Cinderella

We picked up a bunch of VHS tapes of Disney movies at garage sales lately. What a score! It seems that we're the only family left in West Seattle with a VCR, but hey, that works for me. I love that I can pop in "Babe" or "The Lion King" or "Mary Poppins" at a moment's notice and have my daughter transfixed for a few golden moments while I do something like, say, go eat some Lorna Doone cookies.

That damned Lorna Doone! She's always in my thoughts lately, with her buttery shortbread goodness and instant hit of comfort to my stoic Scottish soul. If I don't slow down with her I may well exceed my 2-8 pounds' allotted weight gain in the first trimester which, honestly, I do not need to do this time around. Dammit! She's the best thing going since the Girl Scouts went away with their Trefoils last spring, though. Maybe I've accidentally discovered that hydrogenated cottonseed oil is the cure for nausea.

And Disney movies for me are a good way to make those big fat pregnancy tears fall down my cookie crumb-dusted cheeks. Good Lord - the opening sequence of "Lion King" never fails to leave me bawling. All that stuff about the zebras and the elephants (oh God, the elephants - one look at an elephant, especially a Disney-animated one, and I am a mess) and the circle of life makes me just whimper with joy and angst for the plight of those fictional animals.

This morning we watched a little bit of "Cinderella." The angry feminist in me was dreading the moment my daughter laid eyes on this film, the ruin of all girls' ideas about success and happiness in life, right? But oh, what a story! The ultimate makeover movie, really - Cinderella and that fairy godmother of hers sure showed those bitchy stepsisters who was really hot. And oh yeah - she gets the prince, too. I think there is some good to this story, if you really watch the movie again. There is nothing wrong with really, really wanting to go to a super-fun party at the big castle and looking awesome. And it's not as if Cinderella is some total dunce in the meantime. She does talk to the animals, after all (you don't just learn that overnight!), and she's taught herself how to sing very well and seems to have very good manners and a positive outlook in spite of her circumstances. She deserves to have a great time once in a while, I think. So she is the prettiest one at the ball - someone has to be! Are we always going to hate that girl, or are we going to applaud her for getting her whole package together quite well? I say congrats, Cindy! You're a gem!

This brings me to my own love life. Or my married love life. I believe that, ultimately, I have been very lucky in love. This is why it is also difficult for me to be so cynical about love stories. I dated a lot of guys before I met my husband. I was "trying on" lots of different styles of guys. Wait - that doesn't sound right. I was trying out different personas, perhaps, through the guys I dated. Which I'm not sure says a lot about my aspirations for myself in my early twenties. I dated mostly cooks and musicians (bassists), though there were one or two trust fund babies thrown in there so I could get some cool jewelry and nice dinners out. Let's be honest. I dated a black guy who was way into Steely Dan - very strange. The last guy I dated was an ex-Marine who had a rockin' bod and was a yummy mixture of Portugese, Japanese, and Puerto Rican, but was also, as it turned out, a great big homophobe. So that was it for him - yuck.

And then I met the one. I will spare you the details (people really should more often about these sorts of things, I think), but the bottom line is that we clicked. Just like I had always heard it was supposed to happen. I started talking to him, and he was talking, too, and we were listening intently to one another and we didn't want the conversation to end. We must have had about fifteen cups of coffee between us on that day, and he kept getting up to pee about every five minutes. He wore a silly trucker's cap on top of his head and his jeans sagging down his bottom and he was somewhat tattooed (enough that my dad, who answered the door, kept looking at me sideways and swallowing like he was either going to cry or crack up). He smoked the same cigarettes as I did and thought I was very interesting, and more importantly, he remembered what I said and thought about it and commented on it at a later time. It honestly was like I had always known him.

There were many hurdles to get over, not the least of which were law school in another city for me, the bar exam, and his penchant for late nights of role-playing video games with his geek-o friends. But we always came back to each other, because we always had to. For me it was like finding a long-lost close family member - you say, "Oh! This is the part of my heart that has been missing all along, even though I didn't know it was missing!" I love my husband with all of my heart. He is my heart. And the two babies we have made are my heart too. I never knew I could have so much love, and it only feels like there is more to come.

Next week my husband and I celebrate four years of marriage. I want you to know, love, that you're never getting rid of me. I have settled into this with you and it feels right as rain and you're it. You make me so happy and so sad and you make me just live my life to its fullest. Thank you for all of your gifts to me - I only hope I can share half as many with you. I love you!