Either I'm getting the flu, or I spoke too soon on that whole 'morning sickness' thing.
I feel... strange. Weak, shaky, dizzy, nauseous. None of them badly enough to feel TERRIBLE, but all of them enough to feel decidedly... less than perfect. And only once in a while. Maybe 30-60% of the time, not always.
I've told people that I would gladly be sick every day for the rest of my life, just so long as this baby is born healthy. And I mean that with everything inside of me.
However. I think I may have been slightly hasty, because, see... I fucking HATE being sick. Like, a lot. You could probably light me on fire and kick me down a dry well, and I feel pretty safe in saying that I wouldn't hate THAT as much as I hate being sick.
So... It starts, I guess. This is it, starting.
I'm actually kind of (read: really) excited... Most of the time I don't feel any differently. So I like that I'm starting to feel SOMETHING, at least. Even if it is sick. It's something to tell me that I'm changing, that there's actually someone in there.
I just want my baby to be okay. I'll be sick, if that's what it means. I don't care. (...says the girl that's only experiencing a comparitive hint of nausea at this point, some weakness, forgetfulness, moodiness. Wait until this freak show swings into high gear. Pretty sure the tune will be different then.)
It's starting.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Curious.
My hands smell like buttered popcorn. I haven't eaten popcorn in weeks.
Curious that I wouldn't remember touching something that would cause this.
(Only if you don't consider the fact that most days, I don't remember if I put deodorant or underwear on, and have no fewer than THREE keys to my apartment hidden outside the front door because I sometimes forget mine inside and can't always remember where one or the other is outside...)
Maybe I've started blacking out and time traveling.
Because that's the only logical explanation.
Curious that I wouldn't remember touching something that would cause this.
(Only if you don't consider the fact that most days, I don't remember if I put deodorant or underwear on, and have no fewer than THREE keys to my apartment hidden outside the front door because I sometimes forget mine inside and can't always remember where one or the other is outside...)
Maybe I've started blacking out and time traveling.
Because that's the only logical explanation.
And then my poop turned green.
Seriously, I don't know if it's the hormones or what, but I have realized recently just how lucky I am for my life. I am so thankful, so amazed... I just can't believe this is real.
It's like I opened my eyes one morning and the cobwebs were gone, the shadows were shriveled into the corners where they belonged and I could finally (finally!) see the light shining.
Then, a parade of dwarfs came by and carried me on one of those litter things like Cleopatra, away to a spa city in the jungle, peopled only by naked men with oily fetishes. Big, strong, oily, naked men with...
Did you know pregnancy makes you horny? Totally. It does. Just FYI.
Changing gears: No morning sickness to speak of yet...(HUZZAH! Woot! ...yeah, no, I totally get that I just jinxed the good goddamn out of myself. Shut up. I live on the edge.) Which, okay, I know may be contributing to my happiness. I mean, I feel kind of urpy when I need to eat, or when I smell certain things, or when I get really riled up, but so far I've managed not to puke out my eye holes and that, my friends, is chalking one up for the good guys.
Jesus, I'm so happy I'm making myself sick.
It's real, it's really real. The floor isn't going to fall out, this is really happening.
Holy shit.
It's like I opened my eyes one morning and the cobwebs were gone, the shadows were shriveled into the corners where they belonged and I could finally (finally!) see the light shining.
Then, a parade of dwarfs came by and carried me on one of those litter things like Cleopatra, away to a spa city in the jungle, peopled only by naked men with oily fetishes. Big, strong, oily, naked men with...
Did you know pregnancy makes you horny? Totally. It does. Just FYI.
Changing gears: No morning sickness to speak of yet...(HUZZAH! Woot! ...yeah, no, I totally get that I just jinxed the good goddamn out of myself. Shut up. I live on the edge.) Which, okay, I know may be contributing to my happiness. I mean, I feel kind of urpy when I need to eat, or when I smell certain things, or when I get really riled up, but so far I've managed not to puke out my eye holes and that, my friends, is chalking one up for the good guys.
Jesus, I'm so happy I'm making myself sick.
It's real, it's really real. The floor isn't going to fall out, this is really happening.
Holy shit.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
I Rise.
People are going to want explanations from us, they're going to demand why's and how's and what were you thinking's, they're going to be angry because it's not what they would do and how could you do something so differently? People will call us irresponsible and reckless, they will levy judgement and advice and say we owe some kind of justification for all of this. They will say that we have a debt of knowledge and they will demand that we pay.
To steal a page from my friend, Dave O'Connell, "We know it is futile to explain things... I can give you an answer, but I won't believe in it. I can give you something to believe in, if that's what you want."
I could give them pretty answers, wrap the answers up with pretty excuses, but I wouldn't believe it. I could open my mouth and let the apologies fall out, but they would be lies because I refuse to be sorry for this. I refuse to bow my head to appease their sense of outrage; when my hair fell forward, it would only be hiding my smile.
I won't for one minute be sorry for bringing my child into the world. My child. I'm some body's mother, as of right now. Eight months from now, I'll be able to look that person in the eye and know that I never regretted or was ashamed of him because today? Today my job starts. Today I begin protecting that person, and the first thing I will protect him against is myself. I will not allow myself to be sorry for his life. (How could I be sorry? How? Why would they want me to be?) I am afraid, so afraid... But I will not be ashamed. I will not make excuses or explanations. I don't know how this happened, I didn't think it would. But it has, and I won't undo it, and so we must move forward. Together, the both of us. The three of us, if the universe is kind.
I know we are going down the same path so many people have gone down before us, only we're moving along it in our own way. I know this will be offensive to some people, and I'm sorry for that. I don't want to distress anyone. I know it can be alarming when people are unrepentant under extreme scrutiny and pressure, and I feel badly that I will be the cause for that alarm.
I hate it for them. But I love it for me.
Still I Rise
by Maya Angelou
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
To steal a page from my friend, Dave O'Connell, "We know it is futile to explain things... I can give you an answer, but I won't believe in it. I can give you something to believe in, if that's what you want."
I could give them pretty answers, wrap the answers up with pretty excuses, but I wouldn't believe it. I could open my mouth and let the apologies fall out, but they would be lies because I refuse to be sorry for this. I refuse to bow my head to appease their sense of outrage; when my hair fell forward, it would only be hiding my smile.
I won't for one minute be sorry for bringing my child into the world. My child. I'm some body's mother, as of right now. Eight months from now, I'll be able to look that person in the eye and know that I never regretted or was ashamed of him because today? Today my job starts. Today I begin protecting that person, and the first thing I will protect him against is myself. I will not allow myself to be sorry for his life. (How could I be sorry? How? Why would they want me to be?) I am afraid, so afraid... But I will not be ashamed. I will not make excuses or explanations. I don't know how this happened, I didn't think it would. But it has, and I won't undo it, and so we must move forward. Together, the both of us. The three of us, if the universe is kind.
I know we are going down the same path so many people have gone down before us, only we're moving along it in our own way. I know this will be offensive to some people, and I'm sorry for that. I don't want to distress anyone. I know it can be alarming when people are unrepentant under extreme scrutiny and pressure, and I feel badly that I will be the cause for that alarm.
I hate it for them. But I love it for me.
Still I Rise
by Maya Angelou
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Friday, March 6, 2009
....
I was doing good, feeling good. Taking care of myself, happier than I've ever been or imagined I could be.
Then someone came along and kicked the box with all of the demons inside.
Now they're all screaming.
And I can't make them stop. I can't block them out. They're so loud that I can feel them; I want to scratch out my fucking eyes. Ugly, stupid, fat, disgusting, all on a loop in my head, circling the drain and scrambling for purchase and I can't stand it, I can't fucking stand it.
I know that I'll learn to ignore them again, until they grow tired and quiet. I know I'll forget that they're there again, like I always do. I know I will, and yet... This feeling, while I'm feeling it, is eternal and infinite and immesurable. I can't see or even imagine the end of it.
I hate myself so much and I don't like to be reminded... I don't like this. I don't like this at all.
Then someone came along and kicked the box with all of the demons inside.
Now they're all screaming.
And I can't make them stop. I can't block them out. They're so loud that I can feel them; I want to scratch out my fucking eyes. Ugly, stupid, fat, disgusting, all on a loop in my head, circling the drain and scrambling for purchase and I can't stand it, I can't fucking stand it.
I know that I'll learn to ignore them again, until they grow tired and quiet. I know I'll forget that they're there again, like I always do. I know I will, and yet... This feeling, while I'm feeling it, is eternal and infinite and immesurable. I can't see or even imagine the end of it.
I hate myself so much and I don't like to be reminded... I don't like this. I don't like this at all.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Meme mememeeeee....
01. Eyeliner or Mascara? Both usually. If not mascara, at least eye liner. Brown, not black, because I rub under my eyes a lot and don't really need the literal raccoon look.
02.Louis vuttion or dooney & burke? Suck my what now..?
03.American eagle or hollister? *cringe* neither... AE, I guess, if I have to pick, although I guess I don't know the difference... Is there a difference? I'm confused. It all looks the same.
04.Pumps or flats? I REALLY like heals. A lot. (Not that I wear them.) Flats make my feet look like chubby little piggies. Not in a cute way. In a Silence of the Lambs way. Being a Bohunk sucks sometimes.
05. Skirts or pants? Jeans. My ass, she does not like the skirts.
06.Socks or leggings? Socks, but leggings are cute if they're patterned or whatever. (Not that I've ever worn them.) I'm just sayin.
07. Hoodies or jackets? I have like, 36 hoodies. Seriously. It's a sickness. And if loving them is wrong, I don't wanna be right.
08. Heels or sneakers? I don't have sneakers. I have boots. Big, black boots. Or wool lined boots. Or calf-height boots. No sneakers, not really. I have climbing shoes- does that count? No? Then eat my ass.
09.Straight or curly hair? My hair's straight, but I like it curled. Apparently, it looks hot.
10. Hoop or dangling earrings? I really wish I could wear earrings. I think that might help make me more girly, and that's just SO IMPORTANT TO ME. But I can't... Unless I wear those big granny clip-on ones, which... no. Just, no. But also? HELL FUCKING YES.
11. Side bangs or one length? I rock the side bangs. That's right. I'm out and proud. Or maybe it's because my cow lick won't allow for the straight-across look. Nor would my giant forehead be pleased with it. Nor would YOU.
12.Gemma ward or adriana lima? I like waffles.
13.White or black? Black. I wish I could wear white, but I stain the hell out of it. I'm REALLY CLUMSY. Like, REALLY. So most of my clothing is black. I'd say 90% of it, no joke. Not because I'm depressed or anything -- I'm really not! And I don't think I'm cool (But who are we kidding?) I just can't be trusted with light colors for more than .58 seconds. They don't make bleach strong enough to undo the messes I make.
14. Victoria's secret or bath and body works? Vicky's! Yay! I love me some trashy, overpriced pantaloons! But I have this body wash from B&BW, and it's called "Need a Margarita?" and YES, YES I DO. But also? It smells AWESOME.
15.Smoothies or latte? Smoothies, only if they're made with real tea or yogurt and real fruit.
16. Diet or regular sodas? Neither these days. Ba humbug. Next thing you know, I won't be drinking liquor either. (HAHAHAHA! HAHA! OH, HAHAHA! HEEEE! That was funny, huh?! HAHAHAHAHAHA!)
17.Water or daiquiris? Water... I'm not much into froofy drinks. I bet they taste good, though. They sure look pretty, and they cost more than my whiskey, so they'd better taste like a koala just crapped a rainbow in your mouth, otherwise you're getting SCREWED, my friend.
18. Pearls or diamonds? Pearls, if I have to choose. I like pearls. And they come from alive things, which means there can always be more!
19. Vintage or boho? BOHO, BABY! Although if I manage to pull it off, it's a total accident. Also, vintage is cool. But not this recent shit -- the 80s are NOT VINTAGE, GD IT! Stop bringing them back! They're dead and rotten and they stink like corpse, so stop it! HATE THE 80s!
20.Marykate or Ashley Olsen? I don't really know the difference at all. Which one isn't anorexic? Wait... Why are you laughing?
21. Lindsay or Hilary? ...What? Like for office? Who are these people?
22.Ipod or cell phone? I have both but I like my cell phone. A lot. But if it was an iPhone I'd make babies with it. Somehow. Moral of the story: I'm a lady of loose virtue. Huzzah.
23. Friends or family? My friends ARE my family. So it's all the same to me.
24.Lip gloss or lip stick? Neither. Can't stand stuff on my lips. Not even chap stick.
25.Manicure or pedicures? Neither.
26. M.A.C or sephora? *cry* I don't know what you MEAN!
27.Tank tops or beaters? Tank tops. I'm a tomboy, not a lesbian.
28.Tiffany or Chanel? Neither.
29.Love or peace? BOTH.
30.Sunglasses or purses? Sunglasses.
X what you have:
[ X] an ipod/mp3.
[ ] a tiffany's bracelet or necklace.
[ ] a Louis vuttion purse.
[ X] a computer. (Kind of. If you can call it that. PILE OF SHIT.)
[ X] a cd player.
[ x] a stereo. (It's LOUD.)
[ ] a spice girl cd. (I used to...)
[ ] a cosmo girl magazine.or regular Cosmo (WTF for?)
[ X] a teddy bear.
[ ] a build a bear. (THOSE FUCKING THINGS ARE CREEPY!)
[ ] an American eagle purse.
[ ] hollister jeans.
[x ] a hot topic shirt. (I'm sure I do.)
[ X] a cell phone.
[ ] an aeropostale shirt. (Secret? I don't even know how to pronounce that.)
[ ] a big screen TV.
[ ] the mean girls dvd.
[ X] a TV in my room. (It doesn't work. I mean it does, but it's old, so it really doesn't because technology is a bitch.)
[ x] a big bed. (YAY!)
[ X] a brother or sister.
[ x] a diamond ring. (Somewhere. Ew.)
[x ] a pearl necklace. (I'm totally not going to be a perv here, YOU'RE WELCOME.)
[ ] a prom dress. (Never went.)
[ X] a book. (Literally HUNDREDS.)
[ X] a myspace
[ ] curious perfume. (Is that like, "Your perfume is curious. It smells of cabbage." or "CURIOUS brand perfume"? Because NO to both.)
[ ] g-unit sneakers.
[ X] a black shirt. (Again, HUNDREDS. I exaggerate here, but barely. See above.)
[ ] a clique (They prefer to be called "My Posse. BITCHES.")
02.Louis vuttion or dooney & burke? Suck my what now..?
03.American eagle or hollister? *cringe* neither... AE, I guess, if I have to pick, although I guess I don't know the difference... Is there a difference? I'm confused. It all looks the same.
04.Pumps or flats? I REALLY like heals. A lot. (Not that I wear them.) Flats make my feet look like chubby little piggies. Not in a cute way. In a Silence of the Lambs way. Being a Bohunk sucks sometimes.
05. Skirts or pants? Jeans. My ass, she does not like the skirts.
06.Socks or leggings? Socks, but leggings are cute if they're patterned or whatever. (Not that I've ever worn them.) I'm just sayin.
07. Hoodies or jackets? I have like, 36 hoodies. Seriously. It's a sickness. And if loving them is wrong, I don't wanna be right.
08. Heels or sneakers? I don't have sneakers. I have boots. Big, black boots. Or wool lined boots. Or calf-height boots. No sneakers, not really. I have climbing shoes- does that count? No? Then eat my ass.
09.Straight or curly hair? My hair's straight, but I like it curled. Apparently, it looks hot.
10. Hoop or dangling earrings? I really wish I could wear earrings. I think that might help make me more girly, and that's just SO IMPORTANT TO ME. But I can't... Unless I wear those big granny clip-on ones, which... no. Just, no. But also? HELL FUCKING YES.
11. Side bangs or one length? I rock the side bangs. That's right. I'm out and proud. Or maybe it's because my cow lick won't allow for the straight-across look. Nor would my giant forehead be pleased with it. Nor would YOU.
12.Gemma ward or adriana lima? I like waffles.
13.White or black? Black. I wish I could wear white, but I stain the hell out of it. I'm REALLY CLUMSY. Like, REALLY. So most of my clothing is black. I'd say 90% of it, no joke. Not because I'm depressed or anything -- I'm really not! And I don't think I'm cool (But who are we kidding?) I just can't be trusted with light colors for more than .58 seconds. They don't make bleach strong enough to undo the messes I make.
14. Victoria's secret or bath and body works? Vicky's! Yay! I love me some trashy, overpriced pantaloons! But I have this body wash from B&BW, and it's called "Need a Margarita?" and YES, YES I DO. But also? It smells AWESOME.
15.Smoothies or latte? Smoothies, only if they're made with real tea or yogurt and real fruit.
16. Diet or regular sodas? Neither these days. Ba humbug. Next thing you know, I won't be drinking liquor either. (HAHAHAHA! HAHA! OH, HAHAHA! HEEEE! That was funny, huh?! HAHAHAHAHAHA!)
17.Water or daiquiris? Water... I'm not much into froofy drinks. I bet they taste good, though. They sure look pretty, and they cost more than my whiskey, so they'd better taste like a koala just crapped a rainbow in your mouth, otherwise you're getting SCREWED, my friend.
18. Pearls or diamonds? Pearls, if I have to choose. I like pearls. And they come from alive things, which means there can always be more!
19. Vintage or boho? BOHO, BABY! Although if I manage to pull it off, it's a total accident. Also, vintage is cool. But not this recent shit -- the 80s are NOT VINTAGE, GD IT! Stop bringing them back! They're dead and rotten and they stink like corpse, so stop it! HATE THE 80s!
20.Marykate or Ashley Olsen? I don't really know the difference at all. Which one isn't anorexic? Wait... Why are you laughing?
21. Lindsay or Hilary? ...What? Like for office? Who are these people?
22.Ipod or cell phone? I have both but I like my cell phone. A lot. But if it was an iPhone I'd make babies with it. Somehow. Moral of the story: I'm a lady of loose virtue. Huzzah.
23. Friends or family? My friends ARE my family. So it's all the same to me.
24.Lip gloss or lip stick? Neither. Can't stand stuff on my lips. Not even chap stick.
25.Manicure or pedicures? Neither.
26. M.A.C or sephora? *cry* I don't know what you MEAN!
27.Tank tops or beaters? Tank tops. I'm a tomboy, not a lesbian.
28.Tiffany or Chanel? Neither.
29.Love or peace? BOTH.
30.Sunglasses or purses? Sunglasses.
X what you have:
[ X] an ipod/mp3.
[ ] a tiffany's bracelet or necklace.
[ ] a Louis vuttion purse.
[ X] a computer. (Kind of. If you can call it that. PILE OF SHIT.)
[ X] a cd player.
[ x] a stereo. (It's LOUD.)
[ ] a spice girl cd. (I used to...)
[ ] a cosmo girl magazine.or regular Cosmo (WTF for?)
[ X] a teddy bear.
[ ] a build a bear. (THOSE FUCKING THINGS ARE CREEPY!)
[ ] an American eagle purse.
[ ] hollister jeans.
[x ] a hot topic shirt. (I'm sure I do.)
[ X] a cell phone.
[ ] an aeropostale shirt. (Secret? I don't even know how to pronounce that.)
[ ] a big screen TV.
[ ] the mean girls dvd.
[ X] a TV in my room. (It doesn't work. I mean it does, but it's old, so it really doesn't because technology is a bitch.)
[ x] a big bed. (YAY!)
[ X] a brother or sister.
[ x] a diamond ring. (Somewhere. Ew.)
[x ] a pearl necklace. (I'm totally not going to be a perv here, YOU'RE WELCOME.)
[ ] a prom dress. (Never went.)
[ X] a book. (Literally HUNDREDS.)
[ X] a myspace
[ ] curious perfume. (Is that like, "Your perfume is curious. It smells of cabbage." or "CURIOUS brand perfume"? Because NO to both.)
[ ] g-unit sneakers.
[ X] a black shirt. (Again, HUNDREDS. I exaggerate here, but barely. See above.)
[ ] a clique (They prefer to be called "My Posse. BITCHES.")
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