Yesterday marked the start of my eighth week of pregnancy. According to the pregnancy app, my little one is now about the size of a raspberry, and weighs less than half an ounce.
penny for your thoughts
The boy and I both have a lot going on right now. His recent hernia diagnosis, his impending surgery, this pregnancy and a lack of freelance work coming my way. We’re both stressed and a little testy, but it’s interesting to note how differently we deal with things. He bottles up and boils over, whereas I try not to dwell, because then whatever I’m worried about festers and grows into something much bigger than it is. And he thinks that because I’m not outwardly grumpy (until I’m around him, funny that), it means that I’m not taking things seriously. Worry doesn’t change a damn thing, I told him, so I don’t much care for doing it.
mean but oh, so funny
There’s dog shaming, cat shaming and, really just pet-shaming in general (here and here). However, this one, which is kind of like kid shaming, is the best yet. What started as a blog turned into a viral phenomenon and quickly took off (resonating with parents of toddlers everywhere, no doubt), spawning this book.
(I could totally see myself doing something like this to my kid. Poor thing).
OT: thoughts on the trayvon martin fiasco
I really haven’t said much about the case over the last few weeks, and now that the verdict has been handed down, I still don’t have much to say. It’s disappointing, but not surprising. It also makes me worry about raising a little boy child in this day and age. If I had a boy, my son would most likely be rather fair-skinned (and perhaps not even immediately recognizable to some as half-black), but there’s a chance he could be closer to brown, like me. And maybe when he’s older, and he’s somewhere, at some time (perhaps the wrong time), something akin to what happened to Trayvon Martin could happen to my him. How would I explain this to a child?
Wesley Hall’s mom gave him some good basic training to navigating Life While (half) Black. I read this, and even though I’m not a young, black boy, I can certainly relate it to my own upbringing.
As much as I haven’t talked about it, the weight of the trial and its verdict have affected me more than I thought.
And that’s the last I think I’ll talk about Trayvon. RIP, kid. Gone but never forgotten.
sweet dreams are made of this
One interesting “side effect” of pregnancy is the bizarrely vivid dreams I’ve been having for the past month or so. Strange, convoluted plotlines and feels-so-real scenarios. I often wake up in a state of confusion. I’ve thought about writing them down, but honestly, I don’t think I could make sense of these dreams, even if I tried. Some of them tend to get a little racy, too. Thank goodness the boy is always my sexy leading man. Rawr.
no pictures, please
Keeping the pregnancy on the DL means that I haven’t taken very many pictures of myself from the waist down.
When I saw this series of photos by Alexei Aloisov, I thought (despite my sentiments below) that it was a beautiful way to chronicle a pregnancy. Not for me, though. I am comfortable with being nude, and even comfortable enough to be nude in front of a camera; I just don’t think I’d let any of my photographer friends capture me without any clothes on. Note to self: invest in a DSLR.
too late for me now…
I stumbled upon an old blog entry from over two years ago. It’s funny how consistent I am in some ways, and how time and age (and being in love with my loveable-but-grumpy boyfriend) have changed me in others. While it hasn’t been entirely fun and games, contrary to the opening sentence, I certainly no longer think pregnancy is gross.
…pregnancy is gross.
Not the miracle of it – the wonder of one human being giving life to another….that’s not what I’m talking about. I’ve witnessed both of my godchildren being born and it was the freakin’ COOLEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN.
However, the STATE of pregnancy – the distension, the discomfort, the displacement of innards while a baby grows inside… the forced sway back, the waddle, the sweating, the indigestion (the morning sickness!) the strange cravings, the elevated blood pressure, the constant state of “I can’t wait until this is over” is nothing that I’ve ever looked forward to.
I want to be a parent…I just don’t know that I WANT to go through what’s pictured above. I have stated on many occasions that I’d adopt, and while I know it’s not as easy as “going to the baby-store and picking out my kids,” as I like to joke, I just don’t. Think. I. Can. Be. Pregnant.
It terrifies me. Like, just the thought makes me shudder. My friends have been lucky to all have been beautiful, radiant pregnant women, but I just KNOW that’s not going to be my luck. I’m going to be the pimply, puking, pre-eclamptic, hormonal beached whale on bed rest whose weight will balloon to 200 pounds while I wait for the big day.
Beyond that, I think if I met the right guy, I’d totally take one for the team.
I’d still think it was gross, though.