Thoughts on a Friday morning

J is a whirligig. He's parading around the house in his spandex bike shorts and orange crocs (a picture as pretty as it sounds), phone attached to ear, piling stuff on the sofa to pack for Vietnam. He flies LA-Narita-Bangkok-Saigon. He is a little, what's the word I'm searching for, irate. He is going from conference call to conference call, showering and cooking bacon in between. He loses his phone, finds it, swears, eats bacon, tells me an anecdote, checks on his bike, moves on.

Meanwhile, my intrepid brothers and sisters and I are putting together a rather magnificent family tree. Cousin Oystein has added the Norwegian and Danish contingent.

My ob/gyn, Dr Rabin, whom I love with a fervor ever since he held my hand as we watched Oprah while in labor with Ned, tells me that he considers Wesleyan a hippy school. It's hard to hear anything he's saying when one is be-stirruped and it is particularly hard to be demure, but he chats away gaily, tells me about all his kids, colleges, things not to worry about. When it's all over, we chat some more, and I say in my best American accent "Well, thank you for your advice, Doctor" and he smiles and tips his imaginary cap. My mother says that everyone falls in love with their baby doctor, but I'm not so sure. Rabin is greying now, losing his hair a little, but still has a lovely twinkly grin. He got an eight year full scholarship to Rutgers, he tells me. His family had no money for college, but here he is now, Mr Shi-Shi Office-on-Robertson. "There's a place for everyone," he says as he leaves and I feel as if I'm in a musical and that a bevy of grumpy nurses in white are about to burst into chorus. I'm left in my hideous paper gown with my file of nearly 19 years sitting on the counter and my pile of clothes in the corner, wondering where N will end up and hoping that he will be happy.

I dreamed last night about flying. I dreamed that light was flowing from my body - bright white light and I wonder if Gurmukh's words somehow pricked my subconscious. Her yoga and meditation class left me light-headed, blissed out, glowing. I could hardly speak for fear of losing that feeling. Everything was opened up and light and soft and calm. I wish it were always so.

He's still on the phone. He lives in the material world. He works so hard. I love him. But we are ying and yang personified. A little bit of me sits in a part of him and a little bit of him is always in my head, floating around. He's a grumpy arse with a heart of white gold. I don't really know what I'd do without him.