and it is a feeling I will never get used to.
Sitting at my desk responding to a never-ending stream of emails, and the little guy inside me is practicing tae kwon do moves. Right hand strikes and snap kicks to the uterus.
It's not painful, but it's just weird. And constant.
He's getting bigger and stronger.
I can feel the extra weight when I walk. Not quite a waddle. Yet.
Today I looked like I stuffed a cantaloupe under my dress.
Things annoyed me today:
Students unhappy with their C papers.
Girl, it was a C paper. Take responsibility for it.
Unending hammering outside. All last week, too.
And I like to work at work and relax at home, but when I can't concentrate at work because of incessant hammering...
So, I walked home earlier than usual.
And my feet are swollen. I have cankles.
When I bound upstairs or even just flex my toes, I can literally feel the fluid in my feet.
Getting up from a seated position is no longer the fluid motion it used to be.
It's an old-lady, creaky getting up. Gotta hold on to something, push off of something, steady myself while getting up.
I want freshly baked French bread dipped in olive oil. PF Chang's crispy honey shrimp. Cheese fries. Warm chocolate chip cookies with a tall, cold glass of milk. They are not "cravings." I don't believe in cravings. They are things I already like that I just happen to want.
I think over 50% of pregnancy is an old wives tale. "If you carry high, it's a girl, if you carry low, it's a boy." "If you crave salty foods, it's a boy, if you crave sweet foods, it's a girl." "If you have heartburn, that means your baby is going to have a lot of hair." Get outta here.
I'm already a skeptic, and for whatever reason, pregnancy is just making me want to side eye things (and people) more than usual.
Or cry.
This morning I cried before going to work because I was sad that having a baby would mean that my husband and I would have no more relaxing weekends like the one we just had.
Don't worry about that honey. It'll be okay.
What is our son going to look like? What is he going to be like? How much of who he is will be up to me (okay, us), and how much will be up to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune?
What does it mean to create something that is part of you?
Is that just a slice of what God feels like?
There is a living thing inside me.
And it will never be normal.
Monday, September 25, 2017
Sunday, September 24, 2017
Just Adjust
I remember the first time I went to the doctor. At the time, I didn't look pregnant in the least bit and was in the waiting room with a few other women who obviously were. I remember thinking to myself that I couldn't picture myself looking that way. I couldn't imagine myself in any way other than the way I looked at that time. But here I am, at 22 weeks now, looking pretty pregnant:
I'm adjusting to my new reality, because I have no choice. I feel like that's what actually having a baby is going to be like. Right now, I don't know what it's going to mean to have another human being that my husband and I created living with us. I can't conceive of that reality. (As my friend would say, "Well, you've already conceived it." har, har.) But that reality will come, and then we'll just adjust to it.
I'm adjusting to my new reality, because I have no choice. I feel like that's what actually having a baby is going to be like. Right now, I don't know what it's going to mean to have another human being that my husband and I created living with us. I can't conceive of that reality. (As my friend would say, "Well, you've already conceived it." har, har.) But that reality will come, and then we'll just adjust to it.
Wednesday, September 20, 2017
Little Song for Little Boy
Little Jo
Little Josiah
You are our little boy
Little Jo
Little Josiah
You are gonna be born
You are gonna be born
Cuz you are our little boy.
Don't you know that Mommy loves you?
You know that Daddy loves you
You know that Mommy loves you
And you know that Daddy loves you
You are our little boy
And you are gonna be born
You are gonna be born
Cuz you are our little boy.
Little Josiah
You are our little boy
Little Jo
Little Josiah
You are gonna be born
You are gonna be born
Cuz you are our little boy.
Don't you know that Mommy loves you?
You know that Daddy loves you
You know that Mommy loves you
And you know that Daddy loves you
You are our little boy
And you are gonna be born
You are gonna be born
Cuz you are our little boy.
Saturday, September 16, 2017
21 Weeks or Mean Mommy
The magic pregnancy number is 40 weeks, so I'm more than halfway there.
My belly is popping and the little one's kicks are such that my husband can now feel them from the outside.
I did the most un-feminist thing ever today: Barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen, I made my husband a sandwich.
At a "Friday Faculty Hour." Mingling and making small talk, when she, the professor who asked "why I spoke Spanish," approached. How's my year going? Great. I started talking about teaching upper-level classes for the first time and how excited I was about teaching an Afro-Hispanic Identity topics class. "Oh, so are a lot of students in your class...like, is that, you know, part of their heritage?" Girl, whet? Are you asking about the ethnicity of the students in my class? Or worse yet, suggesting that they would only be in there if it (Hispanic-ness? Afro-ness?) were a part of their ethnicity? If you don't go sit YO self down somewhere...I kind of nervously laughed and was like, "Um, no, I have two Latino students who are heritage speakers, but for the majority of my students, it's not a part of their heritage at all." More awkward small talk ensued, wherein she asked me to describe my classes to her in Spanish so that she could practice her rusty Spanish. She talked about how she led a trip abroad to Mexico back in the day and brought her daughter along when she was a little girl and she picked up Spanish like a little sponge. Good for her. And then she was like, "She's 20 years old now, but have I ever shown you a picture of my daughter?" She whipped out her phone and there was a picture of a cute little biracial girl. I could see her waiting to see my reaction, like it was some kind of fabulous reveal. I did everything I could not to side eye her so hard. Like, do you want a trophy because you have a black child? (I already knew from offhanded comments from another professor that she had adopted a biracial child back in the day.) I can't explain why it was so annoying to me. Like, as if she were trying to say See, I get it, I'm on your side, I'm not racist, I understand, I want you to know that I'm a good, socially conscious person. Here's the proof. I have a biracial daughter. Be proud of me. Homegirl, why don't you stop worrying about proving your non-racistness to random black people and instead start learning how not to say problematic stuff to them?
Now, I will admit to taking some glee in my own phone picture reveal when someone asks about my husband. Well, the glee usually comes from seeing the surprise on white people's faces. But some black folks seem unfazed, as if it confirmed what they already suspected, and then I get my feelings hurt.
My new annoying question is "So, do you have a name picked out yet?" Like, 1. What makes you think if we did have a name that we'd want to tell you, particularly if I don't know you like that and 2. What makes you think I care to have your feedback on whether or not you like the name? See, these are the things going on in my mean little head. But P and I decided that we're just going to tell people if they ask, because we're pretty decided on the name, it's going to be our son's name whether they like it or not, and we don't really care whether someone scrunches up their nosy face if they happen to not like it, because...we don't really care. I think I should start a new blog after the baby comes called "Mean Mommy."
I'm really looking forward to my baby shower in my hometown next month. We still haven't finished with the registry...it's still super overwhelming to me, to be honest. There are so many products, so many choices, so many things you need...I want to be a mom, but I know in my heart of hearts that I have no idea what I'm in for and it's unsettling. Somehow the registry is like, representative of the unknown. Representative of there's no turning back. You can't just put a baby back. Graduate from parenthood like it's another degree. Not this time. Nevertheless, I'm looking forward to my baby shower because I'm excited about seeing friends and family and celebrating with everyone. My best friend reminded me that this is a pretty singular event. Your first child. You're going to want to look back on this and remember it.
Today, I sent cards to people that I've been meaning to send cards to for a while. If you want to express something to someone, you should do it, no matter how long it's been since you first intended to do so. There are so many people who have contributed to my life. I don't take it for granted.
A couple of weeks ago I had lunch with an internationally known black feminist, bell hooks. She spells her name in all lowercase letters. She was born and raised in Kentucky and has an institute at a college similar to and not far from the one where I teach now. I did refer to her work in my dissertation, but I can't say I'm a bell hooks expert or anything. I was just grateful to be able to spend time with her. Many times, when I tell people where I am now, they turn up their nose. Kentucky? Why? I mean, I get it. Kentucky is not this cosmopolitan place. But there are little treasures here, and getting to meet bell hooks was undoubtedly a Kentucky experience. When I walked into the restaurant where she and another colleague were waiting, I just teared up. At first, I chalked it up to pregnancy hormones, but after thinking about it for a while, I realized there's something about being pregnant, about the prospect of bringing a new life into the world, that makes you want to be among your own—surrounded by mothers, grandmothers, aunts, women who are like you and who have the wisdom of years to share. And in that moment, I felt like I was among my own.
My belly is popping and the little one's kicks are such that my husband can now feel them from the outside.
I did the most un-feminist thing ever today: Barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen, I made my husband a sandwich.
At a "Friday Faculty Hour." Mingling and making small talk, when she, the professor who asked "why I spoke Spanish," approached. How's my year going? Great. I started talking about teaching upper-level classes for the first time and how excited I was about teaching an Afro-Hispanic Identity topics class. "Oh, so are a lot of students in your class...like, is that, you know, part of their heritage?" Girl, whet? Are you asking about the ethnicity of the students in my class? Or worse yet, suggesting that they would only be in there if it (Hispanic-ness? Afro-ness?) were a part of their ethnicity? If you don't go sit YO self down somewhere...I kind of nervously laughed and was like, "Um, no, I have two Latino students who are heritage speakers, but for the majority of my students, it's not a part of their heritage at all." More awkward small talk ensued, wherein she asked me to describe my classes to her in Spanish so that she could practice her rusty Spanish. She talked about how she led a trip abroad to Mexico back in the day and brought her daughter along when she was a little girl and she picked up Spanish like a little sponge. Good for her. And then she was like, "She's 20 years old now, but have I ever shown you a picture of my daughter?" She whipped out her phone and there was a picture of a cute little biracial girl. I could see her waiting to see my reaction, like it was some kind of fabulous reveal. I did everything I could not to side eye her so hard. Like, do you want a trophy because you have a black child? (I already knew from offhanded comments from another professor that she had adopted a biracial child back in the day.) I can't explain why it was so annoying to me. Like, as if she were trying to say See, I get it, I'm on your side, I'm not racist, I understand, I want you to know that I'm a good, socially conscious person. Here's the proof. I have a biracial daughter. Be proud of me. Homegirl, why don't you stop worrying about proving your non-racistness to random black people and instead start learning how not to say problematic stuff to them?
Now, I will admit to taking some glee in my own phone picture reveal when someone asks about my husband. Well, the glee usually comes from seeing the surprise on white people's faces. But some black folks seem unfazed, as if it confirmed what they already suspected, and then I get my feelings hurt.
My new annoying question is "So, do you have a name picked out yet?" Like, 1. What makes you think if we did have a name that we'd want to tell you, particularly if I don't know you like that and 2. What makes you think I care to have your feedback on whether or not you like the name? See, these are the things going on in my mean little head. But P and I decided that we're just going to tell people if they ask, because we're pretty decided on the name, it's going to be our son's name whether they like it or not, and we don't really care whether someone scrunches up their nosy face if they happen to not like it, because...we don't really care. I think I should start a new blog after the baby comes called "Mean Mommy."
I'm really looking forward to my baby shower in my hometown next month. We still haven't finished with the registry...it's still super overwhelming to me, to be honest. There are so many products, so many choices, so many things you need...I want to be a mom, but I know in my heart of hearts that I have no idea what I'm in for and it's unsettling. Somehow the registry is like, representative of the unknown. Representative of there's no turning back. You can't just put a baby back. Graduate from parenthood like it's another degree. Not this time. Nevertheless, I'm looking forward to my baby shower because I'm excited about seeing friends and family and celebrating with everyone. My best friend reminded me that this is a pretty singular event. Your first child. You're going to want to look back on this and remember it.
Today, I sent cards to people that I've been meaning to send cards to for a while. If you want to express something to someone, you should do it, no matter how long it's been since you first intended to do so. There are so many people who have contributed to my life. I don't take it for granted.
A couple of weeks ago I had lunch with an internationally known black feminist, bell hooks. She spells her name in all lowercase letters. She was born and raised in Kentucky and has an institute at a college similar to and not far from the one where I teach now. I did refer to her work in my dissertation, but I can't say I'm a bell hooks expert or anything. I was just grateful to be able to spend time with her. Many times, when I tell people where I am now, they turn up their nose. Kentucky? Why? I mean, I get it. Kentucky is not this cosmopolitan place. But there are little treasures here, and getting to meet bell hooks was undoubtedly a Kentucky experience. When I walked into the restaurant where she and another colleague were waiting, I just teared up. At first, I chalked it up to pregnancy hormones, but after thinking about it for a while, I realized there's something about being pregnant, about the prospect of bringing a new life into the world, that makes you want to be among your own—surrounded by mothers, grandmothers, aunts, women who are like you and who have the wisdom of years to share. And in that moment, I felt like I was among my own.
Saturday, September 02, 2017
Kicks
Here's the most recent picture of my little guy:
My pregnancy is definitely noticeable now. I went for my "20 week check up" this week, (even though I was technically only 18 1/2 weeks) where they check all of the baby's vital organs, etc. The first couple of ultrasounds we had were kind of emotional...hearing the baby's heartbeat, seeing him look like an actual baby, then finding out the gender, but this time we were just sort of in awe. It was like an anatomy lesson. I could see all of our son's little vertebrae, his brain, the chambers of his heart, kidneys, bladder, arms, legs, fingers and toes. It was simply amazing. Every time the technician moved the wand to get a better look at him, he would squirm away, and it was ridiculous to see him move. I'm afraid we're going to have a little wiggleworm on our hands. I praise God that he's healthy and that everything is normal.
I've started to feel him move and kick. He's especially active after I've eaten and I'm just sitting still. They say that the baby's first movements feel like flutters or bubbles, but to me, the best way to describe it is a like muscle spasm. Like, have you ever had a tiny involuntary muscle spasm? That's what it feels like on the inside of my belly when he moves. I'm sure that will change as he gets bigger. I can't wait for the kicks to get strong enough so that my husband can feel them, too.
The first week of classes went very well. Somehow, God always steps in and helps me get it together in time. It still amazes me how I've gotten this far with such reluctance to get things done. I have a great group of motivated students. This is the first time I've taught intermediate and upper level classes, so most of them actually want to be there and are not just there because it's required.
Next up on the to-do list is to start our baby registry. My mom and best friend are planning a shower and we need to get a start on the registry soon so that my mom can include info for it with the invitations. To be honest, I'm kind of overwhelmed with where to even begin, but I guess we can find guides somewhere to help us decide what the essentials are. What I don't want to do is get a bunch of silly, gimmicky stuff that we aren't going to need or use. We'll figure it out.
And here's a recent picture of me:
My pregnancy is definitely noticeable now. I went for my "20 week check up" this week, (even though I was technically only 18 1/2 weeks) where they check all of the baby's vital organs, etc. The first couple of ultrasounds we had were kind of emotional...hearing the baby's heartbeat, seeing him look like an actual baby, then finding out the gender, but this time we were just sort of in awe. It was like an anatomy lesson. I could see all of our son's little vertebrae, his brain, the chambers of his heart, kidneys, bladder, arms, legs, fingers and toes. It was simply amazing. Every time the technician moved the wand to get a better look at him, he would squirm away, and it was ridiculous to see him move. I'm afraid we're going to have a little wiggleworm on our hands. I praise God that he's healthy and that everything is normal.
I've started to feel him move and kick. He's especially active after I've eaten and I'm just sitting still. They say that the baby's first movements feel like flutters or bubbles, but to me, the best way to describe it is a like muscle spasm. Like, have you ever had a tiny involuntary muscle spasm? That's what it feels like on the inside of my belly when he moves. I'm sure that will change as he gets bigger. I can't wait for the kicks to get strong enough so that my husband can feel them, too.
The first week of classes went very well. Somehow, God always steps in and helps me get it together in time. It still amazes me how I've gotten this far with such reluctance to get things done. I have a great group of motivated students. This is the first time I've taught intermediate and upper level classes, so most of them actually want to be there and are not just there because it's required.
Next up on the to-do list is to start our baby registry. My mom and best friend are planning a shower and we need to get a start on the registry soon so that my mom can include info for it with the invitations. To be honest, I'm kind of overwhelmed with where to even begin, but I guess we can find guides somewhere to help us decide what the essentials are. What I don't want to do is get a bunch of silly, gimmicky stuff that we aren't going to need or use. We'll figure it out.
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