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?
Thursday, June 26, 2014
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
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..."
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..."
Friday, June 13, 2014
Moonwalking Baby
One baby!
Let's start there. We've got one baby in there, despite the endless nauseous that makes me feel like there's a tiny city of evil nausea molecules constantly trying to build condos to accommodate more of them.
One baby that's very good at break-dancing and put on a little dance show for us as soon as the ultrasound began. Flailing its little arms and spinning in the most dazzling solo synchronized swimming routine I've ever seen (and yes, that's a real sport, despite the oxymoron). Since two separate sets of our friends recently had twins 2 weeks apart, we were wondering if it was catching. Looks like we can plan on one little baby McCall. No complaints here.
In other news, Wife has been stalk-calling the folks that are responsible for picking assignments to find out where we might be headed. Finally, she got in touch with someone that gave us a few options: Chicago, San Diego and Atlanta. All good options, but we were really dead set on making sure our move was to a marriage equality state so that we could both be on the birth certificate and an easy second parent adoption. It was an easy choice. What can I say, I'm a California girl, always have been, always will be. Soooooooooo, hello San Diego! We should be there by November of this year. If I weren't so nauseous my head would be spinning. A new baby, a move cross-country, renting out our house, finding new tenants for our rental property in Oakland, CA. Pretty much every possible change that could be happening is happening right now.
Yet and still, I feel tremendously happy. I love my family and no matter where we move in this world, we're together. That gets me through the nausea and uncertainty, the frequent moves, and life.
Let's start there. We've got one baby in there, despite the endless nauseous that makes me feel like there's a tiny city of evil nausea molecules constantly trying to build condos to accommodate more of them.
One baby that's very good at break-dancing and put on a little dance show for us as soon as the ultrasound began. Flailing its little arms and spinning in the most dazzling solo synchronized swimming routine I've ever seen (and yes, that's a real sport, despite the oxymoron). Since two separate sets of our friends recently had twins 2 weeks apart, we were wondering if it was catching. Looks like we can plan on one little baby McCall. No complaints here.
In other news, Wife has been stalk-calling the folks that are responsible for picking assignments to find out where we might be headed. Finally, she got in touch with someone that gave us a few options: Chicago, San Diego and Atlanta. All good options, but we were really dead set on making sure our move was to a marriage equality state so that we could both be on the birth certificate and an easy second parent adoption. It was an easy choice. What can I say, I'm a California girl, always have been, always will be. Soooooooooo, hello San Diego! We should be there by November of this year. If I weren't so nauseous my head would be spinning. A new baby, a move cross-country, renting out our house, finding new tenants for our rental property in Oakland, CA. Pretty much every possible change that could be happening is happening right now.
Yet and still, I feel tremendously happy. I love my family and no matter where we move in this world, we're together. That gets me through the nausea and uncertainty, the frequent moves, and life.
Monday, June 2, 2014
This is Me Totally Not Freaking Out
This is me totally not freaking out.
This is me lying.
The first few weeks of pregnancy are just weird. You take a test and they say you're pregnant, but that's it. I mean, sure I feel like I'm on the verge of vomiting constantly most days, and I'm really sleepy, but I could also just have the flu. It's not quite real. Except that every week I look online at what the baby should be like at that stage in development. I take solace in the fact that I am growing a tiny kidney bean alien in my body. Something like this:
We had our OB orientation a few days ago. It was actually a relief. The RN that conducted it was so sweet and welcoming. As a lesbian couple you're never quite sure how people are going to react. Certainly not when one of you is pregnant. I imagine this question mark over their head with the caption "How'd that happen?" But, she was incredibly warm and inclusive. Extra, extra, extra amazing that she was Black! I say this because we're a Black couple and we know that middle aged and older Black folks can be real deep off in their Christianity, which sometimes makes them funny acting about gay people. Fact. Anyway, this lady was amazing. She hugged us at the end, and I really wanted to hug her, because she was so reassuring.
I kind of want to cry just thinking about it. Which happens a lot now. The other day I cried that I wanted BBQ and my wife took me to get some. Yesterday, I full on sobbed for 5 minutes because we watched a video about this family with a transgender child and how they were accepting and loving. Like doubled over sobbing, because....who knows!? Because being a parent is a huge responsibility with so many variables. Because it's kind of overwhelming to think of all the potential things we could encounter. Plus, will it be harder for them to explain their gay parents if we're living in some small town the Army has sent us to? Oh God. I should untype that. I should not think about things that get me all weird.
Which brings me to my next point. I'm too through with the Army this week. I don't care. I am. My wife is a very hard worker (read: too hard). She's one of those people that's so completely committed to being successful that not reaching her goal never enters her mind. She's too busy barreling forward 100 mph to consider failure. For this reason she's been among the best in her field. She's trying to find out what's going to happen with our next PCS. Like, I don't know, minor details like where the hell are we going?? According to her Sergeant Major she's in the top five, if not number one, for her particular job, which means she's on a lot of people's radar and a few people are vying to have her come and work for them. Including somebody in Florida.
Um...that is not a thing. I am not living in Florida. Except, that if the Army tells her to... I'm living in Florida. *Gasp* Don't get me wrong, Floridians. I'm sure it's beautiful. Hell, I went to Disney World once. But, I don't want to live in the last state with a ban on same-sex adoptions (done away with in 2010, but still, you get me). No marriage equality. alsdfjaos;eihwpofaewn;lsdkfj. No. Uh Uh. No siree. You are gonna have to fix that shit. Ideally, we'd have the baby in Maryland or DC. Walter Reed Medical Center is looking like the place right now. That way we can both be on the birth certificate. Seems like a little thing, but it's not. We are this child's parents and we want to be recognized as such from jump. No confusion. I don't know. I just thought all that hard work would mean a little say when it really counts. My goal for this week is to not think about it. It makes me anxious, and I don't want to create a little neurotic baby with all my anxiety. Bleh.
This is me lying.
The first few weeks of pregnancy are just weird. You take a test and they say you're pregnant, but that's it. I mean, sure I feel like I'm on the verge of vomiting constantly most days, and I'm really sleepy, but I could also just have the flu. It's not quite real. Except that every week I look online at what the baby should be like at that stage in development. I take solace in the fact that I am growing a tiny kidney bean alien in my body. Something like this:
We had our OB orientation a few days ago. It was actually a relief. The RN that conducted it was so sweet and welcoming. As a lesbian couple you're never quite sure how people are going to react. Certainly not when one of you is pregnant. I imagine this question mark over their head with the caption "How'd that happen?" But, she was incredibly warm and inclusive. Extra, extra, extra amazing that she was Black! I say this because we're a Black couple and we know that middle aged and older Black folks can be real deep off in their Christianity, which sometimes makes them funny acting about gay people. Fact. Anyway, this lady was amazing. She hugged us at the end, and I really wanted to hug her, because she was so reassuring.
I kind of want to cry just thinking about it. Which happens a lot now. The other day I cried that I wanted BBQ and my wife took me to get some. Yesterday, I full on sobbed for 5 minutes because we watched a video about this family with a transgender child and how they were accepting and loving. Like doubled over sobbing, because....who knows!? Because being a parent is a huge responsibility with so many variables. Because it's kind of overwhelming to think of all the potential things we could encounter. Plus, will it be harder for them to explain their gay parents if we're living in some small town the Army has sent us to? Oh God. I should untype that. I should not think about things that get me all weird.
Which brings me to my next point. I'm too through with the Army this week. I don't care. I am. My wife is a very hard worker (read: too hard). She's one of those people that's so completely committed to being successful that not reaching her goal never enters her mind. She's too busy barreling forward 100 mph to consider failure. For this reason she's been among the best in her field. She's trying to find out what's going to happen with our next PCS. Like, I don't know, minor details like where the hell are we going?? According to her Sergeant Major she's in the top five, if not number one, for her particular job, which means she's on a lot of people's radar and a few people are vying to have her come and work for them. Including somebody in Florida.
Um...that is not a thing. I am not living in Florida. Except, that if the Army tells her to... I'm living in Florida. *Gasp* Don't get me wrong, Floridians. I'm sure it's beautiful. Hell, I went to Disney World once. But, I don't want to live in the last state with a ban on same-sex adoptions (done away with in 2010, but still, you get me). No marriage equality. alsdfjaos;eihwpofaewn;lsdkfj. No. Uh Uh. No siree. You are gonna have to fix that shit. Ideally, we'd have the baby in Maryland or DC. Walter Reed Medical Center is looking like the place right now. That way we can both be on the birth certificate. Seems like a little thing, but it's not. We are this child's parents and we want to be recognized as such from jump. No confusion. I don't know. I just thought all that hard work would mean a little say when it really counts. My goal for this week is to not think about it. It makes me anxious, and I don't want to create a little neurotic baby with all my anxiety. Bleh.
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