Stay classy, San Diego!

30 weeks!

Only 7 - 10 more weeks and we'll have this little munchkin.

Greetings from San Diego! All accounts of the amazing weather have been true. It's super sunny, but not unbearably hot. Gorgeous to look at surrounded by hills and mountains. Then there's the ocean, which is...an ocean. What's not to like?

The people.

Sooo, maybe I hyped San Diego up a little too much in my mind as a magical wonderland, but I somehow thought people here would be friendly and awesome. I told myself it would rival Disneyland for the title of "happiest place on earth" and our baby girl would be born with magic unicorns hovering overhead. Um, they're not. Well, maybe the unicorn thing, but not people being friendly. In fact, they're downright standoffish. We've tried waving feverishly at our new neighbors to be ignored or petulantly waved off. We actually live in La Mesa, which is a suburb about 10 miles from downtown San Diego. The neighborhood we live in is really nice and residential, but we were starting to wonder if we both had boogers hanging out of our noses as sometimes when we're out shopping or living people can be a little gawky. At first I thought, maybe our time in Virginia made us unrealistic about how friendly people could/would/should be given the southern sensibilities of that place. But, then today I was out walking our dog and I ran into a man just mowing his lawn. He had a dog too, so we struck up a conversation. I told him we were new here, and he said he was from Southern California and had lived in the area off and on for 20 years. He asked how we liked it here, I asked how he liked it here. He said he was hesitant to tell me since I was new here, but the people aren't terribly friendly. How relieved I was to hear that! I told him I was starting to think it was us. He assured us that it's just the culture.

In other news, since we got here a week ago we've been busy! I had to meet with a new Primary Care Manager so that I could get a referral to OB care. I'm seeing a civilian doctor because there was no availability at the military facility (boo hoo). She was kind of a tool, but she did give me a referral to the birth center that I want to use. We had our appointment there earlier this week, which went great! I was really nervous that they might not accept me because you have to have zero risk basically, and some of these places have restrictions on BMI and blah blah blah. But, everything was perfect! We had our first birth class and we're just plugging along to have a natural birth with our baby girl. So. Relieved. They even offer water birth and exactly the type of environment I want to deliver this new life into. Some people think hospital birth is essential. I'm of the opinion that having a baby is not a medical problem, so there's no need to be in a hospital.

All in all, I feel pretty freaking good considering I just sat through a 5 day road from Virginia to California and spent the last week sleeping on an air mattress while 7.5 months pregnant. I guess I'm just so happy that we had already found a house to rent before we arrived, and I'm on track to have the birth of my choosing. I'm a little tired, but I'll take it.

And look at me looking all pregnant!

Mothers

27 weeks!

It's almost time, y'all. We're moving to San Diego, CA in just over a week! I feel like I should be running around mad doing things, but mostly I'm just laying on the couch surfing Craigslist for a place to live in San Diego. Some days I take the dog for a walk. Some days I don't.

Even though I feel like a lazy sloth, I've actually gotten a lot done. I've been advertising our current house for rent, and doing showings. Last week we found a really nice family moving to the area that will be our new tenants. I can't even describe the huge weight that lifted off of my shoulders.

My dear wife just returned after having been gone for a month. During her absence my mother came to visit for a week from California so that I wouldn't have to be alone for so long. It went really, really well (read: terribly). That was a job in itself. She came to make things easier for me, but I have to say (mostly because I know she'll never read this) that it was sort of like a job dealing with her. She's a lovely person and all that jazz, but we have your classically complicated mother-daughter relationship. It got me thinking a lot about the kind of mother I want to be. The legacies that get passed on within families, and the choices I'd like to make about which traditions to continue and which will end right here and now.

There's always been an epic power struggle with my mother. We both gripe with the same old tired complaints that have become scripted since I was 16. I think my mother is too overbearing and controlling, she thinks I'm ungrateful and disrespectful. I was reminded of this on her recent visit when she told me in our discussion (read: fight) that "We are not equals. I'm above you."  I remember reading an article/blog a month or so ago on the Adrian Peterson fracas and what it revealed about the racial divide in parenting. The themes from the article certainly seemed to be showing up in my relationship with my mother. Her unending need to assert this boss/subordinate dynamic between us. Unquestioned submission, even from an adult child.

This was the relationship she had with her mother, a woman who grew up in rural Mississippi, picked cotton, and never learned to read. Now, present day, she expected me to duplicate the same relationship. Even though, that one was fraught with so much pain and disconnection right up until her death 4 years ago at age 89. I could understand why Big Mama (my mother's mother) had those ideas. She grew up in a space and time where Black parents had to demand absolute obedience from their children, it was training for the world they would inevitably encounter. Born in 1921 in the deep south, there was no room for insolence or even the perception of it. There was no room for self-hood or confidence. It was a world where men were eternal boys. You obeyed, unequivocally. Your very existence depended on it.

But this is now. I grew up with a hippy mother from Northern California. I spent my weekends listening to the drumming circle at the Ashby flea market in Berkeley as the scent of incense wafted by and mother waxed poetic about her astrological chart.  My mother reared her girls to be independent, outspoken, educated. She very consciously brought us up to question authority and speak our minds. She expected critical thinking and opinions on the things that mattered. She encouraged us to fly the nest and explore the world knowing we always had a safety net with her. Yet, on this, she could not see that tradition isn't always what's best. Sometimes, it's just what's always been done. When tradition stop serving your relationships, perhaps it's best to reevaluate them.

Nearly 7 months pregnant with my own daughter I think about these things. How can I improve on what the last generation accomplished? How can I give my daughter a new gift? Children, of course, need guidance and structure. But, is it our job to lord over them? Beat them into submission? I don't know what it will mean to actually raise this baby. Maybe I've got a lot to learn from my mother. Maybe we both do.

I'm Kicking Pregnancy's Ass

23 weeks!

Well, technically tomorrow will be 23 weeks. But, let's not get technical.

Dude, I am so good at being pregnant now. I am turning into one of those obnoxious women that's all like "Being pregnant is a beautiful miracle, and I was never sick, and I'm perfect blahblahblah"

No. I'm not that bad. I hate those women (ok, ok, I don't hate them.) I can't deny though, things are going so well that lately I pinch myself. Aside from that scare where they saw a shadow or a bright spot (depending on which doctor you're talking to) in her heart in the ultrasound. That really freaked me out. Panic attacks. Anxiety. But, then we had a level two ultrasound at Walter Reed and doc assured us she saw no such thing and it's looking good in there.

Phew. A lot of phews.

I would just like to point out that articles and doctors are always highlighting that fat women have a higher incidence of EVERYTHING BAD during pregnancy. Not to mention they birth babies that are born pigs and then fly away. They're all like "oh, fearmongeringfearmongeringfearmongering." Well, I'm having none of that (knock on wood). Also, at my last visit my midwife said I was doing great with weight gain, because I haven't gained anymore weight. I didn't have the heart to tell her I haven't changed a thing. I just ate a chocolate donut. Oh, wait, I walk everyday, that's different. Like I told my midwife on the first visit: My fat grandmother birthed 12 healthy babies, without all the newfangled technology - we gon' be alright.

The other thing is, don't hold me to anything I'm saying now in the third trimester. I hear that's another beast entirely. Deal?

I'm also doing a good job at entertaining myself while my wife is away for a whole month. Granted, I'm only 3 days in, but I'm obviously in a very self-congratulatory mood today, so just let me have this one.

I'm trying not to complain while she's in school at Fort Knox training for the new position she'll have once we move to San Diego in October. I figure since I met her later in her Army career, after she'd converted to a 79R Permanent Recruiter (they run the recruiting centers you see in your cities) and additional deployments for her at this point are much less likely, I should shut my mouth and count my blessings. She could be across oceans, cultures and timezones, but she's just in Kentucky (that culture part is arguable), and she will definitely be there for the birth of our baby. So, this is a good time to honor all those Army wives that brave long deployments, pregnant or otherwise, those that birth babies alone and endure.

While she's gone, my job is to get the house ready to be rented out. I'm a pretty handy gal, but trying to remember that just because I feel pretty close to my normal self, doesn't mean I can do normal things. Without that reminder, you might find me outside on a ladder trying to clean the gutters of our two story house. Seems legit to me, but everyone else keeps giving me the side-eye, so I'm just going to dial it back a little. It's the hormones! On the good days I feel so good, euphoric. The flip side is the bad days feel like the world is crumbling beneath my feet and I'm falling faster and harder than anyone else. I figured I'd write this today, a good day, since this whole baby thing is a rollercoaster, and its easy to write when you're afraid, anxious and chronically worried, because there's so much to say, and so much of that, since there's a tiny person growing in your body and you don't have x-ray vision. Nice change of pace.

Just to put things in perspective so they don't sound too good to be true, I should say there is one thing I'm not nailing - smelling like a real person. Or, at least, the person I used to be. Nobody tells you that when you're pregnant you're going to smell like a total stranger.  It's very weird. I have never in my life worn deodorant. Not because I walk around in a cloud of complete funk, but I just never had to. I'm not making this up. I make my friends smell my armpits all the time to prove that I'm not crazy. It just smells like nothing. Or, I used to, if I did that now they would pass out. I'm not even going to tell you about the time my wife said my nether regions smelled like chicken a few weeks ago. Which should have begged the question, baked or fried? Instead it just made me cry. Am I baking poultry or a human baby in there? Somebody please tell me I will go back to smelling like my old self once this baby is born? Just say it, whether it's true or not. Oh, well, I guess it's a small price to pay. I guess.

Lastly, she's moving a lot! Lots of thumps and swirls and cha-cha-cha's in there. My girl is a dancer, or a soccer player, or a gymnast, or just a normal baby doing normal baby stuff. Eh, can't hurt to dream.

Heart Strings

21 weeks and counting!

I'm feeling good. Like, really, really, really good. Everybody said that things got better in the 2nd trimester and I'm finally starting to experience that. I almost feel normal like my old self again...except, there's a baby in me.  I was having back pain for a while, but I started walking and stretching 4 or 5 times a week, and that makes a big difference with the low-back nonsense.

We had our 20 week ultrasound last week, and apparently baby girl was not in the right position to get a good view of all 4 chambers of her heart or the profile of her face.

Let me tell you something, if you thought you were a chill person before - have a baby. There's a nagging worry I've never experienced in my life when they say anything other than the baby is perfect. I ride that worry like a giant, galloping, wild horse bucking all the while.

Also, at these anatomy ultrasounds they measure all the baby's little parts. As they scroll over her head and measure it, it's exactly the size it should be for her age. Then they measure arms and legs, which are two or three weeks ahead of schedule. My 20 week old baby had the legs of a 23 week old baby. We assumed she would be tall since our sperm donor is 6'6". And if something is going to be big, I'd like it to be limbs and not her head since I'm still not convinced that chart in the doctor's office showing a cervix dilated to size of a bracelet is a real thing that can happen.

Anyway the midwife calls with the ultrasound report and since baby girl is big, they want me to do an early test for gestational diabetes. They also want me to have another ultrasound because they need to see that her heart is complete.  All the while they assure me that everything is probably fine, and don't worry, we're just making sure. Mmmmmm hmmmmm. Totally. I'm just sitting here not worrying atop this crazy beast trying with all its might to throw me.

The good and fast news: no sign of gestational diabetes.

We scheduled a second ultrasound where they were able to see her face, which is normal. They also see all 4 chambers of the heart. Yayyyyy!! But, then, the doctor calls me today and says that while they did see the 4 chambers there was some kind of shadow in there which they believe was just capillaries or something, but could also be an indication of chromosomal abnormalities. I've already done lab tests for that which came back normal, but you know the drill. Everything is probably fine, and don't worry, we're just making sure. Mmmmmmm hmmmmmm. Totally.

Schedule a level 2 ultrasound at Walter Reed and ride that sucker til' the wheels fall off.

I don't want to sound bitchy, but their reassurance is about as useful as tits on a bull. I go out and spend $200 on maternity clothes for retail therapy, because my heart is heavy and I need a distraction.

It fascinates and frightens me that the entirety of my life is wrapped up in a person I've never met. How can you love someone so much that isn't even really a someone yet? It's a strange feeling. It's deeper than anything I've ever felt. Being so connected, so tied to someone that's just a dream. One that's slowly coming to fruition, but still not quite actualized. Parents always try to describe it, inevitably failing, with the only explanation that: one day, when you have kids of your own, you'll understand. And I do now. Fingers crossed, saddle ready, I do.

In lighter news, I feel her moving around all the time. Little blips and rumblings. It's a nice feeling. And honestly, before today, I was marveling and how incredibly happy I am right now. I'm still happy, but now also worried. But, I can hold both of those feelings. My heart is big enough for that.

Oh, and I kinda look pregnant, y'all! Well, here's a photo in my new maternity clothes. Judge for yourself. It's still a little ambiguous, which means people aren't like "oh my god, when are you due?", because let's face it, no one wants to be the asshole who mistakes a fat lady for being pregnant, when she is just, in fact, fat. But, I'm actually pregnant! So, you can totally say that to me. Oh, well, I know I look pregnant. Check me out, y'all.

Fat Mama

Ok, so I'm a little behind in my blogging. We had a houseguest for a while, then took a mini-vacay to Charleston, SC, and blah blah blah, you don't want to hear my excuses. I'm back! I have an unexpected juicy update, too.

18 weeks, y'all!

Remember when I said everyone was lying about things getting better in the second trimester? I would like to recant that statement. Things are better. I'm not nauseous (as often), and I can actually stay up past 9:30pm (alllll the way 'til 10:30 now).  I've had some mild headaches, but they're manageable.

The other thing is, I've started to gain weight. Having been fat for over two decades this doesn't necessarily freak me out. I mean, it's not like I'm not holding myself to some impossible standard of thinness. However, I do take seriously the statistics linking obesity to higher rates of gestational diabetes and other complications during pregnancy. I did a ton of research on this when I first got pregnant, because I was really worried about it. I realized that I had to find out concrete numbers, because there seems to be a lot of fear mongering going on for big women. Without boring you with a bunch of numbers, let's just say that the vast majority of women, fat or otherwise, have healthy normal pregnancies and babies.

So at my last prenatal visit when my CNM told me that I was gaining weight too quickly, I kinda gave her the side eye. I've gained 7 pounds. I asked her how it was possible that I only gain 20 pounds during this whole pregnancy when (according to the book they gave me) the baby, fluids, placenta and all that other baby stuff weighs 20-25 pounds? You're essentially asking me to lose weight. She said that large women have extra weight already so they don't need to gain anything. She asked if I'd like to be referred to a nutritionist, and I don't think I'm being unreasonable when I say that someone should give me an award for not telling that lady to go fuck herself. Listen lady. I can't drink wine. My back hurts. I'm finally capable of eating something other than saltines and ramen noodles! Sleep, my best friend in the world, is now hit or miss.  I have constant anxiety about the fact that having a baby is one of the very few things in the world that a person can do that can never be undone. Ever. If I want a piece of chocolate cake, I'm going to eat it, and if you don't like it - TOUGH. That doesn't mean I've forgotten those statistics. It means I make it to the gym a few times a week for aqua aerobics classes. It means I drink plenty of water. It means I take care of myself, but I also allow myself to indulge in food when I would like, within reason. I think me and Baby McCall are gon' be alright.

Now one thing that I was sort of worried about being a fat woman is that I wasn't going to look pregnant. I wanted the baby bump you see in the movies. They look so cute. I'm fearing I'm just going to look fatter, not pregnant.  Lately, Baby McCall has been pushing my fat up and out which is making me look fatter, but also kinda pregnant. Maybe too pregnant. Oh well, beggars can't be choosers. Don't judge this quick photo I snapped in my hotel room below.

Speaking of Baby McCall. We have (drumroll please) a baby girl!!!! I'm not naming any names (I am pointing at my wife) but some people couldn't wait until our 20 week ultrasound and made us an appointment for a quick peek at Peek-a-Boo two weeks ago. I went along with it mostly because I really just wanted to see the baby. I get kinda of worried between doc appointments about whether everything is ok in there. The wife was a little disappointed, because she wanted a boy, but I think we're both glad that she seems to be progressing really well. Oh, and this is Baby McCall!

How to Train Your Emotions

Today marks my 12th week of pregnancy!

Honestly, it's not all that different from last week or the 12 before it.

Oh, wait! There was an exciting development a couple of days ago. After dear wife tricked me into going to Wal-mart (that went something like, Her:"Okay, okay, we wont go to Wal-mart. I'll go to CVS and Food Lion. Get in the car." *I get in car, close door, seatbelt on.*  Her: "The good news is, I'm going to be able to get everything I need at one store. The bad news is, we're going to Wal-mart."  Me: "Traitor! Liar! Guards! Where are the guards? I wont stand for this!") Yet, there I am. At Wal-mart. So, we're walking through the store, and I'm feeling nauseous, hot and headachey, but then I always feel mildly crappy these days, so it's not really that noteworthy. We check out. We get back to the car and I have to immediately sit down. Not that I was going to help load the stuff anyway after her treasonous actions. The next thing I know I'm vomiting out the side of the car in the Wal-mart parking lot...for like ever. Which, let me tell you, was super fun. People are passing by just trying to load their groceries or toasters or whatever, like whooooooaaa. Please, they've seen worse in the parking lot at Wal-mart.

So, despite everyone saying things start to get better around your 12th week, don't believe them. I've gone this entire pregnancy without vomiting, until 2 days ago. Maybe baby just wanted to sneak one good one in before we left this trimester. After all, next week Baby McCall will go from being an embryo to a full-fledged fetus, and that's kind of a big deal. So, we had to do something to commemorate this milestone. Mama puking in a parking lot seems like something to remember alright.

In other news, I'm still emotional. But, what's eating me is that I'm really anxious. Normally, I'm a pretty laid back, California strollin', kinda gal. Lately though, it can't be helped since every morning I wake up from some intense dream that freaks me out. They range from seeing my deceased grandmother cry inconsolably to having sex with Russell Brand and seeing his very blue neon sperm (I'll spare you the details of that one). Chicken or egg? No doubt I've got a lot of angst swimming (no pun intended) around that just comes out in the dream world. I feel anxious A LOT. Last night dear wife wanted to run to the store for something which sent me into a tizzy, because undoubtedly if she's away from me for 20 minutes not at work something bad is going to happen to her. I laid in bed trying to sleep but just rolling around neurotically. Miraculously, she returned from CVS unscathed. There is a God.

Today, I caught the tail end of that Prop 8 documentary on HBO "The Case Against 8"...or something like that. Well, by the end I was a blubbering fool. A state which I've grown accustomed to being in in the last 12 weeks. Let me tell you, snotty tears are not a good look on me. I look like a wet, runny, Rudolph in a night gown with uncombed hair. Yes, that good. At any rate, pulling myself together, I realized something. After campaigning against Prop 8, I was devastated when it passed. Seriously distraught. Today, I'm married to my same-sex partner with a baby on the way. I am beyond fortunate to have lived in a time when I watched history change. Not only did it change, it directly effected my life.  The anniversary of the Mississippi Freedom Summer has reminded me that every bit of privilege and personal rights I enjoy were won on the backs of folks who went before me and did without them. In considering that, I feel so extremely blessed. What else could account for having the luck (and that's all it is) to be born in a time when I can literally do whatever I want, other than some kind of divine favor bestowed upon me? I never believed in coincidence. I have to thank the ancestors for fighting through all of that hardship so that I could enjoy the fruits of their labor today. The only possible way to do justice to all this good fortune is to practice gratitude daily. Starting now.

I've decided to use this clarity to combat my anxiety. I mean, really, what could a girl as lucky as me have to worry about?

About That Whole Lesbian Parents Thing

11 weeks and counting, folks. Baby McCall is a large dancing Teddy Graham.

I want to say I'm less nauseous, but I'll jinx myself. Every time I think..."hey, I'm not nauseous right now" I start feeling it again. So, let's just say I'm feeling a little better overall. A little more energy. I've got my fingers crossed that all the people who've been telling me the 2nd trimester is a vast improvement, weren't just trying to make me feel better. This morning I even cooked breakfast for myself! If you call frying an egg cooking (and I do), I'm a reg'lar ole Paula Dean...er...um....B. Smith.

I can't help but feel, what with all the free time I'm saving not lying around miserable, I have more time to think. Today, one of my Facebook Friends -- Wait. Hold up. That's what it's called, the technical name, but can we just agree that's a misnomer? Let's just get real honest here. Facebook allows you to peer into the innermost thoughts of people that you would have long since lost touch with (for good reason), and probably, at best, would be a fleeting thought that vanished into the ether as soon as it appeared (I wonder what happened to Yvonne from 2nd grade? *shrug* What's for dinner?).Yet, here I am referring to these people as "friends" as if in the alternate reality of Facebook, we're just that. No, you're a person I knew 17 years ago, because we happened to go to the same jr. high school, and now find ourselves in a relatively intimate connection, because of the magical wonders of technology.

I digress.

(*Sidebar: In my fit of hormonal rage, I completely forgot that Facebook also keeps me connected with people from 17 years ago, or 10 years ago, or 2 years ago that I actually really liked, and enjoy getting to peak into their lives unobtrusively. Ok, so not those people.)

Let me try this again. One of the people I'm connected with on Facebook recently posted something about how women, despite their best efforts, simply cannot raise men. She went on to comment how that applied to single mothers, lesbian mothers, or divorced mothers. In order for a man to be properly reared, he must have an active father figure. One of her "friends" then commented on some instance wherein the gay community was up in arms over a similar sentiment expressed by some famous person. They both agreed that despite the fuss from the lezzies, it's an irrefutable fact that boys need fathers to become men.

Step One: Delete her. Ok, you may say that's unfair, but I'm sorry! I just don't have the energy to entertain anyone in my real life or my Facebook life that thinks that gay people are less than in any regard.

Sometimes, when I'm trying to figure out if I'm being unreasonable I replace the word "gay" with "Black" in my mind in relation to something someone has said. Like, imagine Rick Perry saying "I think of it like alcoholism, you could be predisposed to being Black, but you have a choice. You could choose not to be Black" That sounds ridiculous, right? Well, now you see my point.  My gayness is just as much a part of myself as my Blackness. I had no control over either of those aspects of my identity. It's who I am, and any person that believes that either of those things makes me anything other than just another person in the world trying to figure out this cat's craddle game of happiness we're all trying get through in life has got to step the fuck off. Period. If she said that Black mothers simply can't bring up healthy sons, then a whole bunch of folks would be up in arms. If your world view insists that I cannot have a healthy, happy life -- again, you have got to step the fuck off. Period. Think what you want, but not in my space.

Step Two: Seriously consider whether two women can shape a boy into a man.  This thought has occurred to me before. Obviously, Baby McCall could very well be a boy (if dear wife gets her druthers). I've been asked this question before, but now that I'm pregnant there is a different gravity to it's answer. Though my body has been changing since the conception of Baby McCall, my mind remains steadfast. Our job, as the parents of this baby, will be to love it mercilessly. To rear it to be a thinking, compassionate, engaged, self-determined human being. When I think of the best men and women I know, they share the same traits. They're good listeners, they're thoughtful, they're cooperative, they're hard-working, they are a host of things, none of which are tied to their genitalia. The things we think of as being the hallmarks of manhood aren't necessarily values that I would teach to my son anyway, whether there was a father present or not. What? The man is the head of the household? He's the breadwinner? He opens doors and takes out the trash? He gets the big piece of chicken? No dice.

If we can teach this baby to strive with all its might to be a decent human being, a citizen of the world, a child of the universe that never loses sight of our connection and responsibility to one another as people, we will have succeeded.

Check out this article from Time magazine entitled "Study: Children of Lesbians May Do Better Than Their Peers"

And this one, from Huffington Post "Teens With Lesbian Parents Do Better at School..."