In addition to the questions about your due date, your baby's gender, whether this is your first or fourteenth child, usually someone will ask you if you have had any strange cravings during your pregnancy.
Until a few hours ago, I would usually say no. For maybe the first 4-5 months, I was really not into food. I probably ate less than I used to because my stomach was queasy all the time and the smell of almost everything made me sick.
Yet there was one category of food that never made me sick during my pregnancy. Even when I had no idea what to buy in the grocery store, there was one staple that always made it into my cart.
Dessert.
Yes, I have realized that now I LIVE for dessert. I mean I've always loved chocolate and would rarely turn down some some pudding or custard if I had the room in my budget or stomach for it. But in pre-pregnancy days, it wasn't a deal-breaker.
Now? Man, now I could eat some doughnuts for dinner and be happy - probably happier than if I had filet mignon. I could eat a chocolate cake for 3 days in a row and feel super. The first thing I look for when I'm hungry is dessert. My coworkers from Sacramento drove down to Oakland to visit me about a month ago. "Do you need anything?" they asked. "A berry pie," I told them. They thought I was kidding. However, I seriously wanted that damn berry pie.
Right now I am obsessing over whether or not it's cool for me to get some frozen yogurt or an eclair. I haven't even eaten dinner yet. And I have no desire for dinner - I want dessert. I really just want a powdered doughnut. Or a coffee cake. Or something with a cream cheese filling.
It just occurred to me tonight that perhaps this is a problem. Perhaps one I will deal with though, after I get the frozen yogurt.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Race and Pregnancy?
Since I was about 11 years old, I have been acutely aware that I fit a certain profile according to my gender, race and age. Actually the full awareness didn't come until I was maybe 21. Here's a timeline of my racial profiling incidents:
Age 11/12 - My older sister and I are in a music store in the mall, browsing. As we leave, the store security guard approaches us, accuses my sister of theft and asks her to empty her pockets. I am confused for many reasons - mainly though that how anyone could possibly steal from the music store considering these were the days that CDs came in the huge boxes and tapes had those large plastic things covering them. My sister did not have a large bag or big coat on - where exactly was she going to put the stolen merchandise? It wouldn't fit in her pocket. After the security guard gets embarrassed and apologizes because he too has realized it's almost impossible for her to have stolen anything, my sister is very upset and starts crying. I didn't automatically think it happened because we were among the few Black teenagers in the mall, but that experience stuck with me for a while . . .
Age 16/17 - My high school boyfriend and I go to the local grocery store one night to make copies. These were the days before Kinko's where the only places to use a copy machine are the school, the library and the local Safeway. We're in the back of the store making copies for school, when we are approached by the store manager. He asks us if we know anything about a wallet being stolen from a woman in the store. We are confused - huh? We haven't been anywhere in the store besides the copy machine - how we would know about anyone's wallet getting stolen? The manager proceeds to stare at us for a few minutes asking "Are you sure you don't know anything?" It doesn't really cross his mind that if we had been involved in the wallet stealing perhaps we wouldn't be sitting in the back of the store using the copy machine afterwards . . . my boyfriend "gets it" way before I do. The manager eventually walks away. I sit there confused for a few minutes before my boyfriend explains that we're two Black teenagers in the grocery store. Someone's wallet was stolen. Naturally if we didn't do it, we probably know who did. This experience really sticks with me and reminds me of what happened several years before at the music store with my sister . . .
So when I leave for college a year later, in lily white La Jolla, I am very careful to not put myself in a position where ANYONE can accuse me of stealing. I make sure to take my pockets out of my jacket when I enter a store. I catch the eye of the clerks and smile so that I am not perceived as threatening. And I try to ALWAYS buy something - because everyone knows that young Black people don't browse - they "case."
Age 21 - I am in Washington, DC on an internship. I am doing a research paper on welfare to work programs in the District of Columbia as part of my internship project. I head to the main welfare office of DC to get some information on their programs. I have a very difficult time getting anyone to talk to me when I ask for some general info on DC's program. They are pretty rude. Finally, one of the staff asks me straight out, "Young lady, are you here to apply for public assistance?" I am wondering why she thinks I would be there applying for public assistance - haven't I told them I'm doing some research? Then, later as I am working on my paper I realize that except for not having any children, I fit the profile of almost 90% of welfare recipients in DC - I am a Black female in my early 20s. They didn't even listen to me when I told them I was doing research - they dismissed me and assumed I was yet another pathetic young mother who needed some help from the government. It was a really horrible feeling - especially because I realized that there are a lot of women who are treated rudely by the system that is supposed to help them.
For the past 10 years, I have been very aware that I may think of myself as Jam Rockah, everyone I come in contact with doesn't necessarily think of me as an individual. They think of me as a Black woman, and to some that's not necessarily a good thing. If I disagree with them, they think I'm hostile. They assume I can sing. They attempt to appeal to me by snapping their fingers, rolling their neck or using the term "Girl" - no matter that I RARELY do these things. I have come to accept this as we are a nation of stereotypes and frankly, I'm past the point in my life where I feel like educating everybody about the diversity of Black people. I just try to do me and hopefully shatter some stereotypes . . .
For the first time in my life - except maybe when I was a kid - I feel like I am in a more favorable category - the pregnant woman category. And it seems that most people like us. Yesterday I go into the drugstore of a nice part of town and everyone is smiling at me. EVERYONE. From the elderly to the young, from men to women and all races. It put me off at first. Then I started to like it. I realize that has been happening a lot lately. Niceness from strangers. They suddenly talk to me in line to ask me what I'm having or how I'm feeling. IT IS AWESOME. Oh, I know it won't last, but I have to admit it is sure nice to not feel like I have to be on my guard all the time . . .
Age 11/12 - My older sister and I are in a music store in the mall, browsing. As we leave, the store security guard approaches us, accuses my sister of theft and asks her to empty her pockets. I am confused for many reasons - mainly though that how anyone could possibly steal from the music store considering these were the days that CDs came in the huge boxes and tapes had those large plastic things covering them. My sister did not have a large bag or big coat on - where exactly was she going to put the stolen merchandise? It wouldn't fit in her pocket. After the security guard gets embarrassed and apologizes because he too has realized it's almost impossible for her to have stolen anything, my sister is very upset and starts crying. I didn't automatically think it happened because we were among the few Black teenagers in the mall, but that experience stuck with me for a while . . .
Age 16/17 - My high school boyfriend and I go to the local grocery store one night to make copies. These were the days before Kinko's where the only places to use a copy machine are the school, the library and the local Safeway. We're in the back of the store making copies for school, when we are approached by the store manager. He asks us if we know anything about a wallet being stolen from a woman in the store. We are confused - huh? We haven't been anywhere in the store besides the copy machine - how we would know about anyone's wallet getting stolen? The manager proceeds to stare at us for a few minutes asking "Are you sure you don't know anything?" It doesn't really cross his mind that if we had been involved in the wallet stealing perhaps we wouldn't be sitting in the back of the store using the copy machine afterwards . . . my boyfriend "gets it" way before I do. The manager eventually walks away. I sit there confused for a few minutes before my boyfriend explains that we're two Black teenagers in the grocery store. Someone's wallet was stolen. Naturally if we didn't do it, we probably know who did. This experience really sticks with me and reminds me of what happened several years before at the music store with my sister . . .
So when I leave for college a year later, in lily white La Jolla, I am very careful to not put myself in a position where ANYONE can accuse me of stealing. I make sure to take my pockets out of my jacket when I enter a store. I catch the eye of the clerks and smile so that I am not perceived as threatening. And I try to ALWAYS buy something - because everyone knows that young Black people don't browse - they "case."
Age 21 - I am in Washington, DC on an internship. I am doing a research paper on welfare to work programs in the District of Columbia as part of my internship project. I head to the main welfare office of DC to get some information on their programs. I have a very difficult time getting anyone to talk to me when I ask for some general info on DC's program. They are pretty rude. Finally, one of the staff asks me straight out, "Young lady, are you here to apply for public assistance?" I am wondering why she thinks I would be there applying for public assistance - haven't I told them I'm doing some research? Then, later as I am working on my paper I realize that except for not having any children, I fit the profile of almost 90% of welfare recipients in DC - I am a Black female in my early 20s. They didn't even listen to me when I told them I was doing research - they dismissed me and assumed I was yet another pathetic young mother who needed some help from the government. It was a really horrible feeling - especially because I realized that there are a lot of women who are treated rudely by the system that is supposed to help them.
For the past 10 years, I have been very aware that I may think of myself as Jam Rockah, everyone I come in contact with doesn't necessarily think of me as an individual. They think of me as a Black woman, and to some that's not necessarily a good thing. If I disagree with them, they think I'm hostile. They assume I can sing. They attempt to appeal to me by snapping their fingers, rolling their neck or using the term "Girl" - no matter that I RARELY do these things. I have come to accept this as we are a nation of stereotypes and frankly, I'm past the point in my life where I feel like educating everybody about the diversity of Black people. I just try to do me and hopefully shatter some stereotypes . . .
For the first time in my life - except maybe when I was a kid - I feel like I am in a more favorable category - the pregnant woman category. And it seems that most people like us. Yesterday I go into the drugstore of a nice part of town and everyone is smiling at me. EVERYONE. From the elderly to the young, from men to women and all races. It put me off at first. Then I started to like it. I realize that has been happening a lot lately. Niceness from strangers. They suddenly talk to me in line to ask me what I'm having or how I'm feeling. IT IS AWESOME. Oh, I know it won't last, but I have to admit it is sure nice to not feel like I have to be on my guard all the time . . .
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Sweet Dreams
In 8th grade I had a friend named Virginia. We used to talk on the phone all the time (that was what you did in middle school, in the early 90s, before text messaging, MySpace and Miley Cyrus). Virginia had a crush on this guy named Marvin. She used to have very intricate dreams, some of them including Marvin, and we used to talk for HOURS, trying to interpret the dreams and whether or not they meant she and Marvin were destined for one another.
I hated having these conversations with Virginia. Her dreams were really abstract and long and I just had no idea on how to analyze them. Furthermore, I never could understand how Virginia remembered her dreams in so much detail. I have never had that gift; occasionally I will remember a memorable or disturbing dream, and share it with someone. But I try not to subject my girlfriends to hour-long phone conversations about my dreams - I don't know anyone who has a BA in Dream Interpretation . . .
For the last 4 months though, I have had some VERY vivid dreams. Last night, I had a very interesting dream. I was a cop, my partner was Will Smith, and we were trying to bring down a gang of rogue cops in our precinct. In fact, it was so vivid, I was disappointed when the alarm clock went off - I still don't know if I was able to out the dirty cops.
I consulted one of my pregnancy books this morning as I heard that vivid dreams are a part of pregnancy. Surprisingly, "What to Expect When You Are Expecting" didn't have any mentions of dreams that involved dirty cops or Will Smith. My dream really didn't fall into any of the categories mentioned in the book (categories included "Oops! dreams" and "Life with baby dreams" among others). The book said that the vivid dreams you have are your way of working out your worries and fears about motherhood in a nonthreatening way.
I have no idea what my dream meant, but I welcome any comments.
I should totally look up Virginia on Facebook . . . I am assuming almost 20 years later that she is over the dream analysis stuff.
I hated having these conversations with Virginia. Her dreams were really abstract and long and I just had no idea on how to analyze them. Furthermore, I never could understand how Virginia remembered her dreams in so much detail. I have never had that gift; occasionally I will remember a memorable or disturbing dream, and share it with someone. But I try not to subject my girlfriends to hour-long phone conversations about my dreams - I don't know anyone who has a BA in Dream Interpretation . . .
For the last 4 months though, I have had some VERY vivid dreams. Last night, I had a very interesting dream. I was a cop, my partner was Will Smith, and we were trying to bring down a gang of rogue cops in our precinct. In fact, it was so vivid, I was disappointed when the alarm clock went off - I still don't know if I was able to out the dirty cops.
I consulted one of my pregnancy books this morning as I heard that vivid dreams are a part of pregnancy. Surprisingly, "What to Expect When You Are Expecting" didn't have any mentions of dreams that involved dirty cops or Will Smith. My dream really didn't fall into any of the categories mentioned in the book (categories included "Oops! dreams" and "Life with baby dreams" among others). The book said that the vivid dreams you have are your way of working out your worries and fears about motherhood in a nonthreatening way.
I have no idea what my dream meant, but I welcome any comments.
I should totally look up Virginia on Facebook . . . I am assuming almost 20 years later that she is over the dream analysis stuff.
Monday, September 7, 2009
When Your Feet Swell Up, You Are Always the Last to Know
For about a month I was feeling pretty good about my appearance. The doctor said I hadn't gained too much weight and I had a belly that popped out but didn't look like too much . . .
So that has changed. In just a week. A combination of things happened that have made me feel self-conscious again. Let me add them up for you:
This all equates to me feeling like a whale on legs. Now, it's not that I THRIVE on compliments or anything, but it is nice to get a once over from a man on the street or even a honking of a horn when I cross the street. When you're 7 months pregnant, those seem to decrease a bit. This does not mean I don't want the phony "It's okay that you look fat, you're pregnant!" backwards compliments. They are not compliments. And I'm not writing this as a means to seek more - I just am perhaps acknowledging that maybe I may not escape the puffy face look of other pregnant women that I have dreaded . . .
And I've got over 2 more months to go . . . crap . . .
So that has changed. In just a week. A combination of things happened that have made me feel self-conscious again. Let me add them up for you:
- 3 strangers (all women past 40 mind you) all commented that either the baby looked big or I was carrying twins
- My doctor told me the total amount of weight I have gained
- I saw recent pictures of myself
- My friend and my doctor both commented that my feet looked swollen
This all equates to me feeling like a whale on legs. Now, it's not that I THRIVE on compliments or anything, but it is nice to get a once over from a man on the street or even a honking of a horn when I cross the street. When you're 7 months pregnant, those seem to decrease a bit. This does not mean I don't want the phony "It's okay that you look fat, you're pregnant!" backwards compliments. They are not compliments. And I'm not writing this as a means to seek more - I just am perhaps acknowledging that maybe I may not escape the puffy face look of other pregnant women that I have dreaded . . .
And I've got over 2 more months to go . . . crap . . .
Sunday, September 6, 2009
5 Things Not to Do Around Pregnant Women
Except for maybe my sister, I usually am very uncomfortable around pregnant women. I usually smile and say "Look at you!" and walk away. I sooooo have not wanted to get into conversations with people about diapers and varicose veins - I mean I just usually have nothing to bring to the conversation.
So as to ease the discomfort of some of my friends and any potential strangers that may be reading this, I have decided to throw people like me (well, pre-pregnancy me) a bone.
5. Don't Touch My Belly: I can honestly say that there were only 2 people out of the many that have touched me over the last few months that I actually didn't mind. But everyone else, stop touching my stomach. I didn't like it when I wasn't pregnant, I don't like it now. It is also rather cheeky to assume that just because something is sticking out, it's okay to be touched. I mean, no one goes around rubbing women's boobs or butts (at least outside of the club) - why is it okay to rub my expanding uterus?? Please just stop. Plus, it's not like the baby is a circus animal and he's just going to start doing tricks because you've touched my belly. He's his own person - he sleeps, he chills and he doesn't exactly give me advance notice when he plans on vigorously kicking me . . . so more than likely you are not going to feel anything when you touch me. Except maybe my annoyance and a strong desire to get away from you.
4. Don't Feel Compelled to Talk About My Pregnancy: Look, I'm pretty big. You and I both know I am preggers. You don't have to say anything about it. In fact, when it comes to someone like me who is on a first name basis with the folks at Kaiser, I don't especially want to talk about it all the time - I live it. It's around me 24/7. I get absolutely no break from it. In fact, if you'd like to talk about the latest reality TV show or your latest date, I'm all about that.
3. Don't Share Any Pregnancy/Delivery Horror Stories: My level of paranoia is pretty high these days - with reason. So I do not need to hear how your auntie's-best friend's-daughter's-neighbor ended up having triplets when they only saw 1 baby on the ultrasound or how she had 50 hours of labor. Actually nobody wants to hear stories like that so please keep your urban myths to yourself.
2. Don't Provide Any Commentary on the Name of My Unborn Child: OMG, I could really do a whole blog entry on this, because this is my #1 annoyance these days. Look, if I wanted YOUR opinion on a name, I would have asked for it. Jam Rockah has no problem asking others for their opinion. But we spent several MONTHS thinking about what names we like and we chose something that we like and has significance. And frankly YOUR opinion does not matter. In fact if I ask you if you like the name, I'm really just trying to be polite because I don't care if you do and the name I have chosen for MY child has absolutely no relevance in YOUR life. I cannot believe how rude some people are when they issue opinions on name choices. I feel that as long as my name choice does not have an apostrophe or more than one capital letter in it, or does not come from a Disney movie, it's okay. And for the love of all things holy, stop suggesting YOUR name as my baby's name . . . sheesh.
1. Don't Comment that Me or the Baby Look Big: Look, NO ONE wants to hear they're looking as huge as they feel. Okay, maybe some skinny anorexic model is running around talking about how she REVELS in her newfound roundness (bitch). But this is not me and I think I represent about 85% of pregnant women on this issue. So please save your "Wow, that looks like a big baby!" or "You're so much bigger than 7 months . . ." or "You sure you only got one in there?" comments to yourself. They're not funny and you're a jerk. I am most sensitive about this one because in just this week alone, I got these three separate comments. And unless you have OB/GYN after your name, I would say that your observations about my size are pretty asinine.
This is not to say that you can't say or do anything around us . . . I will provide some recommendations on my next entry on what you can do . . .
So as to ease the discomfort of some of my friends and any potential strangers that may be reading this, I have decided to throw people like me (well, pre-pregnancy me) a bone.
5 Things NOT to Do Around Pregnant Woman
5. Don't Touch My Belly: I can honestly say that there were only 2 people out of the many that have touched me over the last few months that I actually didn't mind. But everyone else, stop touching my stomach. I didn't like it when I wasn't pregnant, I don't like it now. It is also rather cheeky to assume that just because something is sticking out, it's okay to be touched. I mean, no one goes around rubbing women's boobs or butts (at least outside of the club) - why is it okay to rub my expanding uterus?? Please just stop. Plus, it's not like the baby is a circus animal and he's just going to start doing tricks because you've touched my belly. He's his own person - he sleeps, he chills and he doesn't exactly give me advance notice when he plans on vigorously kicking me . . . so more than likely you are not going to feel anything when you touch me. Except maybe my annoyance and a strong desire to get away from you.
4. Don't Feel Compelled to Talk About My Pregnancy: Look, I'm pretty big. You and I both know I am preggers. You don't have to say anything about it. In fact, when it comes to someone like me who is on a first name basis with the folks at Kaiser, I don't especially want to talk about it all the time - I live it. It's around me 24/7. I get absolutely no break from it. In fact, if you'd like to talk about the latest reality TV show or your latest date, I'm all about that.
3. Don't Share Any Pregnancy/Delivery Horror Stories: My level of paranoia is pretty high these days - with reason. So I do not need to hear how your auntie's-best friend's-daughter's-neighbor ended up having triplets when they only saw 1 baby on the ultrasound or how she had 50 hours of labor. Actually nobody wants to hear stories like that so please keep your urban myths to yourself.
2. Don't Provide Any Commentary on the Name of My Unborn Child: OMG, I could really do a whole blog entry on this, because this is my #1 annoyance these days. Look, if I wanted YOUR opinion on a name, I would have asked for it. Jam Rockah has no problem asking others for their opinion. But we spent several MONTHS thinking about what names we like and we chose something that we like and has significance. And frankly YOUR opinion does not matter. In fact if I ask you if you like the name, I'm really just trying to be polite because I don't care if you do and the name I have chosen for MY child has absolutely no relevance in YOUR life. I cannot believe how rude some people are when they issue opinions on name choices. I feel that as long as my name choice does not have an apostrophe or more than one capital letter in it, or does not come from a Disney movie, it's okay. And for the love of all things holy, stop suggesting YOUR name as my baby's name . . . sheesh.
1. Don't Comment that Me or the Baby Look Big: Look, NO ONE wants to hear they're looking as huge as they feel. Okay, maybe some skinny anorexic model is running around talking about how she REVELS in her newfound roundness (bitch). But this is not me and I think I represent about 85% of pregnant women on this issue. So please save your "Wow, that looks like a big baby!" or "You're so much bigger than 7 months . . ." or "You sure you only got one in there?" comments to yourself. They're not funny and you're a jerk. I am most sensitive about this one because in just this week alone, I got these three separate comments. And unless you have OB/GYN after your name, I would say that your observations about my size are pretty asinine.
This is not to say that you can't say or do anything around us . . . I will provide some recommendations on my next entry on what you can do . . .
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Market Crash
Since I'm slated to go back to work in 3 weeks, I've been slowly increasing my activity so that I can easily rejoin mainstream society . . . this means driving myself to the doctor, taking short trips to the ATM and attending some events that don't involve a lot of walking or standing.
Tonight, I tried by far the biggest activity I have done since before my surgery in July - I went to the grocery store.
Two words: NEVER AGAIN
Nothing big happened or anything, but man does grocery store shopping SUCK when you have not been on your feet for too long in 6 weeks. Add to that the fact that my back hurts because of the load I'm carrying in the front. On top of the fact that Mondays are among the worst days to grocery shop so I was trying to maneuver around carts and too many people - and I'm not the most flexible these days . . .
And then there's this peculiar sensation that everyone was looking at me. And not in the "Her Hair is Awesome" or "That Outfit is Hot" way. I mean, in the "Dang, she's pregnant" or "That looks uncomfortable" way. I'm 7 months into my pregnancy and I am not used to that. Remember, I haven't regularly been around people in 6 weeks. So I have not become accustomed to the stares (or gawks really). In fact, I'm still a little shocked when I wake up in the morning and catch my profile in the bathroom mirror. Part of my discomfort at the grocery store was not just physical but mental.
Lesson learned. No more grocery trips for me.
Tonight, I tried by far the biggest activity I have done since before my surgery in July - I went to the grocery store.
Two words: NEVER AGAIN
Nothing big happened or anything, but man does grocery store shopping SUCK when you have not been on your feet for too long in 6 weeks. Add to that the fact that my back hurts because of the load I'm carrying in the front. On top of the fact that Mondays are among the worst days to grocery shop so I was trying to maneuver around carts and too many people - and I'm not the most flexible these days . . .
And then there's this peculiar sensation that everyone was looking at me. And not in the "Her Hair is Awesome" or "That Outfit is Hot" way. I mean, in the "Dang, she's pregnant" or "That looks uncomfortable" way. I'm 7 months into my pregnancy and I am not used to that. Remember, I haven't regularly been around people in 6 weeks. So I have not become accustomed to the stares (or gawks really). In fact, I'm still a little shocked when I wake up in the morning and catch my profile in the bathroom mirror. Part of my discomfort at the grocery store was not just physical but mental.
Lesson learned. No more grocery trips for me.
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