it’s not about you

On the way back from the chiropracter…

Unbelievably enough, I had ANOTHER person on public transportation make comments about “why can’t you put some appropriate clothes on.” Apparently a full-term pregnant lady isn’t allowed to wear a tank top and jeans in the summer without offending people.

So a non-pregnant person is fine, but the second you are carrying around 40 extra pounds of about-to-burst child, you’re supposed to wear a full burqua, lest someone actually notice the fact that you are growing another human being inside of you.

Please. I am so tired of strangers thinking it’s their right to make rude comments to me about my clothes when I have enough problems to worry about, like it’s not enough that being this much pregnant and trying to get around town with a toddler, i have to suffer abuse from people about things that are none of their business anyway. And I said so. Then this man said it was his business because he had to look at me. Then if you have such a problem with it, don’t look, I told him. Hookers on MUNI get less attention.

At least this time there were empty seats.

Most of my interactions with people are friendly. People help me get Judah on and off the bus. People move over or get up so we can sit down. People ask me if I’m having a boy, or joke with me about my hands being full. People offer to help me out of my seat when we reach our stop.

Some tourists, a man and his twin nine-year-old daughters, were riding the N line out to Golden Gate Park on my way to the chiropracter, and when the train stopped once, one of the girls asked her dad why we were stopped. He teasingly told her that it was time for everyone to get out and push. Except for the pregnant lady, she doesn’t have to push, he said. So I piped up and said, I’ll be more than happy to “push” anytime. He got the joke.

Most conversations are like that. People touch Judah’s curls and ask her questions about the baby. They want to know when I’m due, how I’m feeling. They are nice. They are sympathetic. They tell me their stories. They care. And then some old, cranky person has to reveal their apparent deep-seated bitterness towards me and I just don’t get it.

Seriously. Just in case you were wondering.

Right now I have one vote for Wednesday and one (or was it two?) for Friday. I’m hoping for, well… today. Like I do every day. But let’s be honest - 08.07.06 would be a cool birthday. Unless we ever move to Europe, in which case it would then be 07.08.06 and wouldn’t really be as cool. I also have a vote for the 8th and the 13th, to fall on other people’s birthdays. Joshua’s isn’t until the 22nd, and if I (God forbid) actually make it that far, we’ll have some other issues to work out, let me tell you.

And if I call you and respond to your answering the phone with a casual “hey,” or “what’s up?,” that’s a really good clue that no, I am NOT in labor. If I call you and I actually AM in labor, trust me, YOU WILL KNOW.

I’m just trying to remind myself at this point, that no matter what or when, this kid HAS to come out of me at some point, right? He can’t stay in there forever.

Right?

So the couch we bought at a thrift store came with four, red, suede-ish, rectangular accent pillows (that’s five adjectives!). I spend most of my time on the computer on the couch, spread out, with a couple of big floor pillows behind me to prop me up, a couple of the red pillows under my knees, and the computer on one of the red pillows, to both prop it up and keep my legs from getting so hot from the laptop.

This morning, Joshua brought my computer to me while i was still in bed and said, “Look at this.” He flipped it over as I reached for my glasses, only to put them on and discover that the bottom of my computer is now tinted PINK. When I get my camera back from a blogless friend (hint, hint) who’s borrowing it, I’ll post a picture.

in other news, Judah’s nails are now glow-in-the-dark and mine are light blue. I’m not much of a nail painter, but I’m thinking about putting a dark blue racing stripe down each one, to encourage this kid to hurry his way out of the womb.

I didn’t sleep well last night. I kept waking up not able to to breathe, because my son had nestled himself in my ribcage. That’s such an… amazing feeling. And Judah had some bowel problems, which woke her up once and woke us up once. My poor girl. She was hurting so much and of course wanted Mommy. I hate it when my child is looking at me asking me to do something about the pain she’s experiencing and there’s nothing I can do but hold her. And it’s hard to reason with a three-year-old that if she can just get it out, it will feel better.

My friend Lisa came over yesterday morning and we made some cloth diapers for our little guy. Learning how to sew is a goal i’ve had for a while and Joshua’s mom and I made a couple sets of curtains. I thought diapers would be an easy starter project as well - it’s hard to screw up rectangular pieces of flat fabric. Lisa provided us with some fun flannel fabric - we have counting sheep, space-age Oreos, and bucking broncos. And we got a pretty good system. She’s very good at sewing, and really did most of the work while I watched and learned and managed to sew some relatively straight lines. I’m always surprised at how the majority of sewing is measuring and cutting and ironing and piecing things together. The actual sewing is only part of it. And Lisa has a serger, which does all that finishing around the edges of things - it makes it look nice and keeps it together much better than a regular sewing machine. We’ll see what happens with them after we throw them in the wash. And I’m excited to see how they hold up. I don’t think they’ll be as good as my ordered diapers - those are pretty amazing, but who knows? We think they’ll work great and they’ve got to work better than Gerber diapers. Man, those things suck. Maybe Lisa and I could get good at this.

Again, I will post some pictures soon.

A friend of mine mentioned that s/he might stop reading my blog because of the behavior of some of the commenters I’ve had lately (we’ll get to the commenting issue soon enough). I encouraged this person to please keep reading, that things will settle down “once i get back to the more mundane topics, like judah’s fingernail colors, my bus rides, baby clothes and whether i should cut my hair.”

Which is kind of funny considering this story I’m about to tell….

So today, I get on the bus with Judah to go to my prenatal appointment. Now keep in mind I’m 38 weeks pregnant and I look like i’m trying to smuggle a bowling ball somewhere, or that perhaps if you poke me hard enough I’ll pop and start deflating or something. It’s hard to get around,, especially with my symphysis, and I’m trying to get my big fat belly on a bus while navigating a three year old. I’m also having a hard time keeping pants and skirts hiked up and shirts pulled down, just from moving around, you know? Nothing quite fits anymore. Everything slides to to the point of least circumference.

Toward the front of the bus is an empty seat. There’s a plastic Talbot’s bag on it. I ask the woman sitting in the next seat if it’s her bag. She says yes. I ask her, “Do you mind if I sit there?” She looks at me and says, “Not until you pull up your skirt first.”

She refused to move her bag and let me sit down until I had pulled up my skirt to cover my belly where it had come uncovered.

There’s only one word to describe that: “Unfuckingbelievable.”

I told her no. I was so angry. I said I wasn’t going to pull up my skirt and (I think I asked her if she was serious) and that it was none of her business what I wore or how I dress. So she wouldn’t move her bag and let me sit in the empty seat. Now I have one hand holding onto the bus, a bag on my arm, I’m trying to keep my balance, my other hand is holding on to my child’s hand and I am trying to keep her from falling or getting knocked over as well. I’m a little busy to care if my clothes aren’t lined up perfectly. And I have officially HAD IT with mean people.

On either side of her and the empty seat were two women who both heard our exchange (I think the entire front of the bus heard our exchange) and began to get out of their seats to offer them to me. One was elderly and the other had a young boy with her. I waved them both down and told them that I wouldn’t take their seats just because someone was going to be rude to me. I think I said something along the lines of how if I don’t deserve a seat then I guess I don’t deserve a seat.

She said again, “If you pull up your skirt you can sit down.” So I told her again that it was none of her business how i dress and that there’s no way I’m sitting next to her now anyway. So I ended up standing on the bus until this woman got off. Yes, I’m that stubborn.

I wanted to go all Sydney Bristow on her, or give her a Chuck Norris roundhouse-kick-to-the-face, but I can’t lift my legs more than a few inches. I had to lift my legs with my hands just to step up onto the bus, it’s getting so bad. I was not walking around showing off my belly. Even if I was, what is she, the clothes police? No one on the bus would take that seat and sit next to her after that.

So much for my bus riding being a “mundane topic.”

So I’m almost 38 weeks now, and honestly I’m quite surprised that I haven’t had this little guy yet. Judah was born at 36 weeks to the day, and all along we’ve just been hoping we would at least get to that point with this pregnancy. Well that day came and went almost two weeks ago and now I’m going crazy.

I’m having to process a huge mental shift because of this, and that’s a big expectation to change. I’ve never been this big - I’ve never weighed this much, I’ve never had this much extra person sticking out from the from the front of my body - and it’s really not all that comfy, lemme tell you. Joshua keeps teasing me that the first thing I’ll do is cuss the kid out for taking so long. Tempting, but I have a sneaking suspicion my thoughts will be focused elsewhere.

On the one hand I’m glad - the longer he incubates, the more likely things are to have developed fully and all that. I didn’t give birth during the 95 degree weather. The box of clothes from my brother and sister-in-law have arrived (thanks, you guys!), and Judah is really taking preemptive ownership of her role as big sister.

On the other hand - GOOD LORD, I’M STILL PREGNANT. Every day I wake up and I think, “Today could be the day,” and every night I go to bed and I think “Dammit. I have to get through another night with this huge belly.” My midwife has warned/admonished/advised/encouraged (pick your slant) me to prepare myself to go full term or even longer, or to think I’m in labor only to have things stall. Yeah, if I go over my due date, we might have to rethink my position on getting labor started.

So I’m trying. I’m trying to get a lot of rest, so when labor hits, I’ll be ready. I’m trying to eat well, so I’ll have energy and stamina. I’m trying to go through what to do in my head and the process of birth, so I’ll be in a good place mentally.

I have another appointment tomorrow, so hopefully things will just keep happening the way they’re supposed to. The only thing I’m concerned about is my blood pressure, which for the past two weeks, while still at acceptable, non-concernable levels, (120/78) is a lot higher than my normal level (about 110/60). I’m anxious to have that checked - which I’m sure, doesn’t help my blood pressure. My only other physical complaints are edema, a VERY itchy belly, and how many times a day I have to pee.

You know what happened last night while Joshua and I were at the movies?

THE FOG ROLLED IN.

It was beautiful. I almost cried. And then almost wished I’d brought a sweater. *Almost.*

I’m just gonna flow with the crankiness right now. So I saw on the accuweather site that yesterday’s high was 97. I put this in the comments in the last post. The average high for yesterday was 71. That’s 26 degrees higher than normal. Let’s say the average high for Dallas, is oh, 94 degrees. Add 26 to that norm and you get FREAKING HOT. So think of it that way.

Luckily for us, we come from a place that is used to freakishly, hellishly hot summers. Yesterday we ran some errands - to the air-conditioned Bed Bath and Beyond to return some pillowcases and pick up a fan (except they were all out of fans) and to Trader Joe’s for groceries. City Car Share cars have AIR CONDITIONERS. Have I mentioned I love Trader Joe’s? And that it’s air-conditioned? We then came by the house to drop off the groceries and pack a picnic to take to Dolores Park. We left there at 8:30 and came home. Joshua and I watched Down By Law after Judah went to bed. Great cinematography, but a slow script, poor acting and cliched dialogue delivery. It’s like watching a high school play - you want it to be good, but mostly it just hurts a little bit. Roberto Benigni was easily the best actor in the flick. Big surprise.

Today, the San Francisco Symphony had a free concert in Dolores Park at 2. So we packed up a wicked cool picnic lunch (Italian bread, smoked salmon, pesto, spinach dip, hummus, goat cheese, a blue cheese, a brie-like cheese,, crackers, yogurt, watermelon, grapes, sparkling cranberry, swiss chocolate bars - I might have to eat that for dinner too), extra pillows for mommy, and headed over early. That last uphill block kicked my ass. We were joking that if I want to induce labor I should just walk to Dolores Park every day pushing a stroller laden with picnic gear. We stuck around til about 3:30, when the shade no longer was on our side of the tree. I definitely don’t want a sunburn while it’s this hot out there. We went to Ritual for a bit, trying to prolong our trip home, but it was just as hot and stuffy there, so we came home and all got in a cold shower. It was like our own personal water park. I’m now laying on the hot sheets in our hot bedroom with a fan blowing hot air on me, water by my side, and an ice pack down my pants, trying to think cool thoughts.

Mark Twain was dead wrong.

I’m less cranky now than I was earlier.

I slept through the night last night. That means… no pain, no immobility, no getting up at 3:30 to waddle to the bathroom to go pee. I woke up, absolutely amazed, shortly before 7 and dozed, propped up on my pillow tower, in the same exact position I had assumed while falling asleep.

Oh, sweet bliss.

SOMEONE in our neighborhood has a car horn that plays the first few notes of “La Cucaracha” twice. I ONLY hear this horn before 8 a.m. on Saturdays. That thing is LOUD. Every time I hear it, I want to hunt down the idiot who thinks it’s fun to blast that thing that early on a SATURDAY. Have they no respect for anyone else? It’s the weekend, for crying out loud.

Last night, we had to get out the house (today’s expected high - 87 degrees.. expected in-house temp - close to 100) to avoid the grueling apartment heat. Joshua rented the Mini Cooper! and we drove to the Haight and ate at Burger Joint. There’s one here on Valencia, but they’re cash only, and we wanted to get out of the hood for a while. The burgers were good and the milkshakes were amazing, but they were too much. I was still feeling the shake at 11. Not good.

We had planned to go to Golden Gate, but wanted to make sure we could take the car back in time, so we went to Dolores Park instead. We should do that every day. It’s nice. Great view, great playground, lots of space, very relaxing atmosphere. If I could walk the four uphill blocks to get there and then back, I’d take Judah every day. There’s a free concert there at 2 on Sunday. Call us if you’d like to go. We’ll go early and hopefully stake out some shade and eat some lunch.

I watched some people kicking a soccer ball around up in the air. I was shocked that they could move their legs and their bodies like that. Mine feels so rigid all the time, and I have such limited mobility right now, I couldn’t imagine even being able to move that quickly ever again. I told this to Joshua and he assured me that I would, very soon, be able to get around again. I can barely step out of the tub. I can’t reach things. Getting on and off the bed is a circus feat. I can’t even roll over - I have to get Joshua to pick up my butt and move it.

A few days ago, I was talking to him about how I’m looking forward to not being pregnant any more and being able to hold our baby in our arms and get around with him so much easier. With all the issues I’ve faced, we don’t want to get pregnant again, and we were talking about how this would be the last few days of my ever being pregnant. Joshua told me I should savor these days. Savor, my ass. I wanted to hit him in the face.

So we haven’t officially outed it on the blog here, but we are having a boy. Yes, a little mini-me for Joshua (although Judah looks enough like him, but prettier…). I get comments on my belly ALL the time from people on the street.

“How much longer?”
“How’d you swallow that bowling ball?” (one part at a time)
“You got a watermelon in there?”
“You’re gonna be a big sister!” (to Judah, of course)
“Is that a boy or a girl?”

The best one is this — EVERY time someone TELLS me what gender baby we’re having, which happens a lot more often than you’d think, they always say matter-of-factly, “You’re having a boy, aren’t you.” I have not had a SINGLE person look at me and say, “You’re having another girl, huh?” Not ONE. Seriously. Lots of people ask what I’m having, but anytime someone tells me, they always say boy. And I’m always standing there wondering how on earth that many people could be right. Maybe all the people who would say girl just haven’t gotten a chance to tell me. Maybe I have just jinxed it and from here on out will be told I’m having a girl. But still, i know it’s a 50/50 chance they’ll get it right, but I’ve been told at least a dozen times. Funny, huh?

So my revelation… In thinking about all the interactions I’ve had with complete strangers initiating conversation about my body, I have not had a single person walk up to me and rub or touch my belly. Even friends have waited for an invitation. I didn’t even realize this wasn’t happening because, well, it wasn’t happening. When I was pregnant with Judah, people would just walk up to me and pat or rub me on the belly. Complete strangers in the grocery store. Little old ladies. Other pregnant women. Sensitive men. Whomever.

And it bugged the shit out of me. What is it that gives people the right to think that just because a woman is pregnant, her body is suddenly open season for unwanted contact, like the President at a G-8 summit? And it’s not like you can say something. Then you’re the pregnant, frigid, bitch-lady.

So I’m glad to not to have to deal with that this time around. Though, I would love to hear personal stories from people about strangers touching your pregnant bellies.

But what I hated even more than the belly touches was when strangers would touch my newborn baby without asking. The mama bear in me would always start to gristle at that, WAAAAY worse than I ever did about my belly. It’s one thing to violate my body, but you cross a line far more volatile and sacred when you touch my baby, and I’m prone to rip your head right off with my teeth. It’s not a pretty sight.

As if babies belong to the community at large, people think they can just reach out and cop a feel. For the most part I don’t mind people grabbing a chubby little fist, or caressing a fat little cheek, or pinching a nubby little toe, so long as they ask me first. Sometimes I really don’t want anyone touching my baby. Sometimes it’s too much. Sometimes baby (or mom) needs a break. If they ask and I don’t want to, I say “I’m sorry, not right now” and it’s never an issue. We’ll see what happens here, as opposed to Dallas.

Maybe it’s a cultural thing? If so, that’s a whole different blog post. Thoughts?

I am officially more pregnant than I have ever been before.