My Baby

I might be going through a slight nesting period. I know, it's happened early, it's just that, my dear friends in Bahrain have this really cute baby and I love being an auntie. I can't help thinking what it's going to be like someday to be a parent.

I might have a little clue, though. Playing and owning an oboe is like taking care of a small, finnicky child! This past week, I played my oboe at my friends Josh and Alison's wedding, and for the entire drive there, every time I got out to do a pit stop, I had to take my oboe in with me. Otherwise, if I had left it sitting in the sun, it would have gotten too hot and the wood could have expanded! Even when I got to Battle Creek for the wedding, I made sure not to play it in an overly humid area. I will even point to my choice of instrument as one of the main reasons that I've become obsessive compulsive, as you can see!

Most people name their instruments--my friend Lea has been having an affair with her cello, Henry, for many years--but I've just decided to call my instrument "my baby." It seems to fit that description pretty well because it often seems like I spend a lot of time taking care of my oboe. Now I've shipped my baby out to the doctor to get a diagnostic check before I head back to Bahrain. I figure that going in and out of 120 degree weather, even with the air conditioning, may have caused some problems, especially with one of my octave keys.

And now I know what it feels like to be a parent seperated from a small child! It's terrifying! I know that my oboe got there safely, but I am really hoping that they don't have to do too much work on it, partly because it's expensive, and partly because, I just want my baby to come back!