Sometime in the past week or two, The Fetus (aka Mantis, aka Grain, aka Avocado Dog, aka Fur Ball, aka Squid) grew itself some life-changing bits betwixt its little fetal legs. Little does Fetus know, its blissful gender-free days are numbered. Soon, it will enter the world of pink and blue presumption, a world of unjust category.

Fetus, soon the world will have a million ways of telling you that you are exclusively smart or beautiful; dangerous or in danger; critical or irrelevant. I will tell you that you are capable of all of it; you will surprise yourself in good and bad and beautiful ways in this life. Your dad will tell you that you are everything all at once, all mashed together; the trick is knowing what part of yourself to use when. I hope you listen to us: I suspect we are happier than most people. We want you to find living as fun as we do.

Also: I’ve enjoyed our time together when you couldn’t give a crap what gender you were. You were too busy with important things, like forming your skeleton and making eyes. I want you always to be able to abandon your gender like that, with the same dedicated intensity. Because there will always, always something more important to think about.

***

Tomorrow we have our doctor’s appointment and the ultrasound will tell us if the Fetus is a he or she. We both are really excited to find out. Neither Shaun nor I has a “feeling” about what it is and neither of us can stand the thought of someone (the doctor) knowing something we don’t. So we want to find out. We have no preference, although hermaphrodite presents a few additional challenges in life.  

 I think that finding out will really help me visualize us as parents. Because things are so fuzzy now, so obscure. I can’t quite believe it and I’m not sure what it looks like at all.

Someone asked a few weeks ago, “do you have kids?” And I shot back with an automatic, “Naw! Me?” Before I remembered that, well, soon enough I will have someone with shared genetics to love and take care of. I know that finding out the sex of the fetus isn’t going to beam a magic vision into my head, but perhaps replacing “it” with a “he” or “she” will get me on the right track.  

I’m just wrapping up lunch break and thought I’d give my Xanga a little love. Plus, I need some advice from you smart readers.

With my birthday money, I took the sewing machine my mom passed down to me in for a tune-up. I made a few Christmas gifts on it this year and I felt like I was wrestling with the damn thing and the finished products looked sort of lame (sorry, family). My mom mentioned that I might need to have the tension checked out. I had a friend look at it, but she couldn’t get it working properly either. This is how I decided to use my b-day funds on a sewing machine repair. And $75 later, I have a good-as-new machine. Yay!

Anyhow, in an attempt to save money, I’d like to use the sewing machine to alter as much of my own wardrobe as possible for the Maternity Good Times. Maternity clothes are crazy expensive. If I’m going to buy brand new outfits, I’d better be able to wear them for more than a few months, preferably during a time when I don’t identify with beached whales on a visceral level.

At this point, I’m 12 pounds larger and in charger. While physicians recommend many ladies are only gain 5-10 pounds at this point (the fetus and me have been solid for 15 weeks now), I was classified as “underweight” when I got on the preggers scene and was instructed to eat a few additional calories than your average pregnant lady (who eats about 300 extra calories a day; I was told to shoot for 375). Not like I could go buck wild, but it meant that I was eating mid-morning and afternoon snacks for the first time ever: raw nuts, cottage cheese, a few pieces of grain toast, fruit, raw veggies, a glass of milk.

So I’ve gained this 12 pounds, right, but as far as I can tell, it’s all in my tummy. This is weird for me, as I usually wear my weight gain to the tune of Baby Got Back. This time around, I’ve just got a full-frontal muffin top, full of delicious fetal-filling. Pants are getting annoying; they leave mean marks where they once were and I feel like the belly explosion from the waist is just about the least fashionable thing I’ve ever pulled. Which says a lot for me.

This weekend, I was planning to transform some of my regular people pants into maternity pants using these instructions:

http://www.craftster.org/forum/index.php?topic=28377 

The instructions mention using a t-shirt for the “belly band” at the top. I feel this is dubious and doubt the power of any t-shirt I own to hold up my trousers. Does anyone have any fabric recommendations?  I’m a newbie at sewing, but still I have to imagine that stretch material exists at the fabric store. Any tips on buying that? Any warnings on sewing stretch stuff to denim? Anyone want to say, “Hey! Stop! Those instructions are actually really lame!”?

Let me know, people. I’m open to it all!

Edit:
In case any of you know a pregger lady, I just thought I’d share:

A smart lady at work suggested I skip making the maternity pants for now and just buy something called a Bella Band. The ladies on the website are wildly attractive and I find myself at the whims of good avertising.  She also recommended something called a Swelly Belly. Not sure about the Swelly yet, but I ordered a black bella band to get some releif.

We watched There Will Be Blood on Netflicks last night. I have to know:

Am I the only one who thinks this is the most unexpectedly hilarious movie ever?

Keep in mind, I still maintain that Death of a Salesman is the funniest play ever written. I thought The Happening was the feel good comedy of the summer. Shaun tells me that I have trouble differentiating between melo-drama and comedy.

Regardless of what it is supposed to be, I LOVED this movie.

On an unrelated note: don’t forget Daylight Savings Switch-ero tomorrow. I don’t want anyone showing up for work at a funky hour on Monday.

Also: Thanks for all the birthday love!

I turned 27 today. And let me tell you: it’s been pretty spectacular.

In no particular order, these things kicked ass today:

1.) SHAUN!
I got to hang out with him all day long. No work allowed. It’s hard to get that lad away from the 24/7 freelance hustle. Don’t get me wrong–I love that my partner has the stamina and tenacity to write freelance, but hot damn is it a time suck. I miss him!

2.) PRESSIES!
I got so many wonderful pressies from my big, sprawling, wonderful family. Highlights include: checks, books, and a cool pair of earrings made of foreign currency. Shaun got me a cooking class for the two of us to learn how to make cuban feed.

3.) POLAR BEARS!
Shaun and I spent the morning at the zoo. We spent a long while watching the polar bears, one of which had an exceedingly itchy neck and was rubbing a log vigorously to scratch. It was so cute my eyes fell out of my head. 

4.) NICE WEATHER LONG WALK!
It was 60 degrees outside today, people! The wind was calm, the sun was sunny–it was a real stunner outside. We walked for a good hour and 1/2 after the zoo. I love watching one neighborhood turn into the next.

5.) PERUVIAN FOOD!
Our walk lead us to Matchu Pitchu. Not the mountain in Peru, silly. The restaurant in Chicago’s Lakeview neighborhood. There I ate a loving lunch fried bit of tilapia with a sweet drink made from blue corn. Delicious!

6.) FLIGHT PLANS!
With birthday money and wonderful deals on kayak.com, I booked a flight to visit my family in Colorado this summer! My mom is flying out at the same time, too. WooHoo!
 
7.) BIRTHDAY CALLS!
Friends, family, strangers who dialed the wrong number–all have called to wish me a happy birthday. Makes a girl feel real loved, you know?

Tomorrow….
Saturday is my back-to-work Monday this week. I usually work Sunday–Thursday, but I’m leading a special training session for our museum volunteers, which is a first for our department. I’m a bit nervous, as I’ve not prepared as much as I normally would like to, due to having been out of the office one day this week with an infectious and revolting cold. But I’m sure it will turn out alright in the end. I need to put it out of my mind and enjoy what’s left of the birthday good times.
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What did you do today?

I had a dream last night that I had to escape from a rapist while barefoot and pregnant. Not pregnant in the mild, mini-bloat way I really am now. Huge pregnant. Cautionary whale pregnant (1).

Typically, my dream-self thinks on her feet, she is quick and athletic and smart. She is prepared. She runs faster than bad guys, nuclear missiles, fires, tidal waves, tornados. She uses teeth and claws. She’s saved my brothers, my husband, my cousins, my staff, my cat. She knows exactly what to do.

But last night, dream-self didn’t have a plan. She was scared out of her mind. She was clumsy. She’d forgotten where she put her shoes.

I had a real-life melt-down a week and 1/2 ago.

I love Shaun’s mom. I really do. We can talk at the kitchen table for an age. She is hilarious and generous and warm hearted. She wants the best for people and has dedicated her life to making this world a better place. Regardless: I am 99% certain that woman lives with an undiagnosed anxiety disorder. The situations she invents to fret about are elaborate to say the least. Her worry seems an all-consuming, devouring, crippling force.

While mom-in-law has consistently expressed her anxiety and fear about Shaun and I’s life-choices, offering her reassurance has been nothing more than a mild annoyance, a small bruise. We’ve always been 110% confident in our decisions. Plus, at the end of the day: we live out of state and have never asked for anything but a few rides to/from the train station.

The decision to have this baby, though, is different. We are scared shitless and can’t possibly reassure anyone right now, least of all a relentless anxiety-riddled woman. I can’t physically do it. I’m the one in need of reassurance, damn it! Usually I bristle under that type of attention, but now, in this, I need it to keep moving, keep breathing. I need it to be able to keep telling myself the story of how this all turns out okay in the end. It’s not so much that I think Shaun and I will be bad parents. It’s more that, like my dream-self, the only thing I despise more than relinquishing control is asking for help. And as the weeks tick by, I’m realizing that both are required–not for me, but for the little human hatching in my uterus.

The melt-down in itself was ridiculous. Rage, tears, more rage. I ranted on the sidewalk. I made grand sweeping generalizations. I vomited pad thai. But in the end, I’m glad mother-in-law gave me the catalyst to admit my fears, to articulate them, and have the subsequent difficult conversations (2).

Since the melt-down, I feel closer to my mom than I have in a long time. Not only has she been a wonderful listener, full of concrete plans-of-action and generosity, but I’m also glimpsing another side of her.

My mom is just as fiercely independent in nature as I am, but when the situation called for it, her desire to do what she thought was best of me over-rode that. When I was little, my grandparents watched over me from dusk until bedtime, five days a week. My mom and I even lived in their house for a time. And I never thought anything of it except that I loved being around my grandparents. I could just be projecting here, but I’m beginning to realize that all of that didn’t just happen. My mom had to make admissions. She had to ask. I’m guessing that was a really hard thing to do.

Dream-self did not end up getting raped last night. The taxi she was trapped in slowed in traffic. She stumbled out of the car and flagged down a female jogger running roadside. She jogger ran with her to a gas station where a giant, mastodon of a woman armed the ladies with metal snow shovels. The three hid together in a mildewed mop closet. The plan was to only use the shovels if the rapist opened the closet, but at this point, dream-self was mad as fuck. She waited until rape-man was in range and smashed his cocky face in.

For the record, dream-self is usually more escape-artist than violent revenge-seeking furie. She’s just chalk-full of ferocious mother-bear hormones these days. Also, it appears that dream-self has a little posse now, a network of people watching her back.
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What’s the last difficult thing you’ve had to learn?

Faux-Footnotes:
1.)  The phrase “Cautionary Whale” is a direct rip-off from the movie Juno.
2.) In the interest of full blog disclosure, my summary of the melt-down is a lot more mature than the actual events. “Subsequent difficult conversations,” was more like me sobbing on the phone to my mom in ways I’ve not sobbed since I was sent to my room for being a little bitch to a poor neighbor during a boat outing when I was six. I’m talking big, shame-filled crocodile tears.

I swear this blog isn’t going to be all babe-ified, but I just wanted to mention that I bought Mantis it’s first thing today. To be fair, the thing I got Mantis is something that I’ve always secretly wanted, so I guess that I just bought myself something and used a fetus to justify it. But let’s just pretend, shall we?

The MCA Store was having a clearance sale that included these cool large-scale artist wall vynils that you can apply in your home. I got a work called Cloud by a UK Design firm called Tado. The work is 180X 90 cm of pure love and I think it will make our tiny home office look more like a kid-zone. Kids like clouds with faces and rabits with eye patches, don’t they?

Last Thursday, I came out of the closet as a pregnant lady. That’s right Xanga-verse, there’s been a bun in the oven for 12 weeks now. Fetus-reality took some getting used to at first, but eventually the shock gave way to some good ‘ole wholesome awe.

I’ve written a few secret pregnancy blogs. (Xanga has a cool “protected” feature that allows for such things.) I’ve made these blogs public today. If you’re interested, you’re probably my grandpa or my mom. Links to these blogs are below.

• The First Day of Knowing – January 4
• Confirmed by Medical Professionals – January 10
• First Trimester Sucks – January 24
• Truly Gets Phat – January 26

Last Wednesday, Shaun and I had a doctor’s appointment. A nice lady at the doctor’s office did an ultra-sound  and confirmed that the fetus and I were in perfect health.

Here is a picture from the ultra-sound:
 

With a clean bill of heath for me and Zorak, it just seemed like time to dish to friends and family. Plus, last week was the first week in an age that I actually felt good again. The morning sickness lifted suddenly and my energy was back in full force. I felt ready for the world to know. I felt ready to deal with whatever reaction I was going to get.

My gut feeling was that I wanted to tell my workplace first. It was important to me that I felt secure in my personal life and my ability to care for the mantis before I shared the news with family. I wanted to know my maternity benefits. I needed to know–for sure–that my workplace would be supportive of me. If I suspected we were going to need major support (possibly financial) from family, I wanted to be upfront about it.

Thursday at lunch, I practiced telling my work-friend, Michelle. She was so warm and happy for me, so reassuring that this was actually good news and that I was being silly to think it might put my career or my integrity in jeopardy. I was also worried because nearly every cultural institution in the city has been downsizing. The MCA has not yet gone there—and we’ve been told that we won’t—but I still was really worried that a pregnant lady might be an easy person to lay off.

“You’re crazy!” she said, “I mean, I get what you’re saying–that happens to people. But not where we work. No one is going to do anything but support you.”

Thursday afternoon, at 4:45pm, I sat down with my boss and said:

“Do you want to end the day with a crazy bit of news?”
“Shoot.”
“I went to the doctor yesterday because I’m a pregnant lady.”

My boss shrieked and cheered and congratulated me. She ran out into the hallways to tell the entire museum. It was the warmest, most fun, most genuine reaction that I could have ever hoped for. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that much enthusiasm, I’ll tell you that. Colleagues came swarming in, giving hugs, asking me what I needed, how I was, how on earth I’d slipped through the radar. I was showered with “Mozel Tov”‘s and “Congratulations!”

I’d anticipated that I’d bristle under the attention, feeling that “Congratulations” should be saved for a real achievement: a new job, a promotion, graduation. But I did not anticipate the warmth behind it. I realized, hearing my congratulations cheered with such love, that the English language is simply limited. We just don’t have a word for “Wow! That is so cool and surprising and I am in support of it!” 

When I got home, I called my family and the love-fest just continued. I don’t know why I was expecting people to be so critical; I think I was just critical of me. Everyone else seems to think I’ll be a pretty good moms.

My mom shrieked and repeated “you’re kidding” a few times before laughing maniacally and putting me on speaker phone. Tony kept repeating, “that’s cool. Congratulations. Wow. That’s cool.” My dad was dead silent and said “I am completely shocked. I feel old. But this is good news, True.”Shaun’s sisters were excited; one of them is also pregnant right now so these two cousins will both be the same age; hers just a few months older. Shaun’s parents were shockingly cool and collected. Everyone has been so supportive and full of love. When I changed my Facebook status to: “Truly got knocked up,” there was an explosion of fun messages from friends and acquaintances from across the globe. 

I don’t believe that anyone is in any position to say when life begins. But for me, I truly believe that this fetus’ life began in earnest when it became part of a family. Introducing the mantis to family and friends made things real for us. It made me able to visualize this as more than a hypothetical situation of biology. It made me see it as an individual.

Its hard not to want to think of what this kid will look like, what this kid will be like. But I want to make sure that we don’t impose any sort of personality on it; I want to approach meeting this little thing with curiosity and unconditional love. Still, I can’t help feeling that whatever is living inside of me is going to be smart and funny. I can’t help but feeling like this little mantis is going to grow into the kind of person I like best.
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According to a semi-credible internet source, “it looks like we’ve got honest, candid and open natured year ahead. As you might guess, coming 2009 year of the earth Ox is dependable, calm and modest.”

Fun Ox Fact: Born in 1961, Barack Obama is a Metal Ox and is starting his presidency in an Earth Ox year. My semi-credible internet sources indicates that the Ox is all about prosperity through fortitude and hard work. Take that, recession!

Grain of Salt: George W. Bush is a Fire Dog. Supposedly, Fire Dogs are “true leaders,” full of sexual charm and charisma. Say nothing of his craptastic leadership, I aways thought Bush was about as sexy as genital warts, but perhaps that’s just me.

Painful Admission: I share a Chinese Zodiac sign with Bush. I’m a Water Dog. Supposedly, I “prefer being in the pack rather than being the pack’s leader.” I am “faithful, affectionate, flexible and relaxed.” While I am very faithful–and I hope I seem as affectionate as I feel–I don’t know if I would call myself flexible or relaxed. These are more goals I actively work towards rather than natural, inborn traits. Also, I feel a strong pull towards leadership. Most of the time, I’m designated by groups to be the leader, without having asked for the role. Perhaps my life would be different in this regard if I wasn’t 6-feet tall. Mainly, I’m just jealous because Shaun has the best Zodiac sign of all. He’s an Earth Goat and for the most part, he acts very Goat-like. Smart, creative, calm.

The Parade!
Last Sunday, Shaun and I went to Chinatown for the Chinese New Year Parade. This is one of my favorite things to do in Chicago and has become something of an annual tradition of us. The parade is adorably miniscule and the crowds are relatively small. Banners are hand-painted and flown with pride. Bagpipers burst in apropos, lest Chicagoans forget they are in an Irish town even for one moment. Best of all, there are the Lion Dancers and the Dragon. Something about the fixed, dead-eyed stare of the masks in tandem with the energetic motion of the dancers makes me laugh; they’re like zombies who can’t decide whether to be angry or cheerful.

Pictures!

Handmade Ox Banner.

Mr. Lion.

Mr. Dragon.

Traditional Chinese Instruments.

IRISH! IRISH! IRISH!

Chinese Food.

Hello, fellow parade-watchers!

Party People.

Dim Sum
After the parade, we went to Three Happiness for Dim Sum. Three out of six items ordered were sort of delicious, which is good odds when it comes to Dim Sum. For those of you who don’t have a Chinatown near you, Dim Sum is like going out to tapas, Chinese-style. Typically, carts pass by with weird items on them and you point at which you want. Most of them are weird wraps and rolls and gooey-strange things. Basically, you don’t know what you’re gonna get unless you are a Chinese person or a Dum Sum fanatic and that is just part of the fun. My favorite treat of the day–aside from my usual favorite Potstickers–was a slightly sweet jello salad with water chestnuts and turnips.  The grossest thing we ordered was something called a Beef Fun Roll. While not inedible, the Beef Fun Roll really has a better name than it deserves.

In Other News…
I’ve not been doing much blogging–or writing in general, really–because I’ve been doing a lot of reading. I’m back to Gravity’s Rainbow after a two month break and loving it. For those of you who’ve read this one, you know how intense of a read this is. Seriously, this book is taking over my life and I find myself getting upset when I have to do other things, like work and brush my teeth. Also, I’ve jut joined a book club at work and we’re reading one of my favorites, For Whom The Bell Tolls (this book made me go to Spain and I love re-reading it). Shaun also reviewed and interviewed a writer who was among the most impressive contemporary writers I read in 2008, Colson Whitehead. We have an advance review copy of his book, Sag Harbor (you might remember an expert of this was in the New Yorker Winter Fiction issue, although I think it was called The Gangsters, or something like that). I keep picking up Sag Harbor and reading, even though I wanted to wait until I had my book-plate clear before starting. He’s just too good!
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What is your Chinese Zodiac Sign? Do you find you have much in common with it? And what are you reading, anyway?

That is all.

Yesterday I did not fit into my pants. I blamed Shaun for shrinking them. Today, I had trouble cramming myself into two completely different pairs of pants. I finally squeezed into my black pants, but the muffin-top action was out of control, say nothing of the butt-lovin’ fit. 

When I went through puberty, I grew hips literally overnight. It took me a summer to grow 7 painful inches, but the hips: they came in 24-hours. Now that my body is pumping full of hormones again, I seem to have had a similar spurt.

Last night, while walking to the bus, I felt a really weird feeling near my tail-bone, stretching into my sides. It felt nasty, like a popping sensation. I felt the same weird thing this morning, too. It was freaking me out (and somehow exhausting me), so I called the doctor’s office this morning to see what was the what. The nurse practitioner said that my body was having a growth spurt. She also casually mentioned that my uterus is the size of a grapefruit at the moment. A freaking grapefruit! Two days ago I was a size-6. This afternoon, I’m sporting a brand new pair of size-10 pants.

I took a long lunch for myself and went to Express. My rationale was:

1.) They have tall sizes
2.) They have a sale on
3.) I’ve seen ladies look nice in dark trouser jeans from there. These seem work-dressy when paired with a blouse, yet causal when paired with a t-shirt. This, in theory, means the trouser jean will help me get away with buying less.

I walked out of Express with two pairs of trouser jeans and a boxy checked blazer to hide my bloat behind. I’m bummed to part with the money that I don’t really have. However, I don’t really see any option here. My workplace, while liberal, is not clothing-optional. And my body is not waiting until end of February, as budgeted, to change.

While I know that a size ten is far from a “hey look! it’s a pregnant lady!” size, I think you can definitely tell I’ve put on a grapefruit-shaped weight on my middle. If you’re looking. Which I hope people aren’t. Is it horrible that I’d be mortified if people just thought I was letting myself go? It’s just that wellness and fitness are such a big part of my life; if people thought I was just getting fat, I’d feel really misunderstood. God, that’s vain.

In other news, I am fantisicing wabout hiding out at a friend’s house in Milwaukee this weekend. Shaun’s sister and her husband are coming to Chicago and are scheduled to stay in our apartment. I just don’t see how I can be in the same living space with people when I don’t want our families to know that I’m preggers yet. It will be so painfully obvious. The not drinking will be a dead giveaway. Not to mention the staggering yucky morning feeling.

Soon I can stop leading a double life. I’ve decided to spill the beans once I get the results back from the test I’m going for on Thursday. It’s a test to make sure that the Grain is not developing in a deformed/impaired kind of way. Once the doctor gives Grain the green light, I can finally tell people without feeling weird about it.
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Have you anything new to wear?