One of Those Days

Maybe it was the 6am fucking migraine… my 4th in one week… but it certainly didn’t help that the first blog I read today (and immediately unsubbed from) was a race rant. By a white person that obviously doesn’t get it, want to get it, and never will get it.

If I hear one more white person say, “black people should get over it,” I’m gonna go black girl crazy. There seems to be this often unspoken belief amongst some white people that black people are still angry over slavery. Listen, everyone should feel “some kinda way” when they think of slavery. It was fucked up. It doesn’t matter who started it, who ended, who else participated, etc. It was a fucked up system that made many white people rich, that helped propel this country, literally on the backs of people that were treated like animals. Period. When you think about what happened then, and when you think about what happened to the Jews during the Holocaust, when you think about James Byrd being dragged behind a fucking truck, when you think about the murder of Matthew Shepard, when you think about any act of pure fucking evil that has occured be it in your lifetime or not, you should have a feeling about it.

White people cannot act like all black people are still pointing at slavery and saying, “This country did black people wrong.” Though, if they did, there’s not shit anyone can say in rebuttal because it’s the damn truth! They’re not lying. But the fact is that most black people in 2008 don’t have to go back 300+ years to be angry.  My grandmother is in her 80′s and I’ll be damned if I’m going to tell her to “get over it.” She still remembers what it’s like to be restricted in this country because of her skin color. When you witness your brother getting his ass beaten because he stopped to help a white woman pick up her fallen groceries, it does something to you. And fuck anyone who thinks it doesn’t. She’s supposed to “get over it” because for the last 30-40 years or so this country has made an attempt to start acting right?

Hell, Sophie is 33 and only has to go as far back as high school to remember the last time she was called a nigger, to her face. I only have to go back a few years to remember calling a local nightclub in Texas and asking about what type of music and activities went on during certain nights of the week. I was new to town and wanted an idea of what type of crowd this club attracted, what was appropriate attire, etc. I was having a nice little conversation with the manager as he explained that there was a techno night, a salsa night, and a hip-hop night… but then he warned that I might not want to come to the latter because a lot of “coloreds” attended those nights. I looked at my husband (now ex-husband), who is black and shook my head. He said later that he’d never seen the look on my face on anyone his whole life.

It was around that same time that a white man in the United States Navy told my husband, who had graduated with honors and an engineering degree from Temple University, completed Officer Candidate School and flight training at Pensacola, that he must have been accepted to fill a quota.

So, it pisses me off when I read blogs asking questions such as, “Why do black people still complain about racism when Barack Obama is doing so well?” Oooh, thank you, white people! Thank you sooo much for voting for a black man. All must be well then. Racism is over! Why didn’t somebody tell us?

That blog had hundreds of comments with a bunch of white people doing a whole bunch of, “You tell ‘em!” And I knew some of them! Kiss my ass. If you were “fortunate” enough to be born in this country, and not have to ever have wondered if you are being denied something because of what you look like or are (be it black, fat, gay, a woman, hispanic, ugly, etc.) then just thank your lucky fucking stars and move on. But don’t act like this country is so damn perfect and that there aren’t millions of people being midjudged, mistreated, discriminated against, etc., because they are black. And when it happens, don’t brush it off and tell people to “get over it.”

Ugh, one of those damn days. So much so in fact that I reserve the right to delete any fucking comment on my own damn blog that annoys me. Anyone who doesn’t like it can unsubscribe. And I absofuckinglutely mean it. In fact, I encourage it. It may help with the headaches.

Also pissing me off? The American Family Association and founder, Mr. Wildmon who apparently has nothing fucking better to do with his time than to mobolize a bunch of like-minded bigots to boycott a TV show and it’s sponsors. Why? Because it shows two men kissing! *gasp*

If you don’t agree with homosexuality for whatever reason, don’t watch the fucking show. Don’t push your agenda down my damn throat and disguise it as you trying to protect my children. You let me worry about what my child watches and understands.

If you feel that your child is too young to understand homosexuality or anything else displayed on a program then, by all means, monitor what YOUR child watches. But don’t promote your hate by suggesting others boycott the show’s sponsors and encourage people to spew your filth to the show’s creators.

Why is that these family values groups think it’s their job to decide MY values and control what’s on TV? You don’t like it, don’t fucking watch it!  The site includes a link to the kiss and warns that it’s “repulsive.” I find the website repulsive. And if you do too, I encourage you to contact the same sponsors and the show (linked at the site) and encourage them to not bow to the pressure of homophobic morons.

Click here.

Just so it’s clear, ’cause I don’t think I was very clear…

If you click that link it will take you to the asshole’s website. He has links to the show and Proctor and Gamble. He is encouraging people to contact them and threaten to not watch the show or buy the products if they don’t pull the gay scenes from their show.

If you disagree, as I do, then I’m encouraging you to contact those same people and show your support. Tell them not to back down.

That Damn Obama

The other day…

“I had another sex dream last night.”

“Sex with who?”

“You!”

“What? You say that like it’s a dumb question. You’re the one who keeps having Obama sex dreams.”

“First of all, I don’t keep having them. I only had two. And it wasn’t sex with Obama… just… inappropriate flirting.”

Just awhile ago walking from our car to the library entrance so I could pick up some books including, “The Audacity of Hope”…

“Look, a Hillary sticker.”

“Fuck Hillary. I’m going to get an Obama bumper sticker. And a t-shirt that says Obama Mama. Oooh, and one that says Obama Mama with a little arrow pointing at my belly and then it will say Obama Baby. I mean, that he supports Obama too, not that he’s his Daddy or anything.”

“Yeah, only in your dreams.”

“Shut up.”

Speaking of dreams, after the library we stop for gas and I remember my dream from last night in which we won $190 million dollars…

“You have any cash? I want to buy a lottery ticket.”

“I think I have a dollar.”

“That’s all I need. A dollar and a dream. And Lord knows I have a dream. I’m a regular Martin Luther King up in this bitch.”

I buy the ticket, kiss it for luck (shut up) and stick it in my book to hold my page. I should have known better, though, than to try and read the prologue to Obama’s book while Donny drove. We were in Publix for about two minutes before we had to leave. I started seeing lights and my head was throbbing. No migraines while pregnant with Kali, but FIVE while pregnant with Jack and three of them have been in the past week. Grrrr!

Keeping a Surprise a Surprise

Some people are frightened by my Dad. I never really got why before Friday. I mean, sure he’s never without a gun. Seeing my Dad without a gun is like seeing Santa Clause without a beard. Weird and unimaginable. And yes, there’s rumors that he has a “if I could get away with it” list of people he’d kill without hesitation. I happen to know for a fact that he’s spent decades planning “the perfect murder.” Just as a hobby, you understand. He’s pretty much an older, Panamanian, Jack Bauer.

That being said, I never had real reason to fear the man myself until I realized that he is not above tackling a pregnant woman. Even if said pregnant woman is his first born child. I suppose “tackle” is a bit of stretch, but with my pregnancy induced slow reflexes and his surprisingly sharp ones for a man of 53, it was pretty damn close to a tackle.

He was over on Friday when little Maria from across the street rang our bell and informed Donny that some packages for the baby were at her house. Donny went over there and returned carrying a large box containing Jack’s swing and a smaller brown package. As Donny ripped open the brown package I tried to read the packing label on the front of the swing box when it happened. With lightning speed the box was gone and all I caught was a blur of a brown hand and a gold ring with a NYC Detective’s shield on it. I think he also scratched me.

“Hey!”

“Hey nothing. Don’t ruin the surprise.”

“It’s not a surprise. I know what it is. It’s the swing. I know this because there’s the picture of the swing right there on the box. I also know this because I asked for the thing on my registry.”

“Yeah, but just wait till the shower to find out who bought it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a surprise.”

I made several attempts to look at the label anyway as I voiced my objections. It wasn’t until I realized I was thisclose to getting the butt of a Glock 9mm upside the head that I stopped.

“Fine,” I gave in. Thinking I’d just look at it after he left. No such luck. When he left, Donny looked and then said, “No, you don’t want to know. Just save it for the shower.”

Grrrr.

BIOBaby: Body Image and Personality

I am fully aware that after reading this some of you women may hate me. But I have to be honest…

I have never been more in love with my body than I am now.

Even moreso naked than with clothes on!

I think my attitude can be attributed to several factors.

1) I lost 20lbs before getting pregnant. Over the years whenever I mentioned wanting to lose some of the weight gained with Kali before getting pregnant people always asked, “Why? You’re just going to gain it back. What sense does that make?” To me, it made a lot of sense.  It’s like if you weigh 180lbs and are 20lbs overweight, wouldn’t you rather gain baby weight on top of 160lbs instead of the 180?  I was thinking about giving myself the best start possible as well as putting myself in the best position possible to lose the weight after the baby is born.  Now, I didn’t lose the weight strictly to get pregnant. You longtime readers know that I did it simply for me and I think that plays a big part in my attitude now as well.

There’s none of that worry over whether or not I can do it after Jack is born. I know I can. Also, breastfeeding helps with the weight loss immensely and one of my greatest regrets is not breastfeeding Kali longer than I did. Because my circumstances are different now, and we plan on me staying home with Jack for at least two years (with the exception of school… going for my Bachelor’s immediately after my Associate’s at night and online) I know that I can breastfeed for the 18 months minimum I desire.

2) Donny. I think it’s easy to feel beautiful the bigger you get when you’re doing it with someone that appreciates it so much. Someone that thinks the changes in your body are simply amazing.

We were in the kitchen making our breakfast for dinner the other night when I caught him staring at my belly.

“What are you staring at? Do I look fat?”

“No. Just looking at my boy.”

If I even jokingly remark on my large stomach he always equates it to Jack. “He’s a growing boy.” “My boy needs a lot of room,” etc.  He makes it all about having a healthy pregnancy. As it should be!

It also has a lot to do with what I talked about before. About being honored to have his son. When I look at what we’re getting out of it worrying about weight, stretch marks, swollen ankles, etc., seems so… stupid.

3) I do not worry about numbers. I have no idea how much I weigh. Not a clue. When I go to the doctor and step on the scale I don’t look at the numbers. The doctor and nurses know that if it’s out of control or there’s a cause for concern, then we can talk, but other than that I don’t wanna know and I honestly don’t care. I know that whatever the numbers are they won’t be that way forever.

Finally, I’ve never felt more… womanly than I do now. In the shower last night I marveled over my round breasts and belly. I love them! I’ve never been more proud of my body and what it can do before now. I just have a whole new appreciation for pregnancy this time around.

****

Last night Donny and I were quizzing Kali for a test she has today on pollution. We were explaining all these different examples of air, land, noise, and water pollution. The TV was on mute and we were all sitting around our bed chatting when Jack started kicking a lot. I laid on my back with my nightgown pulled up so they could see.  I don’t remember now what we were laughing about, but at one point the three of us were cracking up and suddenly Jack went nuts. He was either kicking or hitting frantically. Boom, boom, boom.

We all got quiet waiting to see if he did it again. But he didn’t. I started to giggle to myself as I imagined the scene: the three of us on the outside holding our breath and staring at my stomach waiting for Jack to do something while he’s on the inside perfectly still and wondering just what the hell all the fuss is about and waiting to see if we’re going to do it again. So, the four of us are there, quiet and listening in anticipation… like fools.

That got me to thinking about what his personality will be like and how it would fit into our crazy ass household. Will he like us? Will he think we’re crazy?

Probably. But that’s okay. We’ll love him just the same.

BIOBaby: How Jack Came To Be

Nina: Donny, I’m six months pregnant. He’ll be here in three months. How did that happen?

Donny: Well, back in November, one night you woke me up and…

Nina: Shut up!

I really do have the best marriage. I didn’t always know it. Well, maybe I did and for a time forgot, but eventually I did and then came Jack. But not right away. And I think that’s important.

I’ve written about this before, but for about six months two years ago my marriage was on the rocks. I wrote about it from my perspective, with my feelings, but not from Donny’s. That wasn’t my place to speak for him. And it’s still not. For me, I can say that some of my main problems were that I felt we didn’t talk, I blamed him for the fact that I felt like I wasn’t being the person I thought I was meant to be, I resented him for something that really wasn’t in his control, and resented him for something that was. The latter is what I’m about to talk about today.

We tried for almost a year to get pregnant back in 2004-05. At first it was fun. Sex all the time. A lot of sex. And when the first few months went by without a positive pregnancy test, it got less fun. We were already cramming in sex sessions whenever we could. Usually during the day because Kali was 5-6 years old at the time and prone to late night bedroom visits when she couldn’t sleep.

It started to get stressful. I went in for testing to make sure nothing was wrong with me.  I mean, we all knew I could get pregnant and have a healthy pregnancy, but a lot could have changed in five years. After it turned out that I was fine it was suggested that Donny have his sperm tested. And he never did. I’m not really sure when everything started to go wrong. I wish I could pinpoint a moment and say, “Yup, you did this, and then I did that, and that’s when we fell apart.” But I can’t. And it really doesn’t matter. We each had a laundry list of complaints. Needs we each felt weren’t being met. I know that everytime I saw that brown little paper bag with the empty specimen cup just sitting around the house I got more and more resentful. It never occured to me why he delayed getting tested, but more on that in a bit…

About two years ago I had to make a decision. A committment. To either stay in my marriage and make it work, or not. I chose to make it work. For all the reasons that went into that decision the overriding one was strong: I couldn’t imagine my life with anyone else. Through all the fighting, doubts, feelings of there’s someone/something else out there for me, I couldn’t shake the day to day feeling that this is where I belonged.

It wasn’t easy. A lot had been said and done on both parts that required forgiveness, but it came. And that’s how it’s been for about two years now. Better than ever actually. Then last October I started getting baby fever. All the reasons I had delayed trying again seemed unimportant. I thought about something happening to my parents or my Grandmothers and not having them around to meet my new child. I thought about something happening to Donny. What the hell were we waiting for? So, we decided that after the holidays we would try. And we would try differently than before. No pressure. We’d just do it when we felt like it and let nature take over.

Then one night in November I was ready to go to sleep around 2:30am. Donny had been asleep next to me for hours. As I turned down the light and prepared to snuggle into the covers I thought about waking him up to spoon with me. It was my usual routine. Sometimes when I woke him up he’d pull me close and go back to sleep… sometimes he wanted more. So, that particular night I thought about it.

“If I wake his ass up he’s probably going to want some. Do I feel like giving him some or do I feel like sleeping? If I want to sleep more than have sex I’ll leave him alone.”

I woke him up.

In December, I spent the first two weeks of the month preparing for and taking my finals. Emily was due to visit a few days before Christmas and I refused to even solidify our plans until December 19th after I’d taken my last final. As the weeks progressed I noticed some changes. I remember IMing Richard, “You know, it’s so weird. I keep falling asleep while reading. At like 11am! I can’t even keep my eyes open.”

“Oh, your life is soooo hard.”

But I found that really bizarre. I would get a full nights sleep the night before and wake up at a decent hour, but within three hours or so I was ready to sleep again. I’m talking head in a book, knocked out, drooling sleep. Then we went to Wal-Mart one night after my Spanish final and I had to leave. We were picking out Christmas lights and I got really queasy. As Donny peeled out the parking lot he rolled down my window with the plea, “Please don’t throw up in here. I need those papers for work.”

Gee thanks.

I remember writing a blog after my finals were done listing all the things I was going to concentrate on now that the semester was over and one of the things was, “Find out where the hell my period is!” I was really kidding. My period always came on the same day of the month unless I was in the middle of a cycle change. But usually, if it came the second Friday of every month and that was consistent. If we had a five week month, my period wouldn’t skip a beat and still come the second Friday of every month. And such was the schedule last December.

I went back to my November blogs and found one written on Monday, 11/12 where I spoke about what we did the previous Friday, 11/9. We’d gone out shopping for some Christmas presents for Kali and dropped a grip on dinner at the Japanese restaurant. After reading the blog I remembered that after dinner I got my period. The second Friday of November. So, as we prepared to go out to see I Am Legend on Friday night, 12/14, I just knew that by the end of the evening I’d have my period. I was so convinced by this, and my back pains, sore boobs, and slight cramps, that before the movie I inserted a tampon. By the time we got home: nothing.

Hmmm. So Donny and I talked about it. Could I be pregnant? Nah. Donny’s reasoning?

“We didn’t even have sex in November.”

“Yes we did.”

“Well, maybe once or twice.”

“It only takes one time, Donny.”

November was a busy month. I had schoolwork up the butt and he was working during the day and going in for a few hours at night for the other job. Also, we’d just bought the flat screen for the bedroom and moved the Xbox 360 in the bedroom. When we had free moments we were more likely to be playing Halo 3 in bed than making love. Sad, but true.

I discovered a pregnancy test in the bathroom left over from our “really” trying days. Donny convinced me to wait till Monday, 12/17 to use it. The next night, Saturday 12/15, my parents came over for dinner and margaritas and I had some. I remember saying to Donny, “I shouldn’t drink this.”

“You’ll be fine.”

That morning we were at IHOP and I really wanted the Strawberry Banana French Toast… and I hate french toast. And I could only eat a few bites of the breakfast I did order before feeling like I had to throw up. Sunday morning, I couldn’t take it anymore. I tippy-toed out of bed before Donny woke. I went into the master bath and locked the door. I ran some water so he wouldn’t hear me opening the drawer and taking out the test. Then I went further into the water closet, and closed THAT door just to take the test. I just didn’t want to get his hopes up.

We all know now it was positive and even still I was in shock. Two lines? What does that mean? I grabbed the instructions and immediately my eyes went to the part where it explained that one line meant not pregnant. Well, if one line means not pregnant then two lines must mean really not pregnant, right? I mean, I just had margaritas last night! I couldn’t be pregnant! That seems like so long ago. Like years, really.

I hate bringing up painful things. Especially if they involve wrongdoing on my part. I have no problem apologizing, but it has to be when I’m ready. I have to feel it and mean it. But once I do, I hate revisiting. But this was too important and I couldn’t worry that what I had to say to him might make him think about the not so good times when things were oh so right currently.

So, while lying in bed the other night and watching him watch TV I tapped his shoulder, looked in dead in the eyes with tears in my own and told him that I was exactly where I wanted to be, having this child with the man I wanted to be with, and that I loved him.. even when I didn’t act like I did, I always loved him and always would. He simply replied, “I know.”

I don’t agree with people who decide to have a baby to try and save a struggling marriage. I think that if it works it’s because they were lucky and most likely able to work through their issues had they not had a child. I think that to try and conceive simply to save a marriage is incredibly unfair to the child considering the consequences should it not work out. That’s why I feel extremely blessed that we had almost two years of solid reconciliation behind us before we got pregnant. That’s why I’m glad he was conceived from a night of nothing more than his two parents wanting each other.  I feel like he’s our reward and not a tool to fix something broken.

And I finally understand what he must have been feeling back when there was some concern with us not conceiving. I feel so honored to give him this little boy, and really that’s the best word to describe it, that I can just imagine that he must have been feeling the exact opposite of that… or feelings that equal the absence of that. How devastating would it be to learn you are incapable of giving that gift to your wife?  No wonder he delayed and ignored it. And should I have just put my own frustrations aside for one moment and talked to him about it, instead of isolating myself in resentment, maybe that would have been one less wall between us.

We really are a mess. Probably quite sickening to be around. And not just the two of us, but Kali too. We’re sooo excited about this baby.  We talk to him and Donny and Kali are constantly touching my belly and kissing it. I’m sure Jack is sick of us already. Especially since he can now hear outside noises. And I yell a lot.

I was yelling at Donny for something the other day and shouted at his retreating back, “This is your fault! I bet today is Jack’s first day of hearing and all he can hear is me screaming like a maniac.”

“He better get used to it,” Donny called over his shoulder. Smartass.

This morning I woke Donny up around 6:30am to feel Jack kicking. Then around 7am I decided I was hungry.

“What do you want?”

Now, ladies… the fact that he asked means he’s willing to fulfill the request, right?

“Scrambled egg whites, toast, juice, and coffee.”

He releases a deep sigh.

“Well, you asked.”

A short while later he brings me a plate of food and a glass of juice. He says, “You owe me big time.” I didn’t respond because I was too busy laughing at Jon Stewart asking Barack Obama if his master plan as President would be to enslave the white race. When Donny returned with my coffee I asked him, “Why do I owe you big time?”

“Because you woke me up to make you breakfast.”

“Noooo, I woke you up to feel your son kick, but you know, if that’s not important to you than I won’t do it again.”

“No. No. No. Don’t twist my words.”

“No, whatever. Too late. Jack already heard you. He knows who loves him more.”

“Shut up. I don’t mind that you woke me up for that… you just got breakfast out of the deal which was probably your main reason…”

“How dare you!”

Our voices are getting increasingly louder, and we’re talking over each other, but the whole conversation is taking place with smiles on our faces.

“Well, whatever. One day I’m going to wake up and push your baby out of my vagina, so breakfast is the least you can do!,” I shouted.

And just then Kali comes in the bedroom asking, “What’s wrong with you two?”

I really have the best family ever. If I didn’t know/appreciate it before, I do now.

I Need Jesus

So, Donny was laid off. Again. On Thursday.

Don’t freak out. We didn’t. Well, I didn’t. Amazingly enough I’ve been calm and unworried. Mainly because… well, remember how when word that his company would be purchased spread last year he immediately started looking for another job and got one? Then it turned out that the acquiring company kept all the old district managers (Donny’s position) so he had two jobs. The new job was during the day and the old job (with new owners) was at night. But it wasn’t like he had to work all night. He basically went in around 7 or 8pm, set up his employees to do their thang, and was home by 10 or 11pm the latest.

Then the night assignments stopped and all that was offered was day work, but he couldn’t take it because he had the new job during the day. So, for the past few months he’s still been on their payroll, but just not accepting work. Since he was just laid off, he’s now free to accept assignments from the other company which he promptly did upon getting laid off last week.

So, we’re okay.

A few months ago I mentioned to Donny that maybe we should start going to church and he just kinda shrugged and nodded. Last week when he was talking to his friend and telling him about getting laid off for the second time in three years his friend replied, “You need to go to church, man.” Translation: You need Jesus.

So, Donny and I discussed it again the other day. But where to start? My father is Catholic. Donny was raised Catholic. But Catholic scares me. I think the church might ignite in indignation if I crossed the threshold.

Note: As I type this last week’s booted Idol contestant, Kristy Lee Cook, is singing “God Bless The USA” on Regis and Kelly. I muted the TV.

Anyway, I’m not sure what my mother is, but they go to church a lot. And they sing a lot too. When I say a lot, I mean that I think my mom goes twice a week. The singing isn’t so bad though. Anytime I’ve attended a church I end up crying. People are always so loving and connected. The words are so inspiring. I end up crying due to guilt over all of my fornicating, impure thoughts, and bitchiness.

The one thing that has always scared me about organized religion is that everyone is soooo… soooo… judgey. I don’t think gay people are going to hell. I think child molestors and murderers are. I don’t care if gay people adopt and raise children and want to stand before God and pledge their lives to one another. It’s none of my damn business and as long as you’re not out there breaking laws and being a general douchebag, I believe that God loves you. And I’m a smartass.

When my mother got remarried about seven years ago she introduced me to her pastor.

“Ah. Are you the daughter in the Navy?”

“No. No. I’m the other one. The heathen.”

He laughed nervously. My mother pinched me. Whatever.

Lighten up!

Then there’s the matter of what I’d have to do to join. Are they going to quiz me about my years of fornication, living in sin, adultery within my first marriage which resulted in Kali, drinking, and overall bad behavior? I mean, what are your 20′s for if not a little sin? Will I have to have my children dunked in some sort of holy water? Do you know how hard it is to get Kali to hold her head back so I can rinse the massive amount of hair on her head when she takes a bath? Good luck with that one, Father.

Also, what does one wear to church? I cannot remember the last time I wore panty hose. And something tells me four-inch heels might be a little inappropriate. In fact, I don’t think I own one church-appropriate frock!  Goodness, this is a lot of pressure.

Although, I must say, I like the idea of Catholic confession. Do they still do that? I’d probably still disguise my voice though. I don’t like being judged!

What do you practice? Why? Are you happy? What are the rules of your faith? Should Donny and I shop around first? I don’t like pressure though. Sometimes I feel like people must get some kind of heavenly brownie points for bringing in new members cause they lay it on kinda thick. Enlighten me, people!

P.S. Baptist is out. Simply because they keep their Chic-Fil-A restaurants closed on Sundays and that’s just wrong.