Dear Hector,
Kindly accept this letter as your official 30-day notice to vacate the premises. Even though our initial contract states December 1, 2010 as termination of your lease, we understand that developing lungs may take some extra time and are willing to allow you to stay a bit longer.
However, we must insist that you be moved out by December 15, 2010.
Though you have been a most agreeable tenant thus far, new living arrangements must be made to preserve our physical and mental health. And yours too, we would assume. Your quarters must surely be getting uncomfortably cramped, and unfortunately our policies do not allow for expansions or additions at this time.
I can assure you all will be done to make your transition as comfortable and stress-free as possible. We have a team of skilled movers ready to assist you if needed. There will be little to no paperwork for you to fill out so no need to worry about that. Preparations are completed or underway to ensure your new accommodations meet your expectations.
We completely understand that change can be a frightening and intimidating thing, but please know that you will be loved and well cared for, not only by management (ie. Mom and Dad), but by a lot of other people as well, who are excited about your upcoming move.
If you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to contact us directly and we will do our best to soothe your concerns and answer your questions.
With love and excitement,
Management
(Dad and Mom)
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
11.15.2010
10.19.2010
Please Stand By
If I haven’t returned your call, text or email, I apologize.
Here’s my pathetic schedule of late:
Go to work.
Come home from work.
Eat whatever dinner Daniel puts in front of me.
Take a bath.
Read whatever pregnancy/parenting related book I’m currently reading while in the tub.
Do Hypnobabies “homeplay”.
Go to bed.
Work right now is just mentally exhausting which translates into physical exhaustion. During the week, I don’t have the energy or motivation to do ANYTHING besides the above list. And on the weekends I try to catch up on sleep and all the things I didn’t do during the week (like laundry), plus attempt to prepare for arrival of new human being.
I feel like a brood hen. I never want to go out. I don’t want to be social. I like being at home right now, focusing on my impending birth and subsequent motherhood.
Today I am 34 weeks. Which means this kid hanging out in my uterus could decide to show up anytime in the next 3 to 8 weeks.
Preparing for the arrival of our son often seems like a full-time job. I can’t imagine what it’s going to feel like once he’s actually here!
We did end up switching from my OB to a midwife and are very happy with that decision so far. I feel much more confident that we are more likely to have the kind of birth we want with a midwife rather than an OB who is bound by restrictive hospital policies.
We also found a pediatrician we like – hooray!
Our doula is lovely and encouraging and we’ll be seeing her again in a couple of weeks.
We are in the 4th week of our Hypnobabies birthing classes, which, so far, have been very calming and informative. Though there is also a lot of work involved – something I wasn’t entirely prepared for.
I finished reading the awesome book “Pushed” by Jennifer Block. Seriously, I am giving this book to every woman I know who becomes pregnant. I could hardly put it down it was so good. A lot of the information presented is infuriating, but it has also reassured and empowered me like nothing else.
The crib and changing table have been assembled. The mattress has been purchased. Clothes have been sorted and are ready for the wash.
We’re just about there, physically anyway. Still in the process of mentally and emotionally preparing, but I have a feeling there’s not much preparation you can do for an event so entirely life-changing.
Here’s my pathetic schedule of late:
Go to work.
Come home from work.
Eat whatever dinner Daniel puts in front of me.
Take a bath.
Read whatever pregnancy/parenting related book I’m currently reading while in the tub.
Do Hypnobabies “homeplay”.
Go to bed.
Work right now is just mentally exhausting which translates into physical exhaustion. During the week, I don’t have the energy or motivation to do ANYTHING besides the above list. And on the weekends I try to catch up on sleep and all the things I didn’t do during the week (like laundry), plus attempt to prepare for arrival of new human being.
I feel like a brood hen. I never want to go out. I don’t want to be social. I like being at home right now, focusing on my impending birth and subsequent motherhood.
Today I am 34 weeks. Which means this kid hanging out in my uterus could decide to show up anytime in the next 3 to 8 weeks.
Preparing for the arrival of our son often seems like a full-time job. I can’t imagine what it’s going to feel like once he’s actually here!
We did end up switching from my OB to a midwife and are very happy with that decision so far. I feel much more confident that we are more likely to have the kind of birth we want with a midwife rather than an OB who is bound by restrictive hospital policies.
We also found a pediatrician we like – hooray!
Our doula is lovely and encouraging and we’ll be seeing her again in a couple of weeks.
We are in the 4th week of our Hypnobabies birthing classes, which, so far, have been very calming and informative. Though there is also a lot of work involved – something I wasn’t entirely prepared for.
I finished reading the awesome book “Pushed” by Jennifer Block. Seriously, I am giving this book to every woman I know who becomes pregnant. I could hardly put it down it was so good. A lot of the information presented is infuriating, but it has also reassured and empowered me like nothing else.
The crib and changing table have been assembled. The mattress has been purchased. Clothes have been sorted and are ready for the wash.
We’re just about there, physically anyway. Still in the process of mentally and emotionally preparing, but I have a feeling there’s not much preparation you can do for an event so entirely life-changing.
9.02.2010
Please Pass the Maternity Pants
Up until two weeks ago, my pants had all been rigged to stay on my ass and over my growing girth by means of rubber bands and one of those stretchy tube top thingys. I was totally in the McGuyver zone. But rubber bands only stretch so far. And pants that are completely unzipped and unbuttoned, being held in place by a thin tube top, is a situation just begging for a public wardrobe malfunction.
So, two weekends ago I finally broke down, after Daniel threatened to go buy me maternity pants himself, went to a maternity store and purchased three pairs.
First of all, I kind of hate going into "specialty" stores like that because the store clerk to customer ratio is always way off and I hate being fussed over. Alas, there was only one other shopper in the store when I arrived and she quickly departed leaving me with three helpful, smiling sales associates ready to take measurements, ask questions, and load up a dressing room for me. Oy.
And then I tried on my first pair of maternity pants and my life changed forever.
Dear god why are pants made ANY other way!?
Okay so maybe maternity pants aren't the most fashionable clothing item, but they are so wonderfully, so monumentally, so accutely comfortable, I'm tearing up with love and gratitude even as I type this.
When I went to work that week rocking out my inner Ed Grimley in my new maternity pants, I gushed like a tween with a crush to one of my female co-workers on my extraordinary new pants. She said, "you know those green pants I wear?" In fact, I did know those green pants she wears because everytime she wears them I comment on how cute they are. She leaned in and whispered, "those are maternity pants." Her youngest child is like four.
My future suddenly seemed brighter. You mean I could continue wearing these glorious pants even AFTER I give birth!? Hell. Yeah.
The world would be a happier place if everyone just wore maternity pants. Seriously.
So, two weekends ago I finally broke down, after Daniel threatened to go buy me maternity pants himself, went to a maternity store and purchased three pairs.
First of all, I kind of hate going into "specialty" stores like that because the store clerk to customer ratio is always way off and I hate being fussed over. Alas, there was only one other shopper in the store when I arrived and she quickly departed leaving me with three helpful, smiling sales associates ready to take measurements, ask questions, and load up a dressing room for me. Oy.
And then I tried on my first pair of maternity pants and my life changed forever.
Dear god why are pants made ANY other way!?
Okay so maybe maternity pants aren't the most fashionable clothing item, but they are so wonderfully, so monumentally, so accutely comfortable, I'm tearing up with love and gratitude even as I type this.
When I went to work that week rocking out my inner Ed Grimley in my new maternity pants, I gushed like a tween with a crush to one of my female co-workers on my extraordinary new pants. She said, "you know those green pants I wear?" In fact, I did know those green pants she wears because everytime she wears them I comment on how cute they are. She leaned in and whispered, "those are maternity pants." Her youngest child is like four.
My future suddenly seemed brighter. You mean I could continue wearing these glorious pants even AFTER I give birth!? Hell. Yeah.
The world would be a happier place if everyone just wore maternity pants. Seriously.
7.14.2010
Oh Boy
Yesterday I had my 20 week diagnostic ultrasound.
It's a boy!
And he's already being an uncooperative little booger! He was in a weird position that was frustrating the technician. She got most of the information she needed and our doctor said everything looks good, but now we have to get an additional ultrasound in another three weeks to pick up the images we couldn't get this time around.
I've gained 6 pounds so far and have another 4 months to go. My doctor told us she's keeping my due date for December 1st, but wants to keep a close eye on the baby's growth as she may want to induce labor sooner if he gets too big. Apparently, 10 oz. is average at this stage and our son (according to the ultrasound measurements) is 14 oz. The doctor took one look at Daniel and chastised me for marrying a square-headed giant!
I have to admit it was really a shock to be told (and shown) that our baby is a boy when we were both utterly convinced it was a girl. Up until yesterday I had visions of buying adorable little girl clothes, hearing the squeaky little girl voice, showing her all the things my sister and I liked to do when we were little girls.
With a boy I am completely out of my element. It's going to be interesting!
It's a boy!
And he's already being an uncooperative little booger! He was in a weird position that was frustrating the technician. She got most of the information she needed and our doctor said everything looks good, but now we have to get an additional ultrasound in another three weeks to pick up the images we couldn't get this time around.
I've gained 6 pounds so far and have another 4 months to go. My doctor told us she's keeping my due date for December 1st, but wants to keep a close eye on the baby's growth as she may want to induce labor sooner if he gets too big. Apparently, 10 oz. is average at this stage and our son (according to the ultrasound measurements) is 14 oz. The doctor took one look at Daniel and chastised me for marrying a square-headed giant!
I have to admit it was really a shock to be told (and shown) that our baby is a boy when we were both utterly convinced it was a girl. Up until yesterday I had visions of buying adorable little girl clothes, hearing the squeaky little girl voice, showing her all the things my sister and I liked to do when we were little girls.
With a boy I am completely out of my element. It's going to be interesting!
6.30.2010
TMI
Friends, family members and co-workers frequently ask me how I’m feeling. I typically answer their polite inquiries with something like, “I’m feeling pretty good lately. Needing a little extra sleep at night, but other than that, doing well. Thanks.” Nobody really wants to hear the gory details of being 5 months pregnant. And who the hell can blame them!? Even Daniel will sometimes give me the TMI look . . . but I just laugh and keep piling on the uncomfortable information. That’s his job, right?
So, for those of you who are genuinely interested in how I’m ACTUALLY feeling, read on. For those of you who are asking after my well-being in a genuinely friendly manner, but don’t want to hear about, know about or imagine any of the gross or personal stuff, please STOP reading right now. I beg you.
First of all, I do believe I had my very first official pregnancy craving last night. It was totally bizarre. It was about 8 o’clock. We had already eaten a dinner of spinach ravioli and red sauce. I was upstairs doing some work I had brought home from the office and I couldn’t stop fantasizing about potatoes. Plain, white, boiled potatoes. Like I was under some kind of mind control device, I walked downstairs and announced to Daniel that I needed to eat a potato. I then proceeded into the kitchen where I boiled 3 small red potatoes, skins and all. I ate them immediately, salted and smashed up a bit with my fork. Those potatoes were so freaking delicious! It was like I had never tasted anything so delicious in my entire life.
Second, all of my emotions are, like, exponentially heightened to levels of heretofore unseen crazy. Something that I used to think was sad is now the most tragic thing I have ever heard. If something before annoyed or frustrated me, now it infuriates me beyond all rationality. A touching sentiment before has become the most heartfelt thing requiring loud racking sobs. It’s ridiculous. For example, at work this morning, I overheard one of my co-workers talking to another co-worker about their respective running regimens. One has been running for a while and has done marathons and iron mans and such, and the other is overweight and just starting out. At the end of their conversation, Iron Man co-worker said, “I know you can do it Fred. You’ve got what it takes – I believe in you.” And okay, so he said it in that sort of male jokey kind of way, but I could tell he was actually sincere and being supportive, and that gesture just totally slayed me. I had to wipe away tears and swallow the lump forming in my throat. RI-DIC-U-LOUS.
Okay, for those of you who didn’t heed my previous warning and have continued to read, NOW is really the time you’ll want to close this window on your computer screen. Trust me. Otherwise you’ll know things about my pregnancy you never EVER wanted to know.
For instance, every time I brush my teeth, I vomit. I don’t get it. The nausea that I had for the first three months has completely disappeared except when A.) I wait too long to eat something, or B.) I brush my teeth. I even googled this stupid condition and apparently I am not the only pregnant woman to suffer from this oral hygiene revulsion. Sometimes it’s just a little retching and gagging . . . and then other times it’s a violent emptying of my stomach that leaves me feeling shaken and beaten up. I’ve tried non-fluoride toothpaste. I’ve tried using only a teeny tiny amount of toothpaste. I’ve tried brushing really really fast. Nothing, so far, has helped.
Moving further down the disgusting scale . . . I’ve read that there’s lots of shifting going on inside me. Like in the pelvic region to make room for the rapidly growing parasite. I think some fairly major shifting has occurred recently, because I can now FEEL my uterus when I stand up from a seated position. Freaky, right? It’s very unsettling for me.
And we’re in a downward spiral. Heartburn. I used to never have heartburn. I don’t remember exactly why this occurs when one is pregnant but I think it has something to do with the digestive system slowing down (again, most likely to accommodate the little spawn in some way) and so food doesn’t digest as quickly. It becomes much worse when you can’t burp. Why can’t I burp? I HAVE NO IDEA. To my knowledge, I have never been able to burp. It’s a medical mystery. On the bright side, I can fart. And my flatulence level has noticeably increased with being 5 months pregnant.
Also, constipation is beginning to become an issue. Again, I don’t remember why exactly this occurs, but things are slowing down, down there and it’s troublesome.
So, other than that and needing a little extra sleep at night, I'm feeling great! Thanks for asking!
So, for those of you who are genuinely interested in how I’m ACTUALLY feeling, read on. For those of you who are asking after my well-being in a genuinely friendly manner, but don’t want to hear about, know about or imagine any of the gross or personal stuff, please STOP reading right now. I beg you.
First of all, I do believe I had my very first official pregnancy craving last night. It was totally bizarre. It was about 8 o’clock. We had already eaten a dinner of spinach ravioli and red sauce. I was upstairs doing some work I had brought home from the office and I couldn’t stop fantasizing about potatoes. Plain, white, boiled potatoes. Like I was under some kind of mind control device, I walked downstairs and announced to Daniel that I needed to eat a potato. I then proceeded into the kitchen where I boiled 3 small red potatoes, skins and all. I ate them immediately, salted and smashed up a bit with my fork. Those potatoes were so freaking delicious! It was like I had never tasted anything so delicious in my entire life.
Second, all of my emotions are, like, exponentially heightened to levels of heretofore unseen crazy. Something that I used to think was sad is now the most tragic thing I have ever heard. If something before annoyed or frustrated me, now it infuriates me beyond all rationality. A touching sentiment before has become the most heartfelt thing requiring loud racking sobs. It’s ridiculous. For example, at work this morning, I overheard one of my co-workers talking to another co-worker about their respective running regimens. One has been running for a while and has done marathons and iron mans and such, and the other is overweight and just starting out. At the end of their conversation, Iron Man co-worker said, “I know you can do it Fred. You’ve got what it takes – I believe in you.” And okay, so he said it in that sort of male jokey kind of way, but I could tell he was actually sincere and being supportive, and that gesture just totally slayed me. I had to wipe away tears and swallow the lump forming in my throat. RI-DIC-U-LOUS.
Okay, for those of you who didn’t heed my previous warning and have continued to read, NOW is really the time you’ll want to close this window on your computer screen. Trust me. Otherwise you’ll know things about my pregnancy you never EVER wanted to know.
For instance, every time I brush my teeth, I vomit. I don’t get it. The nausea that I had for the first three months has completely disappeared except when A.) I wait too long to eat something, or B.) I brush my teeth. I even googled this stupid condition and apparently I am not the only pregnant woman to suffer from this oral hygiene revulsion. Sometimes it’s just a little retching and gagging . . . and then other times it’s a violent emptying of my stomach that leaves me feeling shaken and beaten up. I’ve tried non-fluoride toothpaste. I’ve tried using only a teeny tiny amount of toothpaste. I’ve tried brushing really really fast. Nothing, so far, has helped.
Moving further down the disgusting scale . . . I’ve read that there’s lots of shifting going on inside me. Like in the pelvic region to make room for the rapidly growing parasite. I think some fairly major shifting has occurred recently, because I can now FEEL my uterus when I stand up from a seated position. Freaky, right? It’s very unsettling for me.
And we’re in a downward spiral. Heartburn. I used to never have heartburn. I don’t remember exactly why this occurs when one is pregnant but I think it has something to do with the digestive system slowing down (again, most likely to accommodate the little spawn in some way) and so food doesn’t digest as quickly. It becomes much worse when you can’t burp. Why can’t I burp? I HAVE NO IDEA. To my knowledge, I have never been able to burp. It’s a medical mystery. On the bright side, I can fart. And my flatulence level has noticeably increased with being 5 months pregnant.
Also, constipation is beginning to become an issue. Again, I don’t remember why exactly this occurs, but things are slowing down, down there and it’s troublesome.
So, other than that and needing a little extra sleep at night, I'm feeling great! Thanks for asking!
12.04.2008
A Review...and A Rant
I recently finished reading the book The Mommy Myth: The Idealization of Motherhood and How It Has Undermined All Women by Susan Douglas and Meredith Michaels. Before you ask, NO, I’m not pregnant. I just enjoy feminist social commentary…especially when done by two very well informed and very snarky women (who are mothers themselves). It’s a thought-provoking read which takes a critical look at how the media and the government have molded mothers into obsessive, competitive freaks with unattainable standards of perfection.
When I saw this book listed on PaperBackSwap.com, it caught my attention, I guess, because I’m at that age where people like me (and by “like me”, I only mean women who have, for whatever reasons, put motherhood on the back burner) are suddenly realizing that if they want a kid or two, they better get on board the Baby Train pretty damn quick! And true to form, it seems as though everyone around me in my age range is pregnant or trying to get pregnant. A couple of co-workers here, a couple of co-workers’ wives there, a colleague or two, random bloggers. . . One of my co-workers had a baby 5 months ago and I never saw her again. She has disappeared into the Baby Abyss! One of my colleagues also had a baby 5 months ago (and at age 37, she was put in the Geriatric Maternity Ward, much to her dismay) and is happily back to designing load-bearing concrete beams after a brief maternity leave.
Oddly enough, only one of my close friends is a mother, and for some reason we don’t really ever talk about how she deals with motherhood. One of the things The Mommy Myth points out is how fucking HARD being a mother (not a parent…not a father…a MOTHER) is and how no one is allowed to really express HOW hard it is. Mothers have been forbidden to say “GAWD! This seriously sucks!” It’s not all rainbows and sunshine and organic produce and fair-trade cotton diapers. But we all have to pretend that motherhood is glamorous and sexy and the one and only thing in life that makes every damn one of us feel the most satisfaction we have ever felt. Puhleeeeeze.
Mothers should all be nurturing SAHMs (stay-at-home-moms) teaching their children to speak multiple languages, organizing meaningful outings, giving only educational toys and healthy food, and providing classical music for the young minds they are charged with forming. Basically, June Cleaver…on steroids. Everyone that is, except of course celebrities who have teams of nannies and educators and baby nurses and chefs and personal groomers and any other serviceable person who is able to make her life in motherhood the most satisfying, most thrilling, most fulfilling thing she has ever done. Oh, and also mothers who are on public assistance. Those goddamn welfare mothers SHOULD NOT be SAHMs…shame on them for wanting to stay home and raise their kid. Right?
The authors of The Mommy Myth take an extreme dislike to people such as Dr. Laura (and really, who can blame them?!) who preach to white, upper middle class women that being a mom (not a mother, a mom – this is another interesting point the book addresses; the distinction between the terms “mother” and “mom”) is the only priority they should even be thinking about, and being a mom, (the right kind of mom, of course) is the highest service she can perform.
And here’s the thing, women buy into this bullshit! I realize it is sometimes incredibly difficult not to be duped by the omniscient media, but many mothers-to-be happily adopt the whole motherhood = righteous, holier-than-thou attitude and it’s nauseating.
It’s also a little more than frightening.
I know a woman who is currently 3 months pregnant. I genuinely like this woman. I do. For the past three years that I’ve known her, she has been adamantly anti-baby. She proclaimed that being a mother was not something she needed or wanted. It wasn’t something she craved. She couldn’t imagine being pregnant. She couldn’t imagine being a stay at home mom. It wasn’t for her and she just couldn't understand how women gave everything up just to have a baby.
Then seemingly overnight (although now that I think about it, probably back in the Spring when she turned 33), her and her husband were trying to get pregnant. She started taking special vitamins and charting her menstrual cycle (and keeping me informed – too informed). And then one day she glowingly declared that she was two months pregnant. It has been downhill from that moment. Downhill.
The baby talk never ends. Never. Every conversation (and I mean every conversation) includes at least some reference to her 3-month pregnant body, or her 3-month pregnancy experience, or the latest pregnancy article she’s read, or the most recent pregnancy-related advice she’s been given. She reads books about infant care and early childhood education (and graciously shares that information with me).
Yesterday her and her husband toured daycare facilities (yes, she's 3 months pregnant). The one they want to get into has a two-year waiting list (unless you’re lucky or extremely wealthy). She enthusiastically recounted every detail of this Harvard of daycares which offers 6-week olds to 4 year olds everything from computer classes and drama classes, to ballet lessons and sports development, to sign language and Spanish lessons. She told me – with a totally straight face – that she intends to teach her infant sign language because it’s been shown that children who are able to communicate their needs before they are able to grasp language arts, are simply happier. I didn’t really know how to respond. Part of me wanted to channel some kind of crass Roseanne comment and part of me just wanted to pat her on her head and send her on her way.
Everything she eats, she prefaces with, “don’t judge me, I’m pregnant”. Don’t you worry, you crazy little motherfucker, I don’t care what the hell you put in your mouth whether you’re pregnant or not.
This sudden and complete devotion to the New Momism (another term used in The Mommy Myth – basically the ultra-competitive, extreme mothering of June Cleaver on steroids) is unsettling to say the least. It’s kind of wigging me out. How? How the hell did she go from not wanting to be pregnant to being an uber-annoying pregnant woman of the highest degree who is already plotting ways in which to make her unborn child smarter, healthier, and just generally better than all other children? HOW?
But I digress. Read The Mommy Myth for a dose of humorous reality and a hard look at how our society has idealized motherhood.
When I saw this book listed on PaperBackSwap.com, it caught my attention, I guess, because I’m at that age where people like me (and by “like me”, I only mean women who have, for whatever reasons, put motherhood on the back burner) are suddenly realizing that if they want a kid or two, they better get on board the Baby Train pretty damn quick! And true to form, it seems as though everyone around me in my age range is pregnant or trying to get pregnant. A couple of co-workers here, a couple of co-workers’ wives there, a colleague or two, random bloggers. . . One of my co-workers had a baby 5 months ago and I never saw her again. She has disappeared into the Baby Abyss! One of my colleagues also had a baby 5 months ago (and at age 37, she was put in the Geriatric Maternity Ward, much to her dismay) and is happily back to designing load-bearing concrete beams after a brief maternity leave.
Oddly enough, only one of my close friends is a mother, and for some reason we don’t really ever talk about how she deals with motherhood. One of the things The Mommy Myth points out is how fucking HARD being a mother (not a parent…not a father…a MOTHER) is and how no one is allowed to really express HOW hard it is. Mothers have been forbidden to say “GAWD! This seriously sucks!” It’s not all rainbows and sunshine and organic produce and fair-trade cotton diapers. But we all have to pretend that motherhood is glamorous and sexy and the one and only thing in life that makes every damn one of us feel the most satisfaction we have ever felt. Puhleeeeeze.
Mothers should all be nurturing SAHMs (stay-at-home-moms) teaching their children to speak multiple languages, organizing meaningful outings, giving only educational toys and healthy food, and providing classical music for the young minds they are charged with forming. Basically, June Cleaver…on steroids. Everyone that is, except of course celebrities who have teams of nannies and educators and baby nurses and chefs and personal groomers and any other serviceable person who is able to make her life in motherhood the most satisfying, most thrilling, most fulfilling thing she has ever done. Oh, and also mothers who are on public assistance. Those goddamn welfare mothers SHOULD NOT be SAHMs…shame on them for wanting to stay home and raise their kid. Right?
The authors of The Mommy Myth take an extreme dislike to people such as Dr. Laura (and really, who can blame them?!) who preach to white, upper middle class women that being a mom (not a mother, a mom – this is another interesting point the book addresses; the distinction between the terms “mother” and “mom”) is the only priority they should even be thinking about, and being a mom, (the right kind of mom, of course) is the highest service she can perform.
And here’s the thing, women buy into this bullshit! I realize it is sometimes incredibly difficult not to be duped by the omniscient media, but many mothers-to-be happily adopt the whole motherhood = righteous, holier-than-thou attitude and it’s nauseating.
It’s also a little more than frightening.
I know a woman who is currently 3 months pregnant. I genuinely like this woman. I do. For the past three years that I’ve known her, she has been adamantly anti-baby. She proclaimed that being a mother was not something she needed or wanted. It wasn’t something she craved. She couldn’t imagine being pregnant. She couldn’t imagine being a stay at home mom. It wasn’t for her and she just couldn't understand how women gave everything up just to have a baby.
Then seemingly overnight (although now that I think about it, probably back in the Spring when she turned 33), her and her husband were trying to get pregnant. She started taking special vitamins and charting her menstrual cycle (and keeping me informed – too informed). And then one day she glowingly declared that she was two months pregnant. It has been downhill from that moment. Downhill.
The baby talk never ends. Never. Every conversation (and I mean every conversation) includes at least some reference to her 3-month pregnant body, or her 3-month pregnancy experience, or the latest pregnancy article she’s read, or the most recent pregnancy-related advice she’s been given. She reads books about infant care and early childhood education (and graciously shares that information with me).
Yesterday her and her husband toured daycare facilities (yes, she's 3 months pregnant). The one they want to get into has a two-year waiting list (unless you’re lucky or extremely wealthy). She enthusiastically recounted every detail of this Harvard of daycares which offers 6-week olds to 4 year olds everything from computer classes and drama classes, to ballet lessons and sports development, to sign language and Spanish lessons. She told me – with a totally straight face – that she intends to teach her infant sign language because it’s been shown that children who are able to communicate their needs before they are able to grasp language arts, are simply happier. I didn’t really know how to respond. Part of me wanted to channel some kind of crass Roseanne comment and part of me just wanted to pat her on her head and send her on her way.
Everything she eats, she prefaces with, “don’t judge me, I’m pregnant”. Don’t you worry, you crazy little motherfucker, I don’t care what the hell you put in your mouth whether you’re pregnant or not.
This sudden and complete devotion to the New Momism (another term used in The Mommy Myth – basically the ultra-competitive, extreme mothering of June Cleaver on steroids) is unsettling to say the least. It’s kind of wigging me out. How? How the hell did she go from not wanting to be pregnant to being an uber-annoying pregnant woman of the highest degree who is already plotting ways in which to make her unborn child smarter, healthier, and just generally better than all other children? HOW?
But I digress. Read The Mommy Myth for a dose of humorous reality and a hard look at how our society has idealized motherhood.
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