Baby, Baby, Baby.

Before I had a baby, I wasn't sure if I'd ever have a baby. I didn't know if it was something that I wanted to do because the world sucks and people are terrible and I like going on vacation. I was defensive about not having children. I didn't know if it would ever happen, and I hated the pressure that I felt as a 30-something married woman. I was a regular reader of the blog, STFU Parents, and I still enjoy the snarky fun that the blog pokes at oversharing or otherwise obnoxious parents. This may seem a little mean-spirited, but usually, a point is being made. Nobody ever needs to see pictures of your kid's explosive poop diaper. Parents are often featured if they make Facebook posts that suggest that the world revolves around their child.

When I found out that I was pregnant, I swore that I would not be one of those parents featured on STFU Parents. Ten weeks into this parenthood thing, I am often apologetic about posting excessive pictures of my girl on Facebook. I try to insert a little bit of humor in some of my posts, but sometimes, I just want to share that my daughter is damn cute. The thing is, and this may be obnoxious but I'm way past caring, I am so deeply in love with this baby. She really is the best part of my world right now. I think that I'm doing a reasonable job of balancing what I am sharing and who I am sharing with. For example, nobody needed to know how relieved my husband and I were when our uncomfortable daughter finally pooped after a couple of unproductive days. That news, and the method that I employed to help create that movement, was communicated only by text to my husband. When my ten week old baby discovered her lower lip and made her first pouty face? That was all over Facebook. I knew my family would laugh at the absurd adorableness and I could care less if friends didn't "like" it. I'm over being apologetic about it.

I still have other interests that I want to talk about. I'm still paying attention to world events, listening to music, reading books and looking for a job that I love. Without a smidgen of guilt, I look forward to getting out of the house once in a while. I was even looking forward to going back to work until that actually happened and I remembered that I really don't want to do this job for the rest of my life. I established a goal to be on my career path by the time my daughter enters Kindergarten. What an epiphany! Imagining the possibility of my future has been a breath of fresh air after such a long time spent lamenting my job history. I still have 30-some years to do something I love for a living! I have my daughter to thank for helping me reframe this ongoing dilemma.

I still think the world can suck, people can be horrible, and I really hope I will go on more vacations, but none of those things matter (except for the vacations part), when my gorgeous baby is gurgling and smiling and cooing. I hope that my close friends keep me in check and I'll always consider whether my FB posts are potential submissions for STFU Parents, but there's no way I am going to feel bad about sharing my greatest source of joy. She may not be the center of anyone else's universe, but she's the bright spot in my formerly dark world.

Keeping people who suck from sucking the joy out of life

My friend has a friend who is kind of a jerk. Jerkface has some redeeming qualities, I guess, but Jerkface takes my friend's friendship for granted and I think that sucks. It amazes me when high school drama rears it's pie-faced head in adult lives. I always liked Oprah's quote, "Surround yourself with only people who are going to lift you higher." Of course, nobody is perfect and everyone lets you down sometimes and we would all be pretty lonely if we ditched our friends the first time they disappoint us. Still, if someone consistently makes you feel bad, and for no good reason, why keep them around? There must be moments between those two that keep my friend hanging on. I just hope that she knows that she's worth more than the bullshit that she puts up with.

My friend's friendship came to mind when I thought about a certain relationship that I am in that I have to tolerate.  It's a long story and this person, let's call her Queen Bitch, she has Google so I'm leaving specifics out of this, but I am working on escaping this toxic relationship. (Before people get stupid, I am not playing a pronoun game and secretly plotting a divorce or anything like that. This person is not someone I have *ever* held in high regard.)

Anyway, I was talking to my friend who is friends with Jerkface about how it makes absolutely no sense that I give a shit that Queen Bitch is such a bitch. Why do I care that someone who I have no respect for has a personal problem with me? She is a terrible person. She is selfish, obnoxious, and still possesses that high school mindset that being popular trumps being kind. She hasn't figured out after a few decades on this planet that being a popular bitch doesn't mean that people like her. They may be entertained by her, but there is no question about her character. Bitches be bitches.

Sometimes, I am amazed by how small this world is. It's weird when I find out two acquaintances who I think have nothing in common, know one another. Here in Baltimore, they call this phenomenon, Smalltimore. My worry is that if someone doesn't like me, she is going to make sure people that I care about have a tainted opinion of me, too. Cripes, get over yourself, right? This notion was kind of put into perspective today when I saw a certain comment on Facebook. A woman was complaining about President Obama's re-election saying that "Everyone I know was voting for Romney? How did he even win?" Thankfully, the world is actually much bigger than whatever local radius you want to assign to everyone that this genius knows. (That person is going to find this blog post and then *shudder*, she isn't going to like me anymore, either. Oh, well.) Me imagining that Queen Bitch's influence matters is just as dumb as someone thinking that all of her local, Republican family and friends represent all of 'merica.

QB probably has some redeeming qualities. She is... um, well, ... I don't know what they are, but I refuse to believe that she is inherently evil. Maybe she wasn't hugged enough as a child. Maybe she is sensitive like me, but chooses to be an icy cold bitch instead of internalizing everything the way I (and all good, polite ladies, as they should) do. (I don't really feel that way.) (I like parentheses.) Until I can walk away, I am going to hold my head high, knowing that I am a good person. And while I'm probably not bringing anything positive to the relationship these days, I'm going to try my best to not drop anymore poison into this dying, obligatory acquaintanceship.

Adolescence, Part II.

This is a long time from now, but I was just wondering how in the heck am I going to prepare my daughter for the douchey little kids she'll go to middle school with when they say and do cruel things. I remember being that age and thinking that it only happened to a few unfortunate souls, and then as I got older, I realized that nearly every middle schooler is a tortured, awkward little fledgling. (But yes, some more than others.) Having a baby is awesome. Feed them, change them, make goofy faces at them. Happiness. But 12-16 year olds? Oh shit. I guess I have to relive the torture of adolescence through my kid. Just when I got over my own... I probably don't have to worry about this for at least another decade but, here I am, worrying.

Venting.

Hi. I'm 33 1/2 weeks pregnant, exhausted, hot, and cranky as hell... I need to get some stuff off of my chest.

Things that are getting on my nerves:

1. The Chik-Fil-A debate. Oh my God, shut the hell up about this already! I mean, unless you know what you are talking about, shut up about it. There are people who seem to think that this debate is about freedom of speech and that it's ridiculous to think that Mr. Cathy or any Christians/Republicans who side with him are homophobic. Of course this guy has the right to believe whatever bigoted shit he wants to believe in. Being a CEO doesn't exclude him from the right to say what he wants. People who do not agree with him; however, have the right to not fund his donations to organizations like Family Research Council. Knowing what happens to your money after it leaves your hands and making a decision to control where that money goes is a concept called voting with your wallet. You're not just getting a tasty fried chicken sandwich when you go to Chik-Fil-A. You're donating to a group that wants to make homosexual behavior (between consenting adults!) illegal. I'm not going to beat a dead horse here, but my God, mind your business. Nobody is forcing you to have gay sex. If you don't believe it, don't do it. For those saying, "I don't hate gay people," I'm sure gay people are THRILLED to hear that even though you think their lifestyle is an abomination, they shouldn't have any rights, and they are surely hell-bound, you love them. Ugh. Just stuff some waffle fries in your mouth. Don't forget to say grace.

2.  50 Shades Of Grey, Red Solo Cup, reality TV, Call Me Maybe, Uggs, Coach. There's more to this but I just can't even talk about it. Just, make it all go away. MAKE IT ALL GO AWAY!

3. Lazy people. Okay. I admit that I can fall victim to the curse of sloth. These days, with my swollen ankles and pained hips, especially. Still, when I witness how coddled and entitled people are, it drives me INSANE. There is a sense of satisfaction when you accomplish something, and if you can find a way to turn even the most mundane actions into challenges, life feels much more rewarding.
A friend of mine posted this picture on Facebook today and I love it. I will never be perfect about any of these things, but I think it is well worth the effort.

4. Unsolicited advice. I'm sure most people think that they are being helpful by giving me mom advice. Sometimes I want to know how different people handled different situations and I ask, but in the hive-mind world of social media where I get a multitude of opinions about everything from cloth diapering, breastfeeding, television watching, children's nutrition, etc., the one thing that I have learned is that there is no concrete right or wrong answer, but everyone feels the need to justify their own opinion. I am here to say, I'm not judging you. (Ok, maybe sometimes.) I just don't want to break my baby. There is no "best" baby carrier/carseat/parenting method. We all wing it and I suspect we're mostly aware of the hyper-scrutinization of the parenting police otherwise known as our "friends" and therefore, very defensive. Let's just take it down a notch and realize that most of us just want happy, healthy kids. This is easy for me to say since my kid is still safely nestled in my womb (or ribs, depending on the time of day). Oh, and stop telling me that I'll never sleep again. I'm not sleeping NOW so your scary "words of wisdom" are just making me more anxious. Also, you know what? I know that nothing can prepare me for this adventure, but I chose this, and I am looking forward to it. Please don't bring your sleep-deprived misery out on me. I have my own sleep-deprived misery, thank you.  I know it's going to be hard and I take discouragement to heart. Please stop.

5. Whiteheads. Pop that shit. It's gross.

6. Awe vs. Aww. If you don't know the difference, don't use either word until you learn. You're on the Internet. Look it up. I know you're not amazed that someone thinks that you took a nice Instagram picture.

7. I am a planet. Being a short chubmeister to begin with, growing a baby has not been especially becoming. There were about 10 minutes in my second trimester where I felt all earth-goddess feminine, but I am not feeling womanly at all in these last weeks of pregnancy. Everything is uncomfortable. Childbirth always seemed unfathomable and scary. Now, I am looking forward to the relief of having this baby live on the outside. Obviously, I am looking forward to seeing her, dressing her, getting to know her, but selfishly, I'm looking forward to evicting her. Anytime after September 1, babe.

My inadequate attempt to balance the bad with some good, Things that are not getting on my nerves:

1. Watermelon.

2. Pineapple.

3. Air Conditioning.

4. The pool.

There. I feel better now.

Beauty and Beast(ly Insecurities)

When I was in the seventh grade, my friend Michelle told me that her stepmother said that I was very beautiful. Michelle was as incredulous as I was and had no trouble letting me know that it was a really weird thing to hear about me. "I guess you're pretty in that "exotic" or "unique" way. Nobody looks like you." She was right. At least, nobody in my mostly caucasian middle school looked like me, with my multicultural blend of Japanese eyes and hair, Italian complexion, Irish ... freckles? Individuality is a beautiful thing, unless you're in seventh grade. Instead of focusing on the fact that someone thought I was beautiful, I focused on Michelle's last statements. "You're definitely, not, like, classically beautiful. You're not normal beautiful."

I knew that I could improve my looks - I could work out, get a new hair cut, wear make up differently- but no matter how hard I tried, I would never be normal beautiful - as defined by some 7th grade mean girl whose opinion mattered to me. I would never stand taller than 5'0" which meant I could do every lengthening exercise that Shape magazine had to offer, but I would never have long legs or a long, lean torso. Fashion magazines have a running feature: Which bathing suit/jeans/dress is the most flattering on you? You select the box with your flaw: short-waisted, wide hips, pear-shaped,  whatever, to find out which outfit you should wear. I could never find the box that included "all of the flaws above" and decided that it would be best to just wear burqas for the rest of my life. And then there's my face. If I have make up on, if I face a camera with the right angle, if the stars are aligned and I'm lucky, I can take a reasonable looking picture. But I have hated every candid photo that I have ever seen of myself from age 12 on. I hate that I am so vain about it, but I live in constant fear of being tagged in a likely unflattering photo on Facebook. My internal monologue is often chanting, "please don't look at me." Oh, to be invisible.

There have been times when I had a fleeting sense of feeling beautiful. While I am a married woman, a flirtatious encounter from an attractive man is still an exhilarating affirmation. Before I was pregnant, this happened from time to time and even though I could never believe in my heart that I was pretty, it was still blissfully invigorating to feel a momentary lapse of reality, a phenomenon otherwise known as, "I've still got it." (This can happen even if you firmly believe you never had it to begin with.) As crunchy as this may sound, I also feel beautiful when I am alone in nature. This doesn't happen often enough, but hiking in the woods with the dog, walking barefoot on a hot, sandy beach and feeling the occasional, cool kiss of the ocean's waves on my toes, breathing fresh air in any space that is far from buildings and businesses and people, all make me feel like a beautiful, living creature with a heart and lungs and amazing senses, instead of just a woman with a body and a face.

Now that I am 7 1/2 months pregnant, despite being larger than I have ever been, despite the enormous boobs that are only going to get frighteningly bigger, (my 17 year old self would never believe that this would be a problem,) and despite the exhaustion that must be very clearly drawn on my face, I am feeling less self-conscious than I have since pre-adolescence. I did not feel this way in the beginning of my pregnancy. My regular daily hang-ups were exacerbated with first trimester bloat and a touch of hormonal hysteria, but once I looked obviously pregnant, I felt incredibly liberated from the ball and chain of vanity and insecurity. Even if I weigh 20 pounds more than I normally do, I feel less visible. Since my uterus is no longer a contender in man's evolutionary drive to plant his seed, there is absolutely no male gaze to worry about. (Not that I'm ever worried about it, but even the most oblivious women are aware of the gaze.) My husband's evolutionary drive has been satisfied and my growing belly serves as a reminder of his virility. While he is proud and excited, I do wonder how he really feels about the changes that my body is going through. He won't say so because he enjoys intact body parts, but I have a hard time believing that he isn't a little weirded out. Even though I am in a state that confirms active sexuality, there is no possibility that this body would be considered sexy. What a relief. I don't equate sexiness with beauty; however, it is much easier to feel beautiful when the sexy factor (that I never felt I could live up to,) is removed. Also, people are so nice to pregnant women. "You look radiant!" Whenever I hear this, I remember this adjective was used for Wilbur the pig in Charlotte's Web. I appreciate the effort.

I feel beautiful when I am swimming at the pool that I joined this summer. This summer has been brutally hot and for the first time since I was about nine years old, I confidently dive into the pool without any hesitation. I know people are looking, but I don't care. Yes, people can see my enormity in my maternity bathing suit but the shame is gone. This belly that people see is a solid bump made of baby instead of a flabby reserve of Lay's potato chips. My legs are still short, but they are more muscular since I have been doing squats to prepare for labor and running up and down the stairs in our new home. As for the rest of my body? Whatever. Let's face it, everyone's just staring at my belly and big old boobs right now anyway. I do not have confidence that I look okay. I just don't CARE that I don't. (This admission does not grant you permission to post unflattering photos of me on social media sites.)

When I am at home at night, laying on my side and reading, my baby moves inside of me and it is the most exquisitely beautiful feeling that I have ever felt in my life. I joke with (close) friends about some of the horrors of pregnancy and childbirth, but it is just amazing to feel my daughter stretch and roll and kick inside of me. My body that I have hated for 20+ years, is growing a person! I realize that my body is not a collection of parts to loathe. My body is strong and functional and incredible. I know that I am going to have issues with my body after childbirth, but I am hoping that I can remember the empowerment of pregnancy for the sake of my own daughter's self-image. I want her to grow up with a mother who ranks strength and function over superficial beauty. As I grow older, I want to maintain a certain level of fitness that will keep me strong and capable for the rest of my life.

Whether I ever possessed normal beauty or not, doesn't really matter since this type of beauty will always fade away, but I hope that I can remember that how I feel is far more important than how I appear. I'll never be long and lean but I want to appreciate my heart, my lungs, my senses, and this body that is introducing a baby to the world in several weeks.



Questions for you.
1. What makes you feel beautiful?
2. Do you need validation from friends, strangers, the opposite sex?
3. If you've ever been pregnant, did you feel unappealing or empowered?
4. How much does superficial beauty matter?