the doctor here day before yesterday and got drugs–and I’m starting to feel better. It’s been raining, for which everyone in Southern California is always grateful. And of course it’s Thanksgiving! The turkey is in the oven, all sorts of family is coming over, and my mother is in the kitchen doing something with sweet potatoes.

“So,” my mother said with a goofy grin on her face when she learned I was pregnant, “are you and Steve finally going to get married?”

“Probably not,” I said, blithely dashing her hopes to the ground. “There’s really no point.”

She was silent for a moment and then started trotting out various arguments about why we should, most notably that it’s a social contract that people recognize and it’s a good thing to make one’s relationship in the eyes of the world.

I’m not convinced. I mean, growing up as I did with divorced parents and friends with divorced parents, the institution doesn’t really mean all that much. What’s the divorce rate these days? I think that the fact that S and I have been together for seven years means more than a piece of paper.
The fact that we decided to procreatesays a heck of lot more than a trip to City Hall. And when push comes to shove, I don’t think the world gives a darn whether we’re married or not either.

But of course, we’ve talked about it. Should we? Shouldn’t we? Steve says he doesn’t care one way or the other. “Whatever you think best,” he says.

As far as I can tell, there’s not much reason to do it. I have my own health insurance policy. If Steve’s name is on the birth certificate, he’s legally recognized as the father. It doesn’t make one whit of difference tax-wise. There is inheritence and medical next-of-kin stuff, but that can be sorted out easily with wills and powers of attorney. Really, it seems like most of the benefits that marriage confers are the legal protections conferred when one ceases to be married. Which just makes it all seem like a farce.

The other night when I was walking the dog, I listened to a podcast about how the rates of children being born out of wedlock (and if you wonder why I object to marriage, just look at that word) are growing and it’s a problem. Do a google search and you’ll find the same thing. But these are all women with little education, few skills, and virtually no means of economic independence. What about people like us–middle-class equal earners who have just decided not to get shackled? There’s virtually no information about couples like us out there–or at least information I can find. Anyone? Know anything? Just to satisfy my curiosity ….

It’s early days yet–I’m only about 8 weeks pregnant, but I’m not very good about not telling anyone, so why not just tell the world? (Helloooo …..) I never thought I wanted kids, but back in April had a chemical pregnancy–and then we decided why not? From then to now, I’ve been ambivalent about it, but now that it’s real, I’m happy about it. Steve, in his quiet, undemonstrative way, is over the moon. (To wit: I called him at work to tell him; that night he walked in the door and when Harry ran up to him, cackled, “Mommy’s getting a doggy replacement, Harry–you’re out on your own now!”)

It’s funny because I can’t say that my biological clock ever started really ticking. Steve and I have talked about having a kid, and the best reason we could come up with for having one was that we might regret not having one. Which didn’t seem like a very good reason. Then all of a sudden, it seemed like as good a reason as any. And the fact is, I’ll be 35 this year so it’s not like there’s this huge amount of time left. (Well, I guess you could argue that if you wanted.)

So here we are.