Monthly Archives: July 2012

My Eyes Are Up Here

I finally know what it must be like for women with big breasts. Not because I’m getting busty–although I finally do fill an A cup–but because no one can look me in the eyes anymore. Everytime I talk to someone they first look down to see if my pregnant gut is sticking out and then to my eyes, back to my gut and then back to my eyes again. Some don’t even waste their time with my face. From the moment they see me, they zero in on my mid-section and won’t stop until they’ve come face to face with it, measured its progress, decided if it’s a girl or a boy and made a comment on if it looks the right size for my stage of pregnancy. Others act like pervs–being sneaky about it like it’s dirty or something, trying to get a sideways look, or waiting until I look away for a second so I don’t catch them take a peak at the abyss of my belly. But you know what? Don’t trouble yourself…look at my stomach! Here ya go world, it’s yours to gawk at. I won’t get offended. It’s not like it’s mine anymore. I don’t even mind people touching my belly. Hell, I’m grabbing people’s hands and making them feel what resembles a plastic guard in my stomach. Why? Because I don’t want to be the only one going through this!

So yes, I understand. You just want to see if my pregnancy this whole time has been real, or be the first one to catch the bump, or revel in the progression of your friend looking like all those other women called mothers that you’ve only heard about but never known in person outside of your own mom. It’s all just weird. Of course you gotta look. I look at it every morning and every night. This week in particular it popped out further than ever. It’s official…I’m pregnant and I’m freaking out! My clothes are no longer fitting and I’m looking like all those women I see at the malls and grocery stores with basketballs in their bellies. I’m one of them now and I can’t stop looking! So go for it. Look. Or take a picture–it’ll last longer. No wait, I already did.

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Ultrasounds Aren’t Cute

When I signed up for the Make-A-Baby Ride I had no idea how girlie women could get. And I’m not talking normal girlie where you can’t help but talk about clothes and nails, I’m talking beyond reason Stepford Wife girlie–the out of control type that finds everything beautiful and perfect about being a mother and wife. They ooh and ahh at every cutesie thing for babies and melt on cue at the sight of your unborn child. You might think the desire to do so is sweet and loving, but I call it a whole lotta delusional to be able to look at this and say, “How cute!”

Which surprisingly is exactly what one doctor said at the sight of this baby, my Chipmunk Reaper, during an ultrasound. She loved it so much she kept making me look at it, and I found it so scary looking I kept laughing at it. I started to get the funny feeling she was going to take a photo of it, so I asked her not to from that angle since there were better ones to choose from. My reaction did not compute. In her thick Filipino accent she tried to convince me otherwise, “But it’s looking at you. It’s so cute! It’s saying, ‘Hello momma!'” “No,” I told her, “It’s frightening and it’s coming to attack us.” She dismissed my concern. “It’s cute. I’m taking a photo of it.” “Please don’t,” I pleaded, “If my husband sees a photo of his baby like that, he may ask me to return it.” As you can see by the evidence, she didn’t care about my husband and took a photo of it anyway. That week my husband and I named our baby Skeletor.

I still don’t understand what it is about babies that makes our understanding of what cute is go out the door. I know love is blind, but are you kidding me? I find that I’m almost a disappointment to nurses and friends when it comes to this. When they coo at me, I can tell I’m not cooing back with enough gusto to satisfy them; but I do try so I don’t ruin what has somehow become their special moment. I mean I get the fact that it’s an amazing thing what’s going on inside of me. The fact that I’m a life-making machine is incredible. And don’t think things haven’t happened that haven’t softened me up. For the first ultrasound during the first trimester, I went to the doctor with low expectations. Everything was as expected–everyone said hi, I laid down on the table for the ultrasound, and the grainy black and white picture of the baby came up on the monitor. I looked over with my husband and yep, it was that weird image I’d seen for years and never understood. My husband and I looked at each other unenthusiastically like, “Okay, that’s cool.” Then the doctor pointed out the rapid little heartbeat inside our pixellated blob. It was so small and moved so fast it looked like the heart of a hummingbird. On cue, a gush of water came pouring out of my eyes. I can’t explain why, it was totally unexpected, complete out of control Niagara Falls of tears. Worse than the way your cheesiest friend cries every time she sees TITANIC, and even more than everyone who ever saw the opening of Pixar’s UP! I tried to stop crying, but again the sight of that little heartbeat… oh my God! For the rest of the day it was like I had seen the best tear-jerker in the world and the mention of our baby’s little heartbeat got me going again. On the way back to our car, “Hon, wasn’t that crazy when we saw our little baby’s…waaaa!” And during lunch as I was about to bite into a burrito, “I really didn’t expect that to happen. But when she pointed out the…OMG…waaaa!”

So the magnitude of this event I understand. I’m with you people on how miraculous this whole adventure is. But thinking that the creation of life is mind-blowingly cool is quite different from thinking that this…

… is cute. Oh I’m sorry, I meant this…

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Happy 4th Of July To Us!

Even though this 4th of July was on a Wednesday, the worst day for holidays to fall on, did that stop our country from observing our Independence Day? Hells no. Because there is still one thing Americans can all agree on, and that is to celebrate our country’s great accomplishment fought with sweat, blood and brains by drinking cheap beer, eating BBQ and blowing things up! Maybe it’s not highfalutin enough of a commemoration for the people who came up with the fancy battle plans for the revolution, elite catch phrases like “No Taxation Without Representation,” and who dreamt up this smarty tarty new form of government we so reverently uphold today, but our 4th of July parties are more than enough to hail our real heroes: the dumb and dirty willing to carry out the tasks set forth by the elites. These were the people needed to fight against the Brits, to get wasted and put on some Mohawk warrior costumes before getting on a ship to dump some tea into a harbor, and to prove themselves such a sad lot in need of governing that a new form of government was needed to wrangle them together.

There are a lot of liberals out there that worry we no longer choose government officials by their level of intelligence, but by how relatable and similar they are to us. But this is nothing new, it’s something we’ve been gradually learning is the right way to pick our leaders. Since the American Revolution, we’ve come to recognize who gets things done around our country–people like us! Just go to a party. Who is it that gets the pizza late at night when everyone’s drunk and starving while the smart people stay home and prepare for their futures? The dumb drunk person! Who are the ones actively saving our economy by buying non-essential things they can’t afford? We the people! And should there be a need to take up arms, who would you trust with a gun? A dude who’s been shooting guns into the air without thinking of where that bullet might land every 4th of July, or the person who’s never held a gun in his life? That’s right, you’d choose the dangerous dumb guy.

Seems clear to me, we love ourselves and love to celebrate and promote those most like us. Which is why on this day after our national holiday, we should give a toast to us–the people who get things done.

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