GEDs and LBJ Sighting

Nick has decided to do some volunteer work.

You know, for people like Nick, for people who already work in faith-based ministry, people who spend at least 8 hours of everyday working for the betterment of someone's spiritual enlightenment, doing volunteer work may fill a void to actually DO something for other people.
[in case you missed it, there is a heavy dose of sarcasm in opening paragraph]

So, Nick is volunteering for a catholic center helping folks earn their GED. He decides to do this on his day off.

The other day, I could have sworn there was a brief sighting of a golden halo rounding his head. I blinked and it disappeared. Oh, my generous life partner...when will you do something, I don't know, selfish? Like, go buy yourself something. Oh wait, he hates to shop. Maybe go buy a steak dinner. Oh wait, he prefers to eat at home. Perhaps get yourself tickets to a huge sporting event. Mhm...now there's a possibility.

Bottom line is, Isaiah is taking more and more energy out of me and there are days when I feel like lying on a couch and staying hydrated is enough work for me. Next to Nick, these days, I am feeling grossly unproductive.

And when I wail and cry that I am not participating in helping humanity achieve a greater sense of authenticity, Nick will put his arm around me and remind me, "Remember, you're doing the most important part for us - making sure Isaiah is good and growing."

Ah, yes, our son.

And I straighten my shoulders and quickly feel better. YES, I am pregnant and have Big Foot Borchers practicing karate kicks and swim flips inside me.

So, while Nick is off educating the world into better human thinkers, I am working full time and counting the weeks left of my second trimester. It's gone so fast!

In other news, last night, Nick, myself, Books, and his girlfriend Janet scored major seats at the Akron premiere of "More Than a Game," the documentary about the friendship and legacy of the basketball team at Akron's St. Vincent/St. Mary that Lebron James was a part of. Nick and I had front row seats, which was a little close for the movie, but came up HUGE after the movie when we were about 9 feet from Lebron and his teammates featured in the documentary. It was awesome! I stared at big LBJ for 25 minutes, barely believing I was so close to the Cavs King.

The documentary comes out in October and right now is on a tour throughout the world. One of our friends is a big wig for all movie features that come through NE Ohio. When Will Smith comes to town, we get a phone call. A documentary where LBJ will be at? We get front row seats. Pretty sweet deal.

Yeah, we're important.

Week 20

I'm officially at the halfway point of my pregnancy.

After yesterday, and finding out the news that "it" is now a "him," or (preferably) now Isaiah, I feel a certain solidness about life. Not that Nick and I haven't been fully aware of the baby before, but, as I predicted it would for us, knowing the baby's sex has personalized this whole mind-blowing experience for us.

It's also lit something fierce under Nick.

Nick had yesterday off from work. I took the morning off but went in to work in the afternoon and when I came home, the house was gleaming from the inside out. Nick had been working his tail off reorganizing closets, making space in cluttered areas, cleaning, doing laundry, folding and stacking bedware and towels. Any miscellaneous items (usually things like my jewelry, my camera equipment, my chicken scratches on post it notes about appointments and meetings and random ideas) were all placed in a pile in my closet.

"I just feel better when the house is clean," he says.

Not that we live in a pigsty, but our home is fairly tidy. Nick likes tidy. I like disinfectant. It's a good combo.

But I wasn't sure if he said "I just feel better when the house is clean" or "I just feel better when the house GLEAMS."

Because everything is ridiculously tidy and everytime I look at my loving spouse, he's sweating from moving something or bending over into a closet trying to clear out anything that can be thrown away.

Is that Nesting syndrome supposed to happen to the mother? Or is it the father?

I think he's ready to be a Dad...whereas I am just feeling more and more pregnancy-tired with each passing week. My right leg is starting to cramp and my appetite is back on some form of mysterious fluctuation. Monday - Thursday afternoon, I could barely eat a whole meal without feeling like I needed to manually rolled into the living room. I ate three nuggets of cantelope and a glass of milk and feel like I ate a Thanksgiving dinner. Today, I've eaten more than the entire week combined and now I feel like I could do some serious damage at Old Country Buffet.

Week 20 is the halfway point, and not that we ever were thinking of "turning back," it truly is the point of no return. Emotionally, we are just so flipping excited for this kid, we're borderline obnoxious. I can't believe we still have friends sometimes. How can they stand us when we're talking and giddy all the time, thinking about our future like it's a philosophical puzzle to figure out, talking about parenting techniques, thinking about our own childhood - what worked, what we think our parents did right...etc, etc. In sum, we are SATURATED IN THE GLOW OF IMPENDING PARENTHOOD AND WE LOVE IT AND DON'T CARE WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK OF US AND OUR OBNOXIOUSLY HAPPY AND GLORIOUS STATE.

You KNOW things are seriously different when father of Big Foot himself says to me yesterday, "What do you think of this? It came in the mail." Nick hands me a turquoise and delicately decorated piece of paper with suggestions of things to buy before the baby's arrival.

Like an up-scale shopping list. In cute fonts.

Nick puts in on my dresser, "I think this might be a good guide of things we'll need to buy, don't you think?"

I just nodded wordlessly, my eyes big and unblinking as I watch him. In my brain, I hear the strains of the Twilight Zone.

Anytime the love of my life, the man who gets a headache from walking into a department store, suggests using a shopping list and actually looks excited about its futility is testament to the transformative power of Baby Isaiah.

Isaiah Factora Borchers

8:45am
"This is the brain."

"Here's the spine."

"Right here is a hand."

"Your baby's face profile..."

Then the ultrasound techie asked, "Do you want to know the baby's sex?"

YES.

"You are having a boy! Definitely, for sure. Right here, [points] that's a boy part."

For the next 10 minutes or so, we get all happy and mushy and watched different angles of our son.

After some quiet time the nurse exclaims, "This baby's got HUGE feet!"

I couldn't believe what she said, "What?!"

She points again, "See this? This foot is the same length AS THE BABY'S THIGH!"

I start giggling. Uncontrollably.

The nurse asks, "So who's responsible for this baby's big feet?"

I reply over Nick's laughter, "Definitely the father."

Nick's astronaut white shoes, size 13, seem to be glowing in the dark.

The nurse smiles, "If this kid had an Indian name it would be 'the baby with huge feet.'"

Nick and I are just laughing our butts off as she shows us a close up of Isaiah's foot.

We finish up and I'm wiping my tears of joy and giggling over this kid's feet.

The nurse places a towel over my belly and says, "We're done here. You've got a boy on the way. With huge feet." She glances down at my feet in flip flops and makes one last comment, "Yeah, for sure. This baby definitely did not inherit your feet."

Conversation This Morning

Nick: Can you believe that TOMORROW we'll know if we're having a boy or girl?

Me: Truly, it's unreal.

Nick: (staring at the ceiling in thought) Oh! I thought of something else that we might want to buy.

Me: In addition to the gazillion things - like a crib, stroller, rocker, bottles, diapers...

Nick: (turns to me with big, convincing eyes) No, I'm serious. I think we should probably buy one of those baby holder things.

Me: The one where the kid is strapped on to the parent, like in the front?

Nick: Yeah! Do you think we should get one of those?

Me: (quietly thinking) I don't know. Do you want the front one or the back one?

Nick: (surprised) There's more than one?

Me: Yes...I've seen the front one, where the kid is just dangling there and there's the one on the back, kinda like a backpack. I've seen more men with the backpack version. It kinda looks like hiking gear, except for equipment, there's a baby back there. I think men use it when running errands, like to the post office or something so their hands are free.

Nick: (perpetually skeptical) I don't know about that back one. Do you think it's safe?

Me: Probably about as safe as having your baby dangling in front of you without actually holding on it.

Nick: I just like the idea of always SEEING the baby. Like, what if I'm carrying the baby on my back and all of a sudden I think, 'mhm, it's kinda light back there,' and then I check and the baby is gone? Or I reach behind me for something and then find someone trying to take the baby off my back?!

Me: (decidedly)The front carrier it is.

Summer Storm

The breath of God swept this tree to fall east - toward the street - and not southeast, which would have been straight into our beloved home.

Yesterday, around 3-4pm, an unusually fierce storm swept through some parts of Cleveland. Working on the west side of Cleveland, I saw claps of lightning and bowling ball sounds of thunder, but I never thought it was categorized under "severe."

Driving home, I turn into our neighborhood and anxiously drive through the debris. Streets are undriveable with power lines and poles demolished by our signature Shaker Heights trees. Tall and shady, the tree lined streets look like a tornado swept through and not far, the local highschool is scattered with flattened cars and smashed houses.

I turn onto my own street and see a pool of people standing out front. I get even more anxious that I don't see Nick and neighbors I recognize are the ones I know, so I quickly surmise that something happened in our immediate area.

My mouth drops open as I see one of the largest trees on our block laying flat down on the lawn next to our house (ours is the brown brick, tudor style one). A HUGE tree, one that I've admired for the past year, was uprooted and mercifully hit only the earth, taking with it nothing but another strip of a nearby, smaller tree.

The neighbors were out, trying to saw the branches that were blocking the street. I turn into the driveway and quickly hurry into the house to see if Nick is home, alright, and if our house has any damage.

Miracle, miracle, miracle. This tree, that stood about 15 feet from our soon to be nursery decided to die, but without causing any direct damage to any humans or houses.

So, we spent the early evening marveling at the storm's remnants, talking with our neighbors, helping more ravished properties clean up, and thanking our lucky stars it did not plummet into our house or into anyone causing harm.

August, I Love You

This week has been normal.

I love writing that sentence.

Sometimes the routine of life can help one relax, breathe easy, and appreciate the itty bitty grains of awesomeness in August. Like how AMAZING the weather has been, holding steady at 70ish degrees this week with pure sunshine.

Lately, I've been thinking about what kind of weather announcer I would be. Channel 5 news would definitely have higher ratings because all I would do is squeal and yell YES YES YES when there's a beautiful day on the horizon. I don't know much about jetstream or northeast winds pushing whatever into whereever region. But I DO know how to be excited for cool August weather.

I'd also announce the weather wearing sunglasses.

This week has had a little rumbling of busy-ness throughout it. One of Nick's coworkers is moving and so we, along with our pals, are planning a goodbye party for her this evening. Tomorrow, Kelly and Tim Norris will be hiking it up to Cleveland for a wedding so we'll get to chill with them for a few hours before their wedding. Then tomorrow evening we have a BBQ to attend. Sunday, both Nick and I are helping chaperone/drive/be with a bunch of highschool cats who are spending the day at Cedar Point. Now, other than the ferris wheel, there isn't much for me to ride at the greatest amusement park on earth. But, that fact does no stop me from going where I will have access to funnel cakes and elephant ears.

So, we're back in the groove of our lives and as Nick often says, "I'm just excited, you know, for life!"

Yank the Umbilical Cord When You Need Something

This weekend, Nick and I travled to Cincinnati for a wedding that I was shooting. Thanks to Julie Ryan, who referred me to a friend and co-worker, I was hired to work with a terrific couple for their August 1 wedding.

Now, I've shot weddings before and am co-shooting another one with a friend in a couple weeks, but this was one in which I had total responsibility from beginning to end with no back-up photographer, just moi. And Nick, who was my assistant.

The day was awesome but physically exhausting. I knew it was going to be a lot. I'm 4 months pregnant and not the same BOUNCY self as I normally am when unpregnant. But, I have lots of energy to give, still, and this wedding took all of it and then some. Basically from 10am - 10pm, I was shooting, directing, posing people, adjusting, crouching, and sweating like the world was my personal sauna. As I write this, Monday morning, my shoulders are still very sore and I can barely move my arms in a full circle with a small grimace. If you'd like a good shoulder/bicep/tricep workout, I'd suggest holding a DSL camera with an attached full lens and SB600 Nikon flash up to your face and running for 12 hours. See how awesome you feel. Let me know.

Overall, everything was great and only when I was going through one stressful moment did I feel any real sense of panic when my camera wasn't cooperating with me. Usually an even-tempered digital gadget, my camera decided to have a temper tantrum for four minutes. My blood pressure sky rocketed to the blazing sun until I felt the little life inside me churning in the amniotic fluid, yanking on the umbilical cord for dear life and screaming, "MOM! BREATHE! I NEED OXYGEN!" And so, like the loving mother I am, I took a breath.

Nick as assistant and father to be could not have been more perfect. He chauffered me around from house, to church, to Eden Park, to reception with a car blasting air conditioning, cold water for me to drink waiting, and food so I didn't pass out. He held groomsmen jackets, carried bridesmaid bouquets when the pictures didn't call for flowers, and joked with the bridal party to relax everyone for the poses.

Nick carried my equipment, propped the church doors when no one in the recieving line did so the line flowed faster, spoke with the priests about the mass and regulations around flash photography, and took away my tripod when I was done with it.

More than one person asked, "Who is that cute guy with you? He's not a guest is he? I don't recognize him. IS HE YOUR HUSBAND?! HE'S SO CUTE."

When someone compliments the good-looks of your spouse, it's hard not to smile inside and shrug as if to say, "well, of course..."

But I just nod and say something along the lines of, "Yes, we're married and yes, he is handsome."

As with many challenges, I couldn't have done it without Nick's unyielding support, sound advice, and unwavering belief in my artistic perspective. To create art, to see something beyond what most people see, you have to believe in your own capacity to create something amazing. To do that, you have to relax. Nick does an unparalleled job of relaxing me, helping me remember why I decided to pursue this passion of mine, and believe in me.

Gracias, mi amor.

We left the reception at 10pm and headed to wish my friend Mary Kay a Happy 30th Birthday. We could only stay a brief 30 minutes or so because we were off to Cleveland from there. Still kind of wired from the day, we rode in silence back up north and I soon drifted off into an uncomfortable sleep in the passenger seat. Dreamy scenes floated across my brain of backdrops, family portraits, tuxes, dresses, and flowers. At 3am, we arrived home and I could barely make it into the house. My body hated me. The baby, I knew, hated me.

Nick, juiced up from caffeine, opened the windows and rolled the bed down for me where I collapsed. My muscles decided to stiffen up and not work and I laid in bed wondering how I could be so fatigued and unable to return sleep.

My poor abused spouse descended from his iced coffee high and fell into a deep sleep while I realized at 5am that I was not able to sleep. My stomach growled. The baby growled.

I tiptoed to the kitchen and stared at the dismal display of food options in our regridgerador. We'd been out of town for four weekends which means no serious grocery shopping had occurred in over month.

A toasted English muffin with cheese was my 5am breakfast snack. Once in my belly, I drifted off to sleep.

Sunday was a much needed day of being in Cleveland, seeing our house in the daylight hours of a weekend, and breathing in the rare Sunday morning air from our own bedroom, our own church, our own backyard. We quietly worked on landscaping, finding escape in the pruning of our trees, uprooting overgrown weeds, and catching up with our neighbors. It felt wonderful to be home.

Instead of restaurant food, fast food, or eating at someone else's dinner table, we made simple spaghetti for dinner and loved sinking into our own couches and watching rented movies while we sifted through mail and aired out the house.

I hate cliches. I hate cliches as much as I hate ignorance, snobby attitudes, and drivers who turn without using their turn signal, but I must use a cliche this one time and one time only:

truly

there's no place like home.