18 Years Ago: May 7th--Serially...

Today completes a full week of my series looking back on the days before the birth of my son, Simon, in May 1997. For me, managing to write each day (before midnight) is an accomplishment. Those who are reading accomplish something important, too: you provide a mystical energy for me to keep faith with. I feel the elasticity of the connection, and it drives me to keep going. My blog statistics show the first several posts attracting a good number of readers (60+). Good for us on both ends of that equation!

I think of famous serial writers. Charles Dickens comes to mind first. He used the energy of audience expectation to unleash intricately plotted novels like A Tale of Two Cities. The next chapter is due! Keep writing. Can't change the first chapter now. Keep writing!

SERIAL (from This American Life), the hugely popular podcast about re-investigating a 15-year-old murder case, offers another example of the power of the series. If you haven't listened yet, start at the beginning of the 12 episodes. I joined in around Episode 5 and quickly caught up. Once I was on pace with the show's weekly release, I was desperate for the next episode. Unbelievably desperate. I don't think I've ever anticipated Thursdays as avidly as I did during the series. I went out of my way to listen. I stalked the release of the newest episode. And I wasn't alone. SERIAL became the fastest, biggest download ever (millions). Then the show ended, and somehow we've all managed to move on. The power held in the promise of a next installment inspires me.

May 7, 1997: It was two days before the official due date, but there are no notations in the pregnancy journal. It was a cold early May. The trees held back on flowering. We were all waiting for this baby, I think. (And my baby was waiting for the sun to warm things up and the trees to flower...) Markus and I had two practiced rituals by then to monitor the baby and prepare my body. Sometimes my belly got very quiet, and I missed the wiggles and hiccups. I worried. I'd lie on my side in bed, and Markus would put his ear against my belly, tuning into the sounds. First he'd find my heart rate and tap a finger against my skin in time with the march-beat dushj dushj dushj of my pumping blood. Then he'd listen more intently and begin to tap a double beat of dip-dip dip-dip dip-dip--Simon's 170 beats per minute.

The second ritual was perineal stretching, a labor preparation technique advocated by our birth class instructor Patty Brennan, our doula Bonnie, the UM midwives, my friend Whitley Hill, and probably others. I'll tell you about it, but--here's my cliff-hanger à la SERIAL--not tonight!

New candle

May 7, 2015: Today was a day for therapeutic massage (neck and shoulder) and a brief visit to the doctor. This afternoon I met clients for a new small group Business English course, and then I coached MBA students at the German Graduate School of Management and Law on their academic writing. It's a fun gig because these students are smart and motivated to do good work. I came home in time to keep Miriam company for the last half hour of the quarter final for Germany's Next Top Model. Talk about bodacious cliff-hangering and the mechanisms of creating a series. (For anyone who doesn't know, it's a competition to find the best candidate from a bunch of modeling hopefuls, eliminating them one by one until the winner remains. Simultaneously suspenseful and inane.)