This post is dedicated to my dear (Former) Future-Sister-in-Law… my most dedicated reader, truly my only reader, but dedicated nonetheless, so this one’s for you (F)FSIL!
Somehow I had thought that moving to the suburbs would equate to a quieter, slower style of life. How naive of me! It’s a constant to and fro, here and there, wake up and catch up. And, while I previously assumed life in the suburbs would mean I become a gas-guzzling, tv-watching, frozen-dinner-consuming American, I’ve found it’s in fact much easier here than in the city to jump on my bike and cycle to a cute restaurant for dinner. I can just glide out of my garage and travel a few blocks to our village’s downtown instead of hoisting my bike on my shoulder and navigating two flights of twisting stairs to the street. Not to mention, drivers in the suburbs seem substantially less inclined to offer the pleasant ultimatum of being flung into a curb or becomming one with the grill of a Landrover.
So, on Tuesday night, after a harried day at work for both Guyago and I, we did just that – cycled down to Salsa 17. Locked the bikes up (though, honestly, that’s sort of overdoing it out here) and enjoyed a hard-earned margarita while we split a salad and an enchilada. It was nice; it felt very urban; we felt like conscientious, community contributor citizens. And, thanks to the margarita, we were asleep by 9:30.
So, maybe this whole suburbia thing isn’t so bad. Maybe it’s even better than the city – at least in some ways. Maybe it’s time to take it to the next level. We bought a house. We got married. Maybe it’s time… to… Well, this morning, a nurse called me to tell me the results of my blood work. Last week, instead of cycling to a cute restaurant downtown we instead drove to a doctor’s office, where Guyago was perhaps the first-ever male to enter not only the waiting room of, but an exam room in, a doctor’s office called WomanCare.
In the waiting room, he picked the most uncomfortable seat available (choosing an old church pew set off to the side over one of many overstuffed chairs and love seats) and sat uncomfortably as he marveled at the real fireplace, the handwoven basket holding women’s magazines, the help-yourself coffee and tea station, and the handpainted “Live, Love, Laugh”-style decor surrounding us.
Later, in the exam room, he sat on a woven seagrass occasional chair while I noisily wriggled around on the paper that inevitably covers all exam tables. A nurse reviewed my files, which felt really odd. I mean, yes, I married him. Yes, we sleep and change clothes and brush our teeth next to each other. I even pee in front of him (come on, who doesn’t?). But, to have a nurse read the details of your health history in front of your lifemate is just weird. Nervously, I sat there fearing she would casually reveal some horrible disease or ailment I had never had.
When it came time to take my blood, Gayago held my hand. I have to look in the other direction from the needle, and Guyago tried to distract me with questions about what we should eat for dinner and errands we’ll run that weekend. All I could think about was the five vials of blood that were being filled and, afterward as I held a cotton ball against the tiny pinprick, how those five vials that used to be part of me were now sitting across the room on a counter. How strange – that’s me over there. I never feel that way about my poop, but I felt it about my blood. After I mentioned that, the nurse gave me an apple juice. Hm. She must have thought I was getting lightheaded and didn’t want me to pass out in her exam room.
Later, a doctor came in and discussed everything we need to know about diet and alcohol consumption and calendars and tests and family histories and over and over again reassured me not to stress out because that will do more harm than good. But, I could read her mind and what I read was, “Oh, you’ll have plenty to stress about later!”
So, today, the nurse called me and told me I’m immune to chicken pox and the measles. I’m A+ and there are no markers for systic fibrosis, my RPR (?!), HIV, and STD results are negative, no hepatits and my thyroid is normal. She finished the call by saying, “Well, ok! The ball’s in your court now!”
So, now, you know… we bought a house in the burbs. We got married, We have respectable jobs. And now, hopefully, we’ll create some matter and change two to three. Just think, soon Elyago and Laurago may be having sisterly battles of who gets to held the baby next!
Aw…. 
Awww indeed! I can’t tell you how rewarding (on so many levels) it was for me to read this blog entry. At first I was glowing because the blog entry was written for *moi*. Then I had to laugh/smile as I read about your acceptance of suburbia life and also relieved that you could admit in a round about way that you love it. Then, I had to chuckle reading bout the new chapter in both you and Guyago’s married life and couldn’t be happier and excited for you guys (and I know that Bro is too as well as Elyago and Laurago even though they can’t verbally express that just yet). Can’t wait to see your little munchkin(s) wedged between their older cousins on the couch for fun, staged or not so staged photos. Hopefully I can break Laurago’s biting habit before then…I’ve got what, at least 9 months though, right???