For the second night this week, Little Foot has woken me from a dead sleep to express an intense desire for peanut butter. Fair game, though—last time she got hungry in the night, I’d gone on a 6-mile walk before bed; this time I biked 23-odd miles in an evening for Critical Mass. So while I munch my toasty grain bread smeared with nutty love, and while I drink my mug of ice cold milk, I will tell you all about this evening’s bike ride. Why not? Get ready for some good-ole-error-ridden-3am-writing, friends…

Critical Mass happens every month in cities all over the world. In Chicago, a Critical Mass forms on the last Friday of every month at Daley Plaza, in the shadow of the one-eyed Picasso. Critical Mass is not an organization, but simply a group of bike-riding-people operating under a shared knowledge to meet, pedestrianize the city streets for a few hours, and remind citizens of our constitutional right to assembly. The official “party line” is that there is no political affiliation, but I tend to think that the simple act of commuting by bike is political, so it really depends on who you talk to.

I live about 15 miles from Daley Plaza and left at 3pm for a 5:15 arrival. Typically, this would give me loads of time to linger at the plaza, read my book, and eat my tangelo, but while I rode my bike, Little One rode my bladder. I had to stop, lock up my bike, and rush for a piss a grand total of 5 TIMES, just on the ride downtown. I arrived at the plaza just in the nick of time.

I met a work friend at the Mass early to help her distribute fliers for work (the MCA is offering 2-for-1 admission to anyone who bikes to the museum this week and next—you just flash your bike helmet at the admissions desk to redeem the offer).

People seemed genuniely excited to get our 2-for-1 tickets. I like talking up the museum with the people; Strangers are so much friendlier than the world gives them credit for. Handing out coupons, I met another pregnant biker, who in addition to the big belly, was hauling a cute toddler and a dog riding in pull-along cart. She pointed at my middle, pointed at hers, held up her hand for a high-five, and said: “Rock on!”

Once all my coupons distributed, I met up with a new friend named Lexi. She’s the new fiancée of a pal I went to high school with who now lives in Chicago. I’d met her at a few parties and suspected we’d hit it off if we hung out solo and I was right: she is super cool. Lexi is getting her doctorate in children’s psychology and is a very smart, excellent conversationalist. She fears that she’s boring people with talk of grad school findings, but I loves me some research so we make good companions. I think she’s just bored herself to some extent: getting a doctorate like this, complete with internships and residencies, pretty much consumes your life.

Once the ride began, about 250 friendly bikers hit the streets with police assistance. Not every city is so awesome about blocking off the streets for rallies, but Chicago police expect us and are always ready. They block off traffic at intersections so that we can all stay as one car-free group. Riders who beat the cops to an intersection get off their bikes and block cars with their bodies to let the riders stick together. As we pass pedestrians, we yell: “Happy Friday!” People lean out their car windows, quizzical. Some honk in anger. Some honk in respect. All cooperate very nicely. It is really the most effective demonstration I’ve ever partook in. I’m pretty sure this is because the call-for-action IS the action.

We rode through the south-west side, then up north to Humboldt Park. At this point, it was close to 7:30pm and Lexi and I smelled tacos. We parted from the group and got some delicious dinner at a taquria, which included trough-sized cups of ice-cold Horchata. We lingered for an age at the taco-place; she’s doing her thesis on Fatherhood and Paternity; I find this to be a pretty fascinating subject, especially since the two are so often two separate rolls. For me growing up and for many: biology has little to do with who our dads are. Lexi seems to be investigating why this is, and why is is not as frequently the case with maternity (I concur whole-heartedly: step-moms are entirely different creatures than step-dads).

By the time I got home and showered up, it was way past my bedtime. My muscles are pleasantly sore in that first-ride-of-the-season kind of way. This baby loves bike rides almost as much as she loves tacos and peanut butter.

Did I mention it was 80 degreed here today? You know the fates are rooting for you when the first-bike-ride-of-the-season coincides with the first warm day. More warmth tomorrow. I look forward to my Frisbee.
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Have you ever participated in a critical mass, bike or otherwise?

In an unrelated note:
Parenting is a subject I’ve become increasingly interested in but cannot abide most books/articles/magazines about. When I mentioned this to a friend, she reminded me of something I’d heard of ages ago: Ariel Gore‘s Hip Mama zine. I subscribed and just got my first issue today. And I got to say: in a society where parenting is oftentimes just another excuse for companies to sell you shit, it’s great that people are writing about the topic from a realistic, politically-engaged, sponsor-free perspective. Anyhow, I just thought I’d pass along this tip: if you know a pregnant femanist, this mag makes a really great shower gift.

No work today. The sun was sunny. The wind wasn’t ferocious for once. Shaun and I spent the afternoon walking along the lake shore path. We bought a bag of Duros from a street vendor and crunched on spicy bites of love. I almost forgot how a person can get lost in walk and conversation if the weather is cooperative; we were out for nearly 4 hours.

Currently, a pot of homemade wheat Mac ‘n’ Cheese bakes in the oven. A massive bunch of kale waits for water to boil. Lilly Allen plays on the stereo.

I love weekends. I really do.
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What are you looking forward to this weekend?

Also: what are your thoughts on the name Ezra Manning? How about Suraya? Esne? So far, Ezra has been the leading contender, but we want to make sure that we keep an open mind, should anything else be appealing. And the other two recent thoughts were also appealing.

“See these small folds?” the nurse asked, pointing out a little coffee-bean shape on the screen.    
We nodded.
“That’s a textbook girl,” she said.
I turned to smile at Shaun,”a wee girl,” I said.
He took my hand and squeezed it, a happy man with a daughter.

Our modest little fetus was not as happy as we were at this discovery. She squiggled away from the tech for the rest of the ultrasound, refusing to participate. The nurse was literally chasing the little one around the womb with the camera; everywhere the nurse went, the fetus flipped over and away from the camera accordingly. She’s quite the acrobat.

“Get that camera out of here,” the girl fetus said, “I’m not ready!”

To give fetuses a clean bill of health, the doctor must see pictures that account for each limb, it’s spine, it’s face, and it’s heart. I have to go back in two weeks, hopefully with a more cooperative fetus, for the nurse to get snaps of it’s face and heart.

They were able to give an approximate weight for the little thing, though. She is 14 oz, which—the doctor says—puts her in the 65th percentile of all fetuses that are as old as she is. This girl is growing into a long one, which only makes sense since I’m her mom. All six feet of me.

Doctor says I’m a healthy lady, too. Blood pressure is still runner-healthy. I’ve gained a good pound and a half since last month. My belly is measuing a little small, but that’s okay since my body’s never done this before. Also, Tammy Lee’s Abs of Steel used to be a regular part of my workouts, so my stomach muscles are still working to hold and host the belly up.

Everything is getting very real now. I’m enjoying the preggers more than I thought possible. I like having the liscence to put my health at the forefront—I have a built-in excuse for going to bed early, eating when I’m hungry, taking a small nap if I need it. Life usually forces me to ignore things like this, but the world bends over backwards for a pregnant lady, I’ve found. (Too bad we aren’t always so respectful of eachother’s bodies! Can you imagine how much better this country would be if we all had enough rest?!)

Also, I’m able to visualize our little family. I suspect our daughter will be a dark eyed, heavy browed beauty. She’ll have a healthy sense of humor, she’ll be a happy smarty pants. I like this wee girl. She moves around alot now. I realized that any feeling I was having prior to late last week was just me stretching. Because when she moved, I thought: “Holy shit! What was that?” It’s so obviously somebody else. Creepy. But cool once you get used to it.

On an unrelated note: if you’ve not had Edy’s Tart Honey Frozen Yogurt—preferably sandwiched between two gramcrackers—you’ve got to get on this. It is a truly beautiful thing.

Life has been chugging on by without blog lately. I’ve been in journal-mode, getting my head in order for the future air-breather that lives in my stomach. Things have been good, though. I’ve been happy and my journal is getting right-full of love.

I took a really fun screenprinting class with a friend last weekend and discovered a new art form that gives me much pleasure. Screenprinting is one of the few art forms that can give a person quick gratification using very simple shapes. I made a cute grocery bag featuring bacon, a pear, a biting fish, a skull, a chicken drumstick, and a fetus.

Behold:

My brother Juje is in town this weekend to visit us and help set up the baby room. (Currently, he is snoring on the futon. He has a really funny, sporadic snore.)

Yesterday, Juje and I spent the afternoon listening to music and installing baby art. The design is by a UK studio called Tado. The work itself is comprised of hundreds of little vinyls. To assemble, you have to apply each thing individually, like a puzzle, to create the scene. The best thing is that the puzzle has extra bits, so you can make individualized amendments to the design.

Behold the finished product:

The wall is actually a soft, pretty green color–the camera flash sort of made it weird.

Here’s part of the work in detail. When I say that “each piece was applied individually,” I mean that the mushrooms in this picture were white stems, white dots, red caps–you fit them all together to make a mushroom. Same with the little monsters–all their facial features and details were put together by hand.

We call the guys in this detail “Horrible Hippos” and “Business Whale.”

This death swing cracks me up.

We decorated the light sockets with some of the extra bits.

Babies love bats.

Next month, my cousin Sheri moves into her first house. This is a HUGE deal, people. That woman put herself through a doctoral program, is now earning some much deserved dolla-dolla, and has bought herself a real live grown-up house. We’re going to spend a weekend with her in Grand Rapids, MI to help with the move. Shaun can do some lifting and I will wrangle her ferrets and help with unpacking. I can’t wait to see her and celebrate this happy accomplishment.

What else?

I joined a book club at work and we’re supposed to be reading Nabokov’s Ada, but I got sucked back into Gravity’s Rainbow (will I EVER finish that book?), so I’ve got to get on with that.

I also wrapped up my regular yoga class and started a pre-natal yoga class. I really like it and it is neat to be around other pregnant people–none of my friends or colleagues have the preggers. It’s just nice to get to chit chat with other ladies who also have all these random, new things happening to them. It’s also nice because most of the class are new to the mommy train like me, so it feels more sort of like an adventure.

Shaun and I have also been continuing our three-day-a-week work outs at the park district gym. Plus, the weather is nice enough for us to resume our neighborhood walks. I read somewhere that kids with moms who maintained a regular work-out schedule have a few extra advantages in life. They are more apt to be fit themselves and they score well on tests. I don’t usually take much stock in “findings” like that (too many factors skew it, namely: the fact that fetuses grow up into individuals with individual inclinations and personalities), but it helps to keep me on a rigorous routine. Usually, the thing that kept me on a routine tended to be getting faster, getting stronger, getting lean mean muscle-tone. But the goals are different during vessledom.

What else has been keeping me occupied? Not sure. Friends, new exhibition at work, going to bed at 9:30 every night.

I found some random pictures from March on my camera. Want to see?

Rainy walk

A beach day in March.

Snowy sand.

I do, too!

I got some excellent new earrings for my birthday. They are made of the various green currencies of the world. I enjoy them a great deal.

I took a picture of this miserable shulmp bear during my birthday outing to the zoo.

Behold this handsome polar bear! (Bears have always my favorite zoo animal.)

From the Lincoln Park Conservatory.

Work is going good. Our new exhibition is busy, in no small part to it’s opening coinciding with spring break. We’re all preparing and excited for the Olafur Eliasson show that opens in May. My maternity leave plan is in order and my boss has approved my distribution of labor to the other staff. If all goes well and I am able to work right up to my delivery, I’ll be away for about 7 or 8 weeks. I wish I could go on leave longer—and originally had high hopes of doing so—but it’s just not economically feasible at this point.

Usually, recovery from a standard, healthy birth is about 6 weeks. Work pays for 30 calendar days of maternity leave, so that’s about 4 weeks of salary. The remaining 2 weeks I get 60% of my pay, thanks to disability insurance. I have to use my paid time off before I can dip into any unpaid time off, which gives me two additional weeks for a total of 8 weeks. Federal law will protect my job for 12 weeks of leave (thanks, FLMA), but they can’t do anything to assist with my income during that time.  Plus, I still need to be getting income for us to keep up with the insurance coverage—playing catch-up with bills like this would be very stressful.

I’m trying to keep a sunny outlook about the abbreviated maternity leave. I try to forget that my friends in Scotland all get 1 year paid leave, plus job protection. I remind myself that I am much better protected from the horror of the financial crisis/accessible health care crisis than many American mothers-to-be. My workplace is much more accommodating than many in this country. News of the impending baby have been met with support and joy from my bosses and colleagues. Our little family is going to have to get used to a new routine sooner or later and for us: it’s just going to have to be sooner. Plus, sunniest outlook of all: We’ll have a little bundle of snuggle in the fray. Added bonus: I won’t be pregnant anymore! (Not that is is so horrible or anything, but I definitely prefer my normal-lady state.) 

In other news, next week is going to be pretty excellent:

* On Tuesday, Shaun and I go to the doctor for the super long 20-week appointment. There, they will take glamor shots of the fetus showing off it’s boy or girl bits. Looking forward to it! 
* On Friday (Payday! YAY!), I’m going to dinner with colleagues and on Saturday, Shaun and I are taking a Cuban Cooking class (his very delicious birthday present to me).

Lots to look forward to. And more busy busy to come.
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What is your favorite animal at the zoo?