Y’all, the blueberry/coffee bean/sweet pea (depending on the app) sized being in my uterus is a total energy sucker. I mean, I get it. He is growing into a human being, forming a spine and a liver and multiple sets of kidneys (some of which he’ll never use, which seems like a waste? But it isn’t his fault) and all of that takes some juice, some juice he is borrowing (nay, taking) from me. But damn.
Last Friday I was sitting at my desk, writing a lesson for a curriculum (aka: fully engaged in some thinking AND physically moving at least some of my body) and I did the airplane nod-off. I almost did a face plant into my keyboard. WHAT?! I haven’t nodded off mid-activity since I was in college, pulling all nighters and being forced to take really boring classes right after lunch.
This also means that I try and nap after work or go to bed as early as is reasonable (I prefer to wait until the sun has gone almost all the way down, at least) which has left little time for anything other than work. And sometimes hanging out with my boo (although she would say her time is suffering as well.)
So that’s why you haven’t heard from me. Sorry.
Today I am feeling pretty ragey.
There is, of course, some legit things to rage about.
There’s the police state/intense militarization/racist bullshit happening in Ferguson, Missouri – where protesters (who are rising against an incredible injustice – the death of an innocent and unarmed black teenager) are being tear gassed and flash-grenaded and shot with ‘crowd disbursement materials” and reporters are being arrested or tear gassed to prevent them from doing their jobs. It is a rage worthy thing. (Oh hey, if you wanna talk about the ‘rioting’ or ‘looting’ instead of the real issue, which is the murder of an innocent black man, could you choose a different forum? I just don’t have the spoons right now.)
You don’t know, but I have been arrested twice. Both times were in situations that echo this one. Once, I was quietly observing the arrest of a friend of mine, a trans man of color, when the officer told me to leave. Since it is legal to observe (and record, FYI) the police, I told him no. So, he arrested me. The charges were dropped because, well, I didn’t do anything illegal. But I did spend a night in jail. The second time, I was arrested at a protest of racist shit happening in my city. I knew I was going to be arrested that time – gave my boss the bail money in advance, even – but I did experience excessive force, something the cops in my town are known for.
And I’m not saying that I get what’s happening in Ferguson – cause I don’t. But I do have some personal reserves of rage on which to draw in this situation. I am, simultaneously, heartbroken. Because I feel 100% helpless. I donated today to a fund to support those arrested, but aside from that and my anger, I haven’t got much.
I also have my own personal rage.
After days of long, hard work (with seafoam happily sucking up whatever energy he needs to create his human form), including a lot of extra stuff I did as ‘favors’ for this particular school partner, I showed up this morning ready to conduct a 6 hour training. Y’all, I even brought the giant jar of tums to ward off the heartburn! I got there, started setting up my stuff, felt weird, but went with it, was told the room had been ‘double booked’ and I’d need to move, rearranged my stuff to be ready to move, and then was told they didn’t have subs for the teachers I was there to train, so none of those teachers would be attending.
Nevermind that this training has been booked since May, or that I sent reminder e-mails two weeks ago, a week ago, and just three days ago. Nevermind that I busted ass to get 10 giant adapted curricula printed and bound and color coded to their ridiculous specifications. Nope, doesn’t matter. I barely got a halfhearted, “sorry.”
Its hard not to feel shit all over when someone basically said, “Your time? yeah. It doesn’t actually matter. But thanks!”
I smiled big and diplomatically said we’d reschedule. gave my card (again) to the folks in charge and asked them to call me with a better date. And then I made a quick exit because I was shaking with rage. Thank God La was available to hear me bitch, and that my boss totally has my back should I need to address their fuck up with a little more directness. I rewarded myself for the time spent with a fancy salad and a cucumber-mint house made soda from the cute cafe next to my office.
I have a sneaking suspicion that the feelings I am feeling are a bit bigger thanks in part to being all doped up on hormones. So I’m letting myself be comforted by my pregnancy rage.
Well . . .I’ve determined that tomatoes give me wicked heartburn, so they’re off the menu for a while. (sad since its tomato season and I LOVE them)
Tomorrow marks 7 weeks, which feels – finally – like a ‘real number.’
I am starting to feel a little bummed when I see visibly pregnant women and I can’t have a solidarity nod with them because I am not visibly pregnant. I’m also sad cause I think it might be a while before I am visibly pregnant (like, longer than usual) cause I’m tall and big.
Monday is our first ultrasound. It is also, if all goes well, sex-ban end day. I don’t know which we are more excited about. (just kidding. both.)
I’m really gonna work on staying a little more up to date because I have always kind of hated when bloggers I follow get knocked up and disappear (I mean, maybe some people prefer that, but we clarified that last week, so . . .) and I don’t want to do that. But also, as a fellow blogger pointed out, the first trimester feels really long and kind of boring. I mean, I can’t believe it’s actually been less than a month since our transfer. RIGHT?! It was on July 17th and today is August 14th! (it has been 4 weeks, but you know how months go.) Guess I’ll have to talk about things like politics or my job or something.
First midwife appointment is next Friday!