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A girl should be two things: who and what she wants.
–from The Gospel According to Coco Chanel: Life Lessons from the World’s Most Elegant Woman, by Karen Karbo

You guys, it’s a girl.

I will be 100% honest: I had a slight preference for a boy, and I convinced myself this baby was a boy, probably because of that preference.  In fact, in the days leading up to our anatomy scan, I had to remind myself that the baby could just as easily be a girl and to not let myself be disappointed if that turned out to be the case.

The day of the scan, two Fridays ago, as the ultrasound technician was getting ready, she asked, “If I can see the sex, do you want to know?” We said yes, and she put the gel on my belly and started moving the wand around.  The next thing she said was, “So, you’re having a girl.” It took me a minute, because for some reason I wasn’t expecting the sex to be the first thing she looked for,  but as soon as it registered, I burst into tears and looked at David to see his eyes filled with tears, and then I knew: It couldn’t have happened any other way.  She’s meant to be ours.

And all of a sudden, everything is real.  “The baby” is now “she” and “her.”  She has a crib and a car seat.  We painted her room blue, because fuck gender dichotomy.  She kicks me all the time and David can feel her from the outside.  We talk to her every day (to be fair, we’ve done that all along) – I speak for her in a silly voice and she and David go on and on and on.  That’s the best part of my day.

I don’t have any words for how much I love her already, and I’m afraid I’m in deep, deep trouble once she’s actually here.

Let us make pregnancy an occasion when we appreciate our female bodies.
— Merete Leonhardt-Lupa

So I have a blogging problem. When I get an idea for a post, it’s like I can’t post anything else until that post is written and published. Sometimes that’s ok. But the post I’m currently working on is massive – I’m trying to figure out if it’s better as a series of posts – and is taking a long time to write because the subject matter is a bit sensitive. So I haven’t posted anything else in the meantime because, as I said, I have a blogging problem

Screw that.

Pregnancy is weird, you guys. It’s not just that your body changes and you’re tired all the time and you can’t tie your shoes anymore (but seriously, 20 weeks is all I get before I can’t bend at the waist?). For me, it’s also completely changing how I look at my body.

Obviously, I started out heavy. I thought I would worry about gaining too much weight – as big as I was pre-pregnancy, I shouldn’t gain more than 10-15 pounds – but what’s actually happened is (a) I basically eat whatever I want, (b) the things I want generally do not include sweets (for real, I’ve had ice cream in my freezer for a week and eaten exactly 1 level scoop), and (c) I’m down three pounds from my pre-pregnancy weight.

That’s not bragging – in fact, I worry about it, though my doctor says as long as I’m keeping food down and not trying to lose weight, I’m good – it’s disbelief. The weight loss isn’t from morning sickness, either. Although I’ve had nausea and food aversions (mostly to sweets and meat), thankfully I haven’t had to deal with vomiting. The weight loss has come from not eating sweets like it’s my job the way I did before and from not stuffing myself. It’s as if pregnancy flipped the switch in my brain that allows me to eat like a normal person. I’ve left more food on plates in the last 20 weeks than I probably have in the last 20 years. I can’t overeat; it’s like there simply isn’t room. I really hope this sticks around post-pregnancy.

The other thing is, I do not worry about how I look. I mean, I care about looking presentable, but I don’t feel bad about what I see in the mirror before I leave the house anymore. My belly is rounder but probably still not obviously pregnant to most people, and still I don’t worry about wearing a shirt that’s too clingy around my midsection the way I used to. (And I’d like to sing the praises of maternity pants for just a second – so freaking comfortable.) It’s amazing how much easier it is to get dressed in the morning when I’m not worried about whether what I’m wearing makes me look fat (not sure why I wasted so much time on this before since, you know, it’s kind of indisputable that I am, in fact, fat). It’s really, really freeing.

Our anatomy scan is next Friday, finally! I know it’s for the purpose of measuring the baby’s organs and brain and bones and looking for any abnormalities, but I really hope baby gives up the goods on whether it’s a boy or a girl. David and I agreed to wait to discuss names until we know the sex, because we figure that eliminates half the conversation, plus, I’m just so curious! In the end, though, as long as baby’s healthy, we’ll be thrilled.

Hopefully it won’t be five weeks before I post again. No promises, though!

Life is always a rich and steady time when you are waiting for something to happen or to hatch.
— from Charlotte’s Web, by E.B. White

I just got mad at the girl working the Chick-Fil-A drive-thru because she was too cheerful. Pregnancy hormones are for real, y’all.

To David: This is the part of the pregnancy where you fend for yourself, and I eat whatever I can keep down.

Pregnancy books are not for the faint of heart. Thanks for scaring the shit out of me, What to Expect.

My first week without a Weight Watchers meeting in literally almost 7 years. I’m free! This is so weird.

At 7 weeks, I’m pretty sure I just got my first offer to take someone’s seat on the Metro. Filing this dress under “Maybe in a few months.” #notshowingjustfat

I’m afraid of everything. Like, I don’t even jaywalk anymore, even when it’s obviously safe to do so. Is that normal?

Baby’s first baseball game. No beer and no hot dog. Sadness baseball. Just kidding. There’s no such thing!

Thing I said to David at 11 weeks: “I love sleep. Why are we having a baby?”

Cheese and carbs are all I want to eat? I *am* this baby’s mother!

Poor David.  Sometimes he’ll be just typing away on his computer and look over and see me crying for absolutely no reason other than that, like, Jim and Pam are going to be ok.

At 14 weeks, already I would kill for just 5 minutes of sleep on my belly.

You are the closest I will ever come to magic.
— from The Zygote Chronicles, by Suzanne Finnamore

No, that’s not how long it’s been since I’ve posted here, but I don’t blame you if that’s the first thing you thought of when you saw the title.

It’s how long this little one’s been making his or her home in my belly!

You guys, we are over the moon.  Terrified, too, but mostly really, really thrilled.  I’m due November 24 – a Thanksgiving baby!  There is SO much to do and learn and figure out that we are, honestly, a bit overwhelmed, but we’re taking it a little at a time, and hopefully it will all get done, learned, and figured out.

This is the most profound – and weirdest – thing that’s ever happened to me. By weird, I just mean mind-boggling, really.  Like, it blows my mind thinking about what’s happening in there, and how in less than six months there’s going to be a new person in the world.  I never use the word miraculous, but when I think about everything that’s happening biologically, I think miracle is exactly the right word. Or, you know, magic.

Don’t laugh at me, don’t call me names
Don’t get your pleasure from my pain
In God’s eyes we’re all the same
Someday we’ll all have perfect wings
Don’t laugh at me
— Mark Wills, Don’t Laugh at Me

Something happened last Friday night, and though I vented about it on Facebook that evening, I still can’t shake it.

There is an elderly man in my neighborhood who has some kind of spine or neck curvature that causes him to walk with his head and shoulders hunched over and facing the ground.  I see him out on walks fairly regularly, and I always worry about him.  He shuffles slowly along and has to turn his whole body to look both ways before crossing the street.

Last Friday evening, David and I were at the gas station where the entrance to our subdivision meets the main road.  I saw the man walking on the sidewalk parallel to the main road.  When he came to the entrance/exit to the gas station, he stopped and turned his whole body both ways to check that there were no cars coming before continuing on his way.

As he made his way slowly, a white van on the main road slowed down, and the woman in the passenger seat stuck her whole body out the window and took a picture of the man with her phone, then the van sped up and drove off.

As I realized what was happening, I felt shock and sadness and, more than anything, anger.  I was sitting in our car and I yelled out, “You fucking bitch!  You goddamned asshole!”  Hot tears filled my eyes and fell down my cheeks.  I’m crying now just thinking about it again.  I was in the car with the windows up and it all happened so fast that she wouldn’t have heard me anyway, but I just wanted to keep screaming and throw things at the van.  I felt so, so helpless.

I don’t think the man saw her or knew what was happening, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.  Like I said, I worry about him when I see him out, because people can be so terrible, but I hoped that he was always ok.  Having seen what that woman did – took a picture of him for no other reason than her own sick amusement, surely to be shared with others and laughed at later – I’m reminded that there are people in the world who don’t seem to understand that every single person is a human being entitled to his or her dignity and to be treated with compassion and respect.  And I’m angry about that.