It’s been 11 days since the United States elected a narcissistic fascist. Less than 2 weeks. When we had our first ultrasound to look at Tiny, Obama was still the president. No time at all.
And yet, those 11 days have brought even more calamity than I anticipated. Between November 9th and January 19th, I managed to steel some resolve and also deny the reality of a Trump presidency. I didn’t see this coming. I was devastated and shocked after the election but I also somehow believed maybe it would ‘all be ok.’
It’s not ok.
I don’t need to list the insanity happening; all of you know and care deeply about these things too. So I won’t tell you that.
I’ll tell you that I currently vascillate between a paralyzing anxiety that fills my entire chest with heavy dread and a buoyant hope for the ways I see people resisting. On Sunday night I lay awake thinking of all the terror that could come from Steve Bannon sitting at DJT’s right hand, an actual white supremecist nationalist fucking NAZI sitting on the security council. I thought about martial law, civil war, coup d’etats. Am I being hyperbolic? Maybe. Also, maybe not.
Then I see thousands of people appear at a moment’s notice at airports across the country to protest the xenophobic executive order and its horrific implementation, and I think maybe things will not descend into the darkness I imagine in the middle of the night.
But I’m scared, because there is so much. How do we stay informed, stay mad, stay hopeful, stay engaged? When horror is being lobbed out daily, how can you keep up and keep fighting? I don’t know. I guess we have to figure that out together.
We are showing up however we can, whenever we can. And Ansel is bringing joy and hope to my heart, something I am grateful for daily. Last night he held my hand while we ate dinner and jumped on the bed and kissed my mouth holding my face in his hands. I don’t know what I’d do without him. But I think he’s feeling the anxiety too. Last night he wouldn’t go back to sleep from 2am to 4am, not until I eventually put him in our bed. He screamed going to the sitter, which he’s never done before. He’s such a sensitive little love, how could he not pick up on all of this?
The good news, though, is this:
Today, we saw Tiny move their flippered feet and hands, dancing like mad in L’s uterus. They waved and danced, over and over. Tiny is in there and alive and in a few more months there will be another human being to love in our family. Maybe this is foolish? Of course it is. But we do it anyway. Your heart is a muscle the size of your fist – keep loving, keep fighting.
And here’s some pictures to cheer you up as well. From the toddler antifa block and some more cutesy announcement photos we had taken (we’ll go public following the results of next week’s cffDNA test) and today’s ultrasound:
I KNOW I misspelled fascism . . .sorry. 😦