Walk it Out

So I have this sorhority sister who always rides the bumper of the car in front of her. I don't understand why she does it (I haven't been in the car with her for over 10 years so she may not do it anymore). But about 10 years ago, she used to and I HATED rholling with her; she was a rear-ending-waiting-to-happen.

After living in LA for 2 years and now as a long distance commuter, I have observed a lot of driving habits. I'm not sure what to call the people that drive real close to the car in front of them - tailgaters maybe? - but what I have noticed is that the behavior on the road often reflects behavior in real life. Yes, there are Tailgater/Bumper Rider/Rear-Ending-Waiting-to-Happen pedestrians.

I realized this today as I was (for the last time) exiting the train in Sacramento, amidst the many other commuters. Normally, like them I'm eager to get off the train and walk to my office building. But not today. See, I'm 36 weeks pregnant; I am heavy and slow. Every movement is an effort. Apparently this was problematic to my fellow commuters - particularly the ones that exited the train behind me. Unlike me, they were in a hurry to get to work (or to the Starbucks located in the train station). So a few of them thought if they walked right on my heels or huffed and puffed and hemmed and hawed behind me perhaps I would speed up. It didn't happen.

So here's my PSA for pedestrians: a very pregnant woman is not going to speed up. No matter how much you clear your throat or how close you get behind me. It's just not happening. So either go around me or make your peace with it.

Please, Please Stop

I am all "adviced" out.

I mean it. If I hear another person tell me what I should buy or do or say, I am going to SCREAM. I mean it. I am almost 9 months pregnant. I'm huge. I'm uncomfortable. It should go without saying that I have a very short fuse. Very, very short. Almost nonexistent.

And ironically, the people who give me the most advice? Women with no children.

Not that these women's words aren't valid. That's like saying that a single woman cannot give relationship advice. I don't believe that - often you're more objective about relationships when you're not in one. But I really don't need to hear from another broad whose experience with children is relegated to her sister/best friend/cousin. Especially at this stage of my pregnancy. I want to wear a shirt that says "Frankie Says Relax" or "I'm Not an Idiot. I Think I Can Figure it Out."

I think it is telling that women with children don't really give unsolicited advice. Now don't get me wrong - you get them started on something like breastfeeding or childcare or labor and they will go on and on. But I notice they don't say much unless you ask them. I am quite sure they understand first hand how not only annoying it can be for a pregnant woman, who is deluged with hundreds of different thoughts a day, to constantly received advice. I think women with children also know that every baby is different. And what worked for your sister Trish or your cousin Rita or your friend Tamika may not work for the next person (me).

I am 31. I have a Master's degree. I have a Blackberry and access to the Internet, Barnes & Noble and Kaiser. I have books. And most importantly I have a brain. For the love of all things holy, stop telling me I don't need pants for the baby. Stop suggesting I pick a certain type of sling. And please stop telling me I should get an epidural. I can figure out these things on my own. And you know what? I would really like to figure them out on my own.

To a certain extent I brought this on myself. I asked a lot of questions in the beginning. I made no secret that I wasn't an expert and that I hadn't been preparing for motherhood since I got my period. But damn - do I have "clueless" written on my forehead?

Look, I'll be able to figure it out. And if I don't know what to do, you know where I'll go for some advice? Google.

Gossip Girl

I've written before about the level of attention one gets when she is pregnant - it's mostly positive, but occasionally someone says something that is pretty offensive/annoying. There's another peculiar form of attention and I think it's best described as "judgement."

Human beings - maybe just Americans, actually - are very judgemental and enjoy gossip and voyeurism. I think it makes us feel better about our lives to judge others. Don't believe me? Look at the debate on health care. The majority of criticisms are based on fallacies. Complete lies. I mean "death panels" had no basis in reality - yet people took it and ran with it. Easier to hear something from someone else and believe it than to do any research for yourself.

I accepted this fact a long time ago. I always thought it was stupid when my friends wanted to fight another girl who was "talking about them." I mean, so what? It's what people do - they gossip. Fighting someone is not going to stop it.

However, for the last couple of years, as I've gone through some tough times that were not exactly private, I've recognized that gossip can be harmful and that people do act on their judgements - even if they have no base in reality. This is particularly bad in the workplace - where I've seen a lot of it as I've gotten older. I am not used to being the subject of other's judgement or commentary. But now that I'm with child, I sure get a lot of questions and comments I never got before. No one at work (or even in my family) cared if I had a significant other, what my living situation was or if I planned to continue working in Sacramento. I mean, I don't think anyone even asked me about my personal life unless I volunteered it. And most times, I don't. So it is strange to me that I am getting all these questions from people I barely know.

My mom would say that I'm being paranoid and that it's polite curiosity and you shouldn't overreact. I have interpreted it as judgement. And I don't like it.

However it's been a lesson for me. My interest in engaging in gossip fests at work has really evaporated. I mean, I wouldn't like to be the subject of people's comments and judgements and I refuse to give it an audience. After all, if you're not listening to someone they won't talk.

This doesn't mean I won't continue to pick up an occasional "Us" magazine or listen to the Celebrity Grapevine on the radio every morning at 8:30 am. That's okay - it's not like I KNOW those people . . .

We vs. Me

I am not quite sure how to broach this topic, and I don't really have a moral, I just perhaps wanted to share an "Aha" moment (yes, I watch Oprah) that I had recently.

It is very difficult when you're pregnant - and I'm thinking perhaps when you're a new mother too - to not think of you and the baby as "we."

I mean you're carrying this life inside you for 9 months and you're constantly told that anything YOU do affects the baby. So naturally this sense of 2 becoming 1 arises . . . however, once the baby is born, I think sometimes this thinking can become problematic.

I hear this from celebrities (and frankly some friends of mine that as I'm becoming a mother, I've lost a little respect for) who complain about the outrageously high child support their ex-wives or baby mamas want. They complain that while they will take care of their child, they are NOT interested in taking care of their ex/baby mama. I'm not quite sure where to draw the line - after all, if the mother doesn't have money to pay the rent, then the child doesn't have a place to stay - but I've heard it a lot. It also makes me mad because these men don't have the responsibility of caring for the child EVERY DAY and they're not willing to consider that a fair exchange for having the freedom to not have the day to day responsibilities might be giving up some of their money . . . but that's another story.

I realized the other day that I was thinking of me and my unborn child as a "we" the other day - and well, it was unnecessary. The problem that I was having didn't have anything to do with the baby or his well-being. It was related to me and my comfort - and it was something that had I not been pregnant, I wouldn't have even thought to ask another person for. As a home owner, I am sometimes annoyed by the fact that I have to do things for myself that I would otherwise call the building manager for. For example, the sink stopper was broken. Pre-pregnancy, I probably would've called Tony the Plumber (who is not the cheapest, but extremely reliable and efficient). Instead, I thought someone would fix it for me for free and on my timeline. Why? Because I was pregnant.

Although I am not judging single mothers or even married women who demand things from their child's fathers or husbands, I have to admit I don't especially want to become someone who is reliant on another person to the point that they can't do anything for themselves. Rather than passive-aggressively complaining about the sink (and assuming that someone was a plumber), I realized recently that I should just take care of it by myself. After all, it didn't have a whole lot to do with the baby - he wouldn't be using it anytime soon. I'm pregnant - I'm not helpless.

Constant Cravings

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.

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 . . .

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.