My Little Angel Ruffles Her Wings

So just the other day, as I was walking home, I decided to have a chat with my baby, who I affectionately refer to at this time as a little girl (we already have the girl name picked out, but can't seem to think of a boy's). Until now, I have been having a hard time talking to her. I don't know why, except that perhaps she hasn't been as real to me yet, or maybe my innate way of getting to trust people works the same way for my pregnancy. Hey, I don't know what kind of person I'm carrying around. Even with the best intentions, some souls are just born to be bad! Doesn't sound very motherly, does it? In any case, after twelve weeks, I finally felt a connection blooming, something solid, that made me think that this little being might actually be able to spiritually hear me, and might actually want to hear my voice. And maybe, I'd like to talk to her too. 
After all, she's been so sweet. Other than minor symptoms which could not be avoided, I have to say I have no reason to be envious of anyone else. My pregnancy up til now has been a blessing. I only cried in the very beginning, just due to stress. Beyond that, no crying, no vomiting, no reason not to work. I told her all this, and complimented her on how sweetly calm she was. "You're like a little angel," I told her, as we raced home in the cold. 
Well, wouldn't you know it was just my luck, that very night, not only did I have my very first little squabble with Vincent, after a year of agreeing on everything (thankfully we did not go to bed angry), but it was that night my little angel decided to ruffle her feathers. 
In retrospect it probably was not so much her fault, but a combination of things. Perhaps the fact that I had forgotten my sweater and the dramatic change in the cold air had bothered her. I personally love the cold, but maybe she takes after her dad and doesn't tolerate it with the same ease. Then again, I had also tried to up the fiber in my diet as suggested by pregnancy websites, but had eaten too much dried fruit, nuts, oats, and I'm sure she didn't care for all that either. I personally hate raisins, but thought it might do us some good. Of course, my mom suggests that maybe, just maybe, she was reacting to my little escapade with Vincent, that our momentary lack of harmony upset her as much as it did me. 
I like to think it was all three, although I'd blame the diet first. The next morning, my stomach was bloated. As I lay in bed, I felt as if all the air was pushing bile up my throat, and it was impossible to get comfortable. I let out little whimpers, until I yanked myself up, out of the bed, and hid in the bathroom to throw up. Once the bile started to come up, it was as if it wouldn't stop! 
How dreadful, seeing that mixture of green and clear. At least my food had been successfully digested. There would have been nothing worse than tasting old raisins... gross. 
So, for the remainder of the day I suffered at work, regaining my composure by sipping on water with freshly squeezed lemon. My appetite was lost, and I was beginning to get chills, which I had also had early on in pregnancy. I hoped I wasn't really getting sick. 
Time for another chat with baby. Carefully, I explained to her that we were strong women, and I have a good immune system and so would she. We have to tough these things out, and there's no reason to overreact. I wasn't about to become some overprotective pregnant woman, and she wasn't about to become some weak child! Labor, I told her, was going to be much worse, and if we started acting like little babies now it was going to be much worse on us. I encouraged her that we needed to get better, for both of us, and also made note to mention that Vincent was being extra wonderful to us. 


Today, I have to admit I feel exponentially better. I can personally attest to my own healthy immunity, as well as my high pain tolerancy. It makes me feel that much closer to my baby, knowing that she might get these things from me. People tell me she will be beautiful, but will she be strong? Will she be smart?I think about Vincent's personality, as well as my own, and hope that our best qualities apply to her, and that where each of us falter, the other can make up for. I hope she gets the best flaws too. That is to say, no one can be perfect, and it would be ignorant for me to assume that she's going to pop out doing physics (even though I think that's what my dad hopes for!).
I hope that my baby is brilliant and I would rather her be overly confident than always second guess her abilities. I hope that she is untrusting of people, but that she is genuinely good natured despite that. I hope that she has a good measure of vanity, rather than to think she is ugly ever. I hope she is demanding and picky, to the extent that she will not settle for anything less than what she wants, and so that she will work hard to excel. 
Of course, I'm crossing my fingers here. I think about the mistakes I've made in life, and about the hopes and dreams my parents must have had for me. 
Yet if there is one thing I have learned, it's that I mustn't settle for the worst now. I have high hopes for her, and I intend to keep them that way. 

Above: She gets half of her DNA from this character. 

Fat Cat Feels Purrty

I am not sure what it is about being pregnant that alters your mind. People always tell me that when you become pregnant it “changes everything.” I wouldn’t presume they realize the tone in which they say it, although sometimes I think the underlying message is intentional, and therefore shines through a little more dominantly than they expected. It’s a negative tone, nearly indescribable, a condescending vibration used mainly by singles and those who haven’t had such a great experience, but is universally spoken by everyone whenever people (such as myself) suddenly find themselves wondering what it might be like to have a child.

“It’s a different life,” they say, sure to add on that famous disclaimer, “Not necessarily a bad one. Just a different one.”

While I can appreciate the ups and downs any parent might go through, and recognize that it’s not all fun and games, I can’t say that hearing this overplayed theme leaves a positive impression for anyone. Regretfully, I get the feeling that we have a guarded feeling towards pregnancy. Yet how could we not? In our defense, with the hard times of the economy, the increasing opportunities for women who chose to be independent, and not to mention the younger age at which girls are giving birth, of course we would want to discourage them from taking such a life altering leap. However, in my humble opinion, perhaps that approach is wrong.

Why shun the idea of having a child? In no way do I endorse the idea of a fourteen year old running off to conceive, but I do think with healthy values, we could encourage that fourteen year old to treat pregnancy less like a disease, and with respect. As a process of life that needs to be properly prepared for to get the most enjoyment out of it.  Why talk about it with distain?

My own outlook changed vastly once I had received some advice from a friend. “Your life is changing,” she said, “You are entering a new stage. You were the maiden all these years. Now it’s time to be the mother.” From her perspective, instead of breaking life down into the before and after stages of having a child (first you’re fun, free, and now your life is… different) she used the comparison of the triple goddess of the old religions. Worshiped for her aspects, she was viewed as a journey all women underwent, each stage being vitally important for each generation. She was right. I had experienced the joys of a young girl. I had spent my years making mistakes, learning, living as a maiden soaking up the possibilities of my future. Now, in the present, I can say that I am comfortable where I am. I feel that I have attained the personality and to some extent (no one is perfect) the lifestyle I wanted. Having achieved that, I had been blessed to move on to the next stage, the stage of motherhood. And eventually (even though it might pain me to say it now) I will undergo the task of becoming the crone. I will become the old women who dotes on the young, and hopefully, the wise one who can be looked upon with respect.

That said, it is Halloween today, and I had such trouble selecting my costume. I suppose it’s because I am having a more difficult time selecting a style for myself. The transition period to motherhood leaves me with a few minor details I need to clean up. What’s my style? Is style necessary? Will I become conservative or boring now, or is it ok to still be sexy (in that pleasing, attractive way, not in the slutty, ‘I want to be young again’ kind of way). And how? I’ve always had trouble appreciating my appearance, and now thanks to a combination of hormones and attitude, I am mixed up. At times I feel pretty, like my blossoming self is just right, and that when it’s done I can work on losing all that weight, so I should just enjoy being a balloon now. Then again, I’ve only just begun to show, so it looks more like I’ve been getting a head start on the Halloween candy for the past week rather than I’m carrying a child!

I finally settled on a black cat. I’ve always loved cats anyway, and since I was going to have to work and I wanted it to be simple, what better than some black cat ears, a tail, and a few accessories? Maybe not my best work, but definitely  something I can be comfortable in. It was so important for me to enjoy Halloween, especially since I am a believer that the things you do while pregnant affect your baby. Personally, I'd like to point out that one of the things I am looking forward to most in being a mother are the holidays. As stressful as they can be, I've always had great memories thanks to my own family.  

So my belly is bulging, my belt hangs just under it, and behind me a tail swings. In some moments I chuckle, thinking, “I guess I’m not just any black kitty. To be more specific, I’m that neighborhood black cat that got knocked up.” However, since I don’t think that’s what customers want to hear, I guess I’ll keep that one to myself.  

Above: Feeling a little insecure, I get over the fact that my cheeks look like they are harboring tootsie rolls and get to loving halloween! Now all I need is my witch! Note the original loop earrings in my kitty ear. Yeah, those were old belly button rings.