It's been a while - a couple years, in fact - since I last wrote anything here. The lapses in time between entries have not been without life-changing events.
I got married to my long-time partner in a national park, hours away from where we are living now. Our close friend went through the hasty process of being ordained so that he could officiate the ceremony. I was just in the first couple of months of my Ph.D. program, having already gone through a couple of meltdowns, as we tried to pack our things and prepare for the long drive on-site at the entrance of the park. I remember the dead silence, the red backdrop, and the warm September air wavering through the valley of the Arches as our friend unraveled his leatherbound book, looked at the both of us, and told us to start whenever we were ready. That was it? I wasn't prepared for it. Our hired photographers stood a distance away and I heard the occasional shutter of their cameras. Other than that, nothing else in the background. A few hikers smiled and walked past us, immediately understanding and mouthing us their wishes of congratulations. George and I unfolded our vows, each neatly typed out and written quite differently. I tried to keep it together as I read through everything. Our friend patiently waited as we struggled through tears to finish our words of promise. We held each other and did our best to look alright for the photos. I stood on an incline so I could see George a little closer, eye-to-eye. I'm pretty sure that I was sweating through my dress, with the bottom trim already dusted with the red dirt from the park. (I decided later to keep that part from being cleaned. It was a great memory for me.) We later finished our night in a surprisingly nic(er) hotel room than anticipated. I was gifted a tablet, which I will later use to create art pieces for our wedding reception in the following year and to read all my research publications as I study for my comprehensives. I remember dry heaving from exhaustion and dehydration - it had been a big day, after all. He walked over to the restaurant where we had reservations and pleaded with the staff to allow us to order to-go instead. They were surprised, but luckily accommodated, packing up what was far fancier food than expected. The kitchen staff apologized to him for not having plastic cutlery - after all, they weren't a takeout restaurant. We were okay with this. By the time George got back to the room, I was refreshed and feeling a lot better. We filled one of the biggest bowled garden tubs we have ever seen for a nice, warm bath after dinner. I don't remember what was on the TV, but it was on. The next day, we spent the afternoon paddling down the Colorado River with our friends, nearing exhaustion from the lack of progress one would make on a paddleboard compared to our friends' accompanying kayaks. We nibbled on snacks I brought from Trader Joe's and laid out to let the sun work its magic.
We finally celebrated our marriage at a wedding reception. That event in itself was altogether brilliant and traumatizing at the same time. They say you find out who your real friends are in major life events like weddings. We learned that lesson well. On the day of the reception, I woke up after a couple of hours of sleep. Looking like trash, I limited my conversation with George, who was busy dashing over to the nearest FedEx to get some things printed. A couple of our friends made their way over to our room, some bearing requested food to pick at as we all got ready. Ron was limping around from having hurt his ankle at a - get this - kid's trampoline park. Sal slinked in and out of the room with drinks after also coercing and forcing his way into the staff area to grab some silverware. The hotel we were staying at could have done better. I remember Lin steaming various pieces of clothing as Jorge sat at the dining table, either watching TV or eating some of the Porto's bites we ordered. Daniel sat alongside him, chatting with everyone as the clamor grew more chaotic over time. I wasn't feeling the most comfortable that day - maybe a little too tired, too stressed, and wishing that I had entirely delegated planning over to someone else. The hair and makeup people came. That was all I will say about that. We did photos with some key friends and family before heading over to the reception area. George and I never got to see most of the guests during cocktail hour, since it was set up on the deck by the water. We heard the muffled play of our playlist and some familiar voices booming through the walls of the venue. For a brief moment in time, we were able to get some photos and conversations in with our coordinator. This...was it? I was immediately regretting everything. Why couldn't we have done a small backyard get-together? This whole thing wasn't me. So many things could go wrong. I suspected that George felt the same way, as we both sat in the neighboring reception hall and tried our best to fit as much cocktail hour food into our stomachs without ruining our attires. Next to us were a few empty tables, each housing extra decor we had brought over for our coordinator to put up. It was weird seeing things that were ours being handled by other people. Someone must have herded our guests down to the reception area, as we heard the conversations grow louder and louder as everyone we knew and loved passed by the closed doors from where we were waiting. Our coordinator asked our guests to wave around their cloth napkins to welcome us in as part of a quick game to find the groom immediately after our entrance. Good call. When the doors opened and our entrance song blared, I nervously grabbed George's hand and told him to not go too quickly. My heels and lack of grace couldn't take it. He understood and we walked out into a sea of waving napkins. I saw everyone smiling at us and could barely believe my eyes. They showed up! They came out for us. It was beyond surreal. I finally understood the wave of emotions that couples experience at a time like this. I don't know if it was our lack of trust or esteems, but we both couldn't wrap our heads around the turnout and good energy in the air. That whole night was a blur, and with a little more alcohol consumed than we should have really taken in. I was grateful that my mother started handling the wedding gifts, that our coordinator was in the background overseeing the minor details, and that things just magically popped up when it was time to happen, all according to plan. I was happy that we had a great first dance. George couldn't keep it together. I don't know if it was the song or the overwhelming feelings with everything going on, but it meant a lot to see him expressing himself in that room in the middle of it all.
We tried for a baby and got pregnant. After some back and forth, we figured out a good window of time during my program that would work around raising a child. The plan was for George to defend, graduate, and start working in the industry as we prepared for a baby. In November of that year, only a couple of months after our reception, we started trying for a baby with very little hope and expectations for the outcome. We were both in our thirties, a bit older than the average starting parent, though lately our generation has either opted for later family planning or none at all. This made it easier for us as a couple. There was less pressure from our parents since his parents were already grandparents to five, and my mother was scarred by having children altogether and would never want to push that on us. Most in our social circle were childfree by choice, which lessened the frequency of unsolicited advice and comparisons between their experiences and ours. We didn't think it would happen. I told George it would be fine to try until January - giving us only a couple of months to seal the deal - before we stopped and swore off having children for good. It was already December, on the last day of my fall semester, as I laid out on the couch and scrolled through my phone before landing on a video on why we shouldn't have kids. I immediately popped up from the couch remembering that we were actively trying. I dusted off the last pregnancy test I had in my inventory, did my thing, and left it there on the counter for a few minutes. I wasn't expecting anything different than what I was used to seeing - a single pink line to reassure me that my life was always going to be the same. Pink parallel lines, clear as day. My heart began to pound and my brain began to process it. I let out a loud, "Oh god, oh god, oh god..." and woke George from his (always) deep slumber. I showed him the test and he looked at me in all my wide-eyed panic. "Well, are you okay with this? You're pro-choice...so you can let me know what you're feeling." My demeanor changed once again. "I KNOW!" I barked at him. "But we're trying and if we weren't sure, we wouldn't have been trying." He held his hands up and said he knew, he knew. He was only responding to my frantic reaction. I spent the entire duration of my winter break exhausted and fatigued, napping through the day, grimacing at the smell of Kirkland chicken and baked salmon. Even the Gatorade gave me a queasy feeling. My breasts were tender with every step I took; I remembered grabbing them as I walked a couple of times a night to the bathroom. It wasn't real to me, not even at my 8-week check-up when one of the midwives at the clinic spotted the heartbeat in me. Just a shape with a flickering heartbeat. She was rather hasty and in a rush. I opted for a few other midwives before settling with one I liked for my remaining visits to date. I think it became slightly more real during our 20-week visit when the sonogram tech showed us the baby's developing brain, heart, limbs, and profile. George gaped at the image and pointed like a kid as he blurted out, "Are those the baby's ribs??" She laughed and nodded. We briefly heard the heartbeat, got an anatomy check through everything to ensure that I was carrying a healthy fetus, and got the baby's measurements for roughly a 50th percentile head size. From then on, I began to feel flutters in my belly, which gradually evolved into actual kicks and bumps in more localized areas of my stomach. Nowadays I see little pokes and prods peek through the surface of my belly. Baby has been a good sport through it all - our travels back and forth to friends' weddings, showers, and George's commencement.
I defended my second-year project. Though it was on Zoom in light of the pandemic and other concerns, I was able to meet with my entire committee - all very laid back LDS white faculty who were handpicked carefully by me on the basis of being laid back (ha). My research project was a replication study based on two prior articles that published conflicting outcomes. We explored the potential of recognition memory being driven by true vs perceived oldness or whether it was driven by subjective experience altogether. The project partially replicated the past work, not with a triple dissociation, but I would say that this has heavy implications for the field on the importance of replication in science in general. I was sweating through my shirt but read through my slides carefully, hoping for easy questions and light discussions. I got both and passed with flying colors.
George defended, graduated, and secured the job. This is more of his story, so I'll keep it short and sweet. He defended in March, shortly before we had to take a drive out to southern California for his friend’s wedding at the French Estate. His commencement happened in May, out in the warm and humid Vanderbilt campus grounds soon before he took his family on a brief tour of Nashville with the works - the must-have barbecue, the crazy hectic nightlife of Broadway, art exhibits in Cheekwood, casual southern dining in the Loveless Cafe, an eclectic take on Chinese food, and maybe some other things in between. He is now working a hybrid job based in Salt Lake City for a successful startup as a data engineer with hopes to ramp up in the next few years.
I sorely miscalculated the arrival of the baby. So needless to say, I'll be working through the summer on revisions for a submitted publication and studying for comps that are happening around the time the baby is due. We've decided to stay in our 2-bedroom apartment, knowing it will save us a ton of money and trouble moving during the summer as I am fast approaching my due date. It will be cramped for a couple of years, but I'm happy to have a home with my little family - cats and baby included. This will be my third year in the Ph.D. program, and from here I hope to start working on my dissertation and defending it by the end of my academic career. Maybe get a solid work-from-home opportunity in the industry that will allow me the work/life balance I need to be sane and not sucked into the standard 40-hour workweek. One can only hope.
That being said, the pandemic has slowly devolved into an endemic state, with COVID being integrated into our lives as a "new normal" equivalent to the flu. I'm resigned at how our national politics has taken a sharp turn for the worse, with the potential overturning of Roe v Wade and the growing frequency of mass shootings because our geriatric and profit-welding leadership disguises their lack of gun control enforcement as a retainment of "rights" to appeal to the middle- and lower-classes. I've talked to George numerous times about possibly relocating to another country, what with remote work being flexible and all, and perhaps that might be a thing in the next handful of years. Who knows. For now, here I am.
