(no subject)
I have been pregnant three other times; I have carried a nearly 10lb baby three weeks overdue, I have had a posterior breech labour with a spine sitting hard on my tailbone, I have endured 44 hours of hard labour and over 70 hours awake without food while I did it... and none of that has been as physically or emotionally challenging as the last few weeks of this pregnancy has become. Really and truly. I know I have weeks left to go, but emotionally I am simply done... and I have never felt like that before.
For the first time in my life I'm giving up on my goals of daily exercise (my walks) because the pain is so bad I really don't think I can handle it anymore. After a particularly horrific stroll to the library with the family, wherein I leaned so heavily on Curtis that his shoulder his still sore two days later, I came to the conclusion that these walks are simply not worth it. We walked at half the speed we usually do, and still the pain was so bad that I was getting tunnel vision and stopping to heave into the bushes every few minutes. It was awful, and humiliating, and absolute agony.
I was determined to make it home and refused Curtis' offers to go back and get the car for me; I did manage to make it without dying, but collapsed as soon as we arrived and I ended up curled in bed with a hot water bottle drifting in and out of sleep for two hours until I felt well enough to sit up in bed and use my laptop.
I hate sounding like those whiners on the DDCs who bitch and moan about how they're soooo uncomfortable because of a tight belly or the occasional contraction and how baby just neeeeeeds to come out early to fix it... because really, I hate that kind of whining and strikes me as ridiculously selfish. I also get that this whining is also selfish, but I'm trying to stay balanced by not lending any power to the idea of my baby come earlier than she needs to, simply to relieve pain or discomfort. That's a step over my personal boundaries and I can't imagine being okay with that (at least, not in this situation).
For one, if she's in there today she's in there for good reason, and secondly any sort of 'encouragement' or 'natural induction' would put both my body and my baby at increased risk of complications including rupture and breathing difficulties (not to mention a longer, more difficult labour) so a few extra weeks of discomfort, even when it's really really bad, is simply not worth that shit.
... But that doesn't mean I wouldn't be okay with giving up my dream of having another big fatty if she decided she was ready to come now. I'd be alright with that. Really.
I'm 38.5 weeks pregnant now. Fuzz is sitting between 0 and +1 station and hurting the fuck out of my pelvic girdle. I can feel her head about 2.5 inches up, and sometimes it's low enough that when I walk around I am distracted by a "full" feeling of her head pushing into my vagina. It's like wearing 7.5lb Ben Wa balls. This also contributes to some of the pain when walking: every time I take a step I feel a heavy stretching sensation on my cervix, which results in that electroshock thing that you get when you're dilating. The resulting flinch causes a muscle spasm, which causes a contraction, and the loop goes on...
I lost massive hunks of my mucous plug last week sometime, and continue to have little dribs and drabs. I'm a very, very stretchy 3-4cm dilated but my cervix is still pretty thick and posterior. I know this from my own checking, not from the midwife doing it. She hasn't offered and I haven't asked, though she joked that I "shouldn't" know these things and asks why I even have a midwife if I can do this all by myself (don't worry, she's kidding and the jokes are welcome). I generally leave my cervix alone, for obvious reasons, but after a particularly rough day of intense cervical contractions, plug and a bit of bloody show I checked to see if there was significant progress (no thinning, but a little bit of additional dilation... nothing since).
When feeling for the most recent change, I was able to easily touch Fuzz's head. That never gets old. How awesome is it to touch and interact with your unborn child? Amazing. She has almost no fat on her; no forehead wrinkles that I could feel. I hope she has enough chub by her birthday to skip that whole "ugly newborn" phase, because skinny newbies look weird.
Note for those playing at home: none of this is an indication of impending labour, and is quite normal for end-stage pregnancy, particularly for multiparas.
Also normal: having a high, hard and closed cervix until you go into labour. I'm no closer to birth than a woman at the same stage who is closed tight.
Anyway, back to the nitty gritty details no one but other pregnant women care about.
At my last two appointments main midwife remarked that without the knowledge and experience she has in belly palpation, she would be coming up too small on my measurements due to my uterus going well under my ribcage. In my most recent visit with the backup midwife I had to correct her measurement and show her how to come up with the right one (she got 33, then 35, and finally 39 with the modified method of shoving the tape under my sternum to get around Fuzz's heel). Both have said they almost never see babies carry that high... especially after dropping and engaging. I've never seen me carry a baby this high before. My belly feels smaller in an outward way, but much larger in a tall way, than any other pregnancy. It's ridiculously uncomfortable, and really weird. I thought your uterine muscles became more slack with time and you were more likely to carry your babies larger with each subsequent pregnancy? This is like going backwards. I'm carrying like a first timer.
Recently she started settling in an anterior position, which means I feel her movements a little bit less than I did before. It's disconcerting for a baby who often spends 12 hours a day breakdancing to abruptly drop to a few discernible movements per hour. My contractions also started up, and at rest I get a few an hour... but if I try and walk around I get them back to back until I finally give up and sit down again. Attempting to walk around the block, or to the store or whatever, results in unbelievable amounts of contractions. They're not particularly painful, though often uncomfortable, but with how high my uterus is under my ribcage it does make it extremely difficult to walk through them.
I also managed to snag myself a free birth pool rental after learning that my midwife's last pool broke just prior to my last appointment. I mean, I don't need a big fancy-ass birth pool but I sure want one. I thought I'd have to settle for the classic fishy pool again. Midwife seemed briefly concerned that I had too much emotional energy invested in the idea of a waterbirth, and kept trying to reassure me that it didn't matter where I gave birth. I tried to explain that I'm fully aware that I may not even have a waterbirth, depending on how things go, but that if I can have the super nice pool, I'd like to. I'm not sure that I was all that succinct, though.
Later I talked about this to Curtis, who summed it up perfectly: "Gearing up for the [ La Bassine ] and getting the fishy pool isn't so much about fucking up your birth as it is trying to buy a Mercedes Benz and having to settle for a used Volvo".
YES, THAT.
Fortunately, as previously mentioned, I did snag a Bassine. I have wonderful connections in the local birth community and was offered a free rental; she's dropping it off next week with all the accessories.
I've officially given up on having any sense of dignity and just started using a cane wherever I go. It's much easier, it's much safer, it's much more comfortable and I'm slowly adjusting to it. I've been told I should be using a cane for years now but my pride has prevented me from indulging in the practice. Admittedly, this is entirely about my vanity: I don't like being stared at and treated like an invalid, I don't like experiencing ableism every fucking day, day after day; I selfishly enjoy the passing privilege that comes with barely managing to keep my disability under my hat when I'm out in public. And I can't do that anymore. Instead of feeling freed by using a mobility aid, I feel defeated. The attention I attract as a young woman (particularly a mother, or a pregnant woman) with a cane is... uncomfortable and excessive.
I find myself people watching for other young women with canes who look confident, sexy and interesting - and have seen one in the last two months. Everyone else was old. I did manage to see three young men with canes, but they managed to look rather dashing and didn't seem to attract any negative attention. At least, not by comparison to the young woman in her 20's with the high heels and nice legs who got a mixture of gawks and pitying looks. You lose all your sex appeal as a gimp, unless you're being fetishized, and instantaneously become on par to a six year old child. You're coddled, touched, stared at, talked down to and recipient to a constant stream of White Knights waiting to jump in and "help" ... who then get mad when you don't bend down and kiss their feet for all the wonderful things they've done for the poor, unfortunate cripple who was clearly unable to manage to live on their own for two goddamn seconds.
FYI: being a "good samaritan" after someone has clearly told you to back off is White Knighting, not you being amazing, and playing the angry cripple card at someone who is "ungrateful" just makes you more of an ableist fuckwad. Intent is not magical, and you still suck as a human being for immediately viewing people with disabilities as incapable or unable without your help and guidance.
IE. When I go out without a cane, I get good samaritans opening the door for me. When done they nod, I nod, and then they walk away. Much like how normal people are occasionally nice to others.
When I go out with a cane, I get people running in to do shit I didn't ask, didn't need, and didn't want because they assume I can' do it myself - when I ask them politely to stop, or say I don't need it, I'm ignored. People invade my personal space, touch me, talk down to me and strip me of my independence. And when they're done they stand there expectantly, beaming, waiting for my praise or the praise from other passers-by. That is no longer being a good samaritan, that is using people with disabilities to feel better about yourself... and accusing me of being ungrateful of their charity only proves my point.
I know I'll get more used to this as time goes on, but for now it really bothers me. I haven't adjusted to this, I haven't lived this all my life, and I'm left feeling self-conscious and vulnerable as I get used to changing from "could hide it" to "really obvious".
Last Thursday was a particularly perfect afternoon for this variety of fuckwaddery. After I dropped Xan off at preschool I went to visit my favourite bakery for coffee and a snack. I tried, unsuccessfully, to parallel park in front of the building but my hip would spasm every time I tried to do a full shoulder check while reversing and I'd end up having to stop hard when I flinched. Four failed attempts to get into place drew a line of seventeen cars who just waited there for me to finish even though the opposing lane was clear and they could have easily just gone past me. I kept waving them on, and no one listened. I'm convinced this is because they saw the handicapped sticker, because even if one guy would eventually pass the next would start to, only to stop hard as soon as he made eye contact with the hanging placard. Eventually I got so fed up I just sped out of the spot and parked around the corner. I'd have to walk an additional block, but whatever.
I nervously wondered if someone would have seen this, recognize me coming around the corner and would then give me those pathetic looks when I hobbled into the bakery. I took off my sweater and put on some shades in hope it would disguise my appearance enough to fool any of the patrons seated outside who would have witnessed my struggle. I waited an extra five minutes to make sure.
I felt stupid. I know this is stupid. Yet, I couldn't make myself not care.
I got out of the car and hobbled over to the bakery. As I approached, I realized a mom I sort of knew from the preschool had just walked up. She was chatting enthusiastically with someone else. She isn't exactly a friend, and hasn't had any interaction with me in quite a few weeks so she hasn't seen me since I started using the cane regularly... as I passed her she stopped in mid-sentence and openly stared at me, watching, mouth still partially open. I tried to ignore her. As I entered the building she scoffed and mumbled something about being ignored.
GEE I WONDER WHY I WOULDN'T WANT TO RESPOND TO YOU.
Inside I ordered my food and then sat down at a table and waited for my name to be called. A young man looked me up and down.
"How pregnant are you?"
"38 weeks."
"Have you, uh, always had the cane?"
Pause. "No".
"Oh, okay." He walks away.
Translation: [if you always had the cane] how in the world did you find someone willing to fuck you?
My coffee came. The barista brought it up to my table as a nice gesture, without a pitying look, and moved on immediately without standing around waiting for me to slobber on her in gratitude. I appreciated that.
I was in a lot of pain and needed to take my pills with food, so I took that opportunity to take them out and put them on a napkin while I had a few sips of my coffee. A middle-aged man sitting across from me stared at me. I looked back at him, but said nothing. He made a point of looking at my pills, to my belly, raising his eyebrows, looking back at me expectantly. Back at my belly. Subtle shake of the head. Normally people might glance over and then glance away and go about their business, but not this time, this time I'm a young woman who is visibly, heavily pregnant and therefore it's everyone's fucking business what I'm doing "to" my helpless unborn fetus who undoubtably will be born with half a head and macrodactyly as a result of my carelessness.
I kept staring at him, thinking of a million clever responses and mentally practicing them in case he actually opened his damn mouth and said something about it.
"Oh these? I just found these outside and figured I should take them."
"Well no I don't *need* them, I just like the way they make me feel."
"Don't worry, it isn't these pills I should worry about... it's all the heroin."
"What do you mean 'pregnant'? These are for my inoperable stomach tumor."
After another uncomfortable minute of the belly-pill-face staring contest, he looked away with another subtle shake of his head, and went back to his coffee. I got up and left the bakery.
When I got home my mom came down to talk to me about some unrelated issue and I ended up bursting into tears and ranting to her for 15 minutes about how much I hated feeling stripped of my femininity, independence and sexuality by a fucking piece of wood.
She admitted that as an older woman she doesn't get the same kind of attention, but has noted on numerous occasions the kind of ableism I'm talking about. She also said that even at 65 she has people walk up to her and say things like, "You're much too young to have a walker", or, "arthritis only effects old people". What is the point of shit like that? Really?
Curtis and I talked about it earlier today as we were out walking (successfully - hurrah!) and he noted all the weird attention I was getting from people. He suggested that it might be easier for me if I got a cane with a bit more personality. Currently I'm using a classic wooden hand-me-down from my mom, which also used to be my grandmother's, so it sort of screams "old lady". I think he's right - I hope he's right - and maybe having one that's more "me" will reduce some of the pitying bullshit, and help me feel more confident using it.
Once we opened this dialogue, Curtis had a million ideas for what would constitute a better cane.
"What about that one made of bull penis? Oh, or one wrapped in leather! Hot pink? Flames."
"Car flames!" said Xan.
"Purple is nicer," added Tempest.
"Oooh, ooh! What about a black one, and then put space invaders stickers on it?"
"Okay, that would be pretty awesome."
"Or one with interchangeable skins."
"I don't know that something like that exists."
"You could DIY it. Then, you could pick a new internet meme every month to replace it with. Like a picture of Mount Doom with the caption, 'One does not simply cripple walk into Mordor'."
"... I love you."
Quotes of the Day:
I was retelling a story to Curtis about the time I brought my mother to a health food store that had a big display of "Emu oil" in their front window.
"What's emu oil made of?" my mother had asked me.
Without missing a beat, I replied, "Pressed emus".
"OH MY GOD, REALLY?"
"Yes, just like baby oil!"
"OH G-- oh wait. Fuck you."
After retelling this to Curtis, he added, "It could be worse: could be emo oil."
Me: "From pressed Emos?"
Curtis: "Made from the finest Emos."
Me, imitating, "My life is pain."
Curtis: "My legs are dangling, can't you do this any faster? You're even fucking up my death."
Me: "Can't we get any better music for this? Why isn't The Cure playing?"
Curtis: "No no, for when a pneumatic press is slowly crushing you to death, only My Chemical Romance will do".
Xan has stopped tolerating "boy" underwear, and will now only wear "girl" underwear. He says this is because boy underwear has "a penis hole" (something we always referred to as a "circumvent"). We were buying him the boy underwear for the extra crotch space, as I thought it would be more comfortable and that he may find the girl's underwear constricting, but apparently not. He started stealing all of Tempest's pink panties and eventually we had to go to the store and buy several more packs to split between them.
He also stopped liking his more gendered "boy" clothes, and instead steals Tempest's clothes to wear. The more "girl" gendered, the better. We get a lot of hand-me-downs, and him and Tempest wear the same size top (but not bottoms, much to his disappointment) so he can get away with his cross-dressing without looking like he's wearing a tent.
Homophobics tend to immediately trot out the, "But he'll get teased" trope in response to this behavior... but I'm pretty confident he'll be fine, as he recently attested to in an interaction with another preschool boy.
Other Boy: "Are you wearing girl clothes?"
Xan, grinning: "Isn't it great?"
Links of the Day:
Foremilk/Hindmilk - A fascinating look at how breastmilk changes during a feed, confirming what many mothers already knew: an 'empty' breast makes a better, more filling meal. Scheduling feedings is bad, yo.
Our easy home birth - Another fantastic birth video. This is short, sweet, and not done by professionals... BUT it's one of the clearest and brightest landbirth videos I've seen to date. Great shots of baby crowning over an intact perineum, mom relaxing and vocalizing through contractions, and a fantastic support circle of family and attendants. Also, as the head crowns and mom seems uncomfortable, her elder daughter touches her leg and says, "It's okay mom, it's almost out" - it brought tears to my eyes! So wonderful. What an amazing family this is. If more births were like this, we wouldn't have this idea that it's "too traumatic" for siblings to witness. Watch this and try to say these kids were anything less than fascinated and awestruck!
Scientists cure cancer; no one cares - Money money money moooooooney.
Limewire vs. RIAA case settles; Limewire pays RIAA $105 million... artists allegedly hurt by piracy receive $0 - See above.
Meghan McCain to Glenn Beck, "Don't call me fat" - A response to Beck's sexist ranting about how she should wear "a buqua" because her appearance makes him vomit, and it's "the only thing that will fit her" after seeing her appear in a strapless dress (simulating nudity) for a skin cancer PSA.
Man tracks stolen laptop and has it returned, from 800km away - Twitter and Prey to the rescue!
Cat/man do - Good news: Cats have learned how to use tools! Bad news: these tools are made of humans.
For the first time in my life I'm giving up on my goals of daily exercise (my walks) because the pain is so bad I really don't think I can handle it anymore. After a particularly horrific stroll to the library with the family, wherein I leaned so heavily on Curtis that his shoulder his still sore two days later, I came to the conclusion that these walks are simply not worth it. We walked at half the speed we usually do, and still the pain was so bad that I was getting tunnel vision and stopping to heave into the bushes every few minutes. It was awful, and humiliating, and absolute agony.
I was determined to make it home and refused Curtis' offers to go back and get the car for me; I did manage to make it without dying, but collapsed as soon as we arrived and I ended up curled in bed with a hot water bottle drifting in and out of sleep for two hours until I felt well enough to sit up in bed and use my laptop.
I hate sounding like those whiners on the DDCs who bitch and moan about how they're soooo uncomfortable because of a tight belly or the occasional contraction and how baby just neeeeeeds to come out early to fix it... because really, I hate that kind of whining and strikes me as ridiculously selfish. I also get that this whining is also selfish, but I'm trying to stay balanced by not lending any power to the idea of my baby come earlier than she needs to, simply to relieve pain or discomfort. That's a step over my personal boundaries and I can't imagine being okay with that (at least, not in this situation).
For one, if she's in there today she's in there for good reason, and secondly any sort of 'encouragement' or 'natural induction' would put both my body and my baby at increased risk of complications including rupture and breathing difficulties (not to mention a longer, more difficult labour) so a few extra weeks of discomfort, even when it's really really bad, is simply not worth that shit.
... But that doesn't mean I wouldn't be okay with giving up my dream of having another big fatty if she decided she was ready to come now. I'd be alright with that. Really.
I'm 38.5 weeks pregnant now. Fuzz is sitting between 0 and +1 station and hurting the fuck out of my pelvic girdle. I can feel her head about 2.5 inches up, and sometimes it's low enough that when I walk around I am distracted by a "full" feeling of her head pushing into my vagina. It's like wearing 7.5lb Ben Wa balls. This also contributes to some of the pain when walking: every time I take a step I feel a heavy stretching sensation on my cervix, which results in that electroshock thing that you get when you're dilating. The resulting flinch causes a muscle spasm, which causes a contraction, and the loop goes on...
I lost massive hunks of my mucous plug last week sometime, and continue to have little dribs and drabs. I'm a very, very stretchy 3-4cm dilated but my cervix is still pretty thick and posterior. I know this from my own checking, not from the midwife doing it. She hasn't offered and I haven't asked, though she joked that I "shouldn't" know these things and asks why I even have a midwife if I can do this all by myself (don't worry, she's kidding and the jokes are welcome). I generally leave my cervix alone, for obvious reasons, but after a particularly rough day of intense cervical contractions, plug and a bit of bloody show I checked to see if there was significant progress (no thinning, but a little bit of additional dilation... nothing since).
When feeling for the most recent change, I was able to easily touch Fuzz's head. That never gets old. How awesome is it to touch and interact with your unborn child? Amazing. She has almost no fat on her; no forehead wrinkles that I could feel. I hope she has enough chub by her birthday to skip that whole "ugly newborn" phase, because skinny newbies look weird.
Note for those playing at home: none of this is an indication of impending labour, and is quite normal for end-stage pregnancy, particularly for multiparas.
Also normal: having a high, hard and closed cervix until you go into labour. I'm no closer to birth than a woman at the same stage who is closed tight.
Anyway, back to the nitty gritty details no one but other pregnant women care about.
At my last two appointments main midwife remarked that without the knowledge and experience she has in belly palpation, she would be coming up too small on my measurements due to my uterus going well under my ribcage. In my most recent visit with the backup midwife I had to correct her measurement and show her how to come up with the right one (she got 33, then 35, and finally 39 with the modified method of shoving the tape under my sternum to get around Fuzz's heel). Both have said they almost never see babies carry that high... especially after dropping and engaging. I've never seen me carry a baby this high before. My belly feels smaller in an outward way, but much larger in a tall way, than any other pregnancy. It's ridiculously uncomfortable, and really weird. I thought your uterine muscles became more slack with time and you were more likely to carry your babies larger with each subsequent pregnancy? This is like going backwards. I'm carrying like a first timer.
Recently she started settling in an anterior position, which means I feel her movements a little bit less than I did before. It's disconcerting for a baby who often spends 12 hours a day breakdancing to abruptly drop to a few discernible movements per hour. My contractions also started up, and at rest I get a few an hour... but if I try and walk around I get them back to back until I finally give up and sit down again. Attempting to walk around the block, or to the store or whatever, results in unbelievable amounts of contractions. They're not particularly painful, though often uncomfortable, but with how high my uterus is under my ribcage it does make it extremely difficult to walk through them.
I also managed to snag myself a free birth pool rental after learning that my midwife's last pool broke just prior to my last appointment. I mean, I don't need a big fancy-ass birth pool but I sure want one. I thought I'd have to settle for the classic fishy pool again. Midwife seemed briefly concerned that I had too much emotional energy invested in the idea of a waterbirth, and kept trying to reassure me that it didn't matter where I gave birth. I tried to explain that I'm fully aware that I may not even have a waterbirth, depending on how things go, but that if I can have the super nice pool, I'd like to. I'm not sure that I was all that succinct, though.
Later I talked about this to Curtis, who summed it up perfectly: "Gearing up for the [ La Bassine ] and getting the fishy pool isn't so much about fucking up your birth as it is trying to buy a Mercedes Benz and having to settle for a used Volvo".
YES, THAT.
Fortunately, as previously mentioned, I did snag a Bassine. I have wonderful connections in the local birth community and was offered a free rental; she's dropping it off next week with all the accessories.
I've officially given up on having any sense of dignity and just started using a cane wherever I go. It's much easier, it's much safer, it's much more comfortable and I'm slowly adjusting to it. I've been told I should be using a cane for years now but my pride has prevented me from indulging in the practice. Admittedly, this is entirely about my vanity: I don't like being stared at and treated like an invalid, I don't like experiencing ableism every fucking day, day after day; I selfishly enjoy the passing privilege that comes with barely managing to keep my disability under my hat when I'm out in public. And I can't do that anymore. Instead of feeling freed by using a mobility aid, I feel defeated. The attention I attract as a young woman (particularly a mother, or a pregnant woman) with a cane is... uncomfortable and excessive.
I find myself people watching for other young women with canes who look confident, sexy and interesting - and have seen one in the last two months. Everyone else was old. I did manage to see three young men with canes, but they managed to look rather dashing and didn't seem to attract any negative attention. At least, not by comparison to the young woman in her 20's with the high heels and nice legs who got a mixture of gawks and pitying looks. You lose all your sex appeal as a gimp, unless you're being fetishized, and instantaneously become on par to a six year old child. You're coddled, touched, stared at, talked down to and recipient to a constant stream of White Knights waiting to jump in and "help" ... who then get mad when you don't bend down and kiss their feet for all the wonderful things they've done for the poor, unfortunate cripple who was clearly unable to manage to live on their own for two goddamn seconds.
FYI: being a "good samaritan" after someone has clearly told you to back off is White Knighting, not you being amazing, and playing the angry cripple card at someone who is "ungrateful" just makes you more of an ableist fuckwad. Intent is not magical, and you still suck as a human being for immediately viewing people with disabilities as incapable or unable without your help and guidance.
IE. When I go out without a cane, I get good samaritans opening the door for me. When done they nod, I nod, and then they walk away. Much like how normal people are occasionally nice to others.
When I go out with a cane, I get people running in to do shit I didn't ask, didn't need, and didn't want because they assume I can' do it myself - when I ask them politely to stop, or say I don't need it, I'm ignored. People invade my personal space, touch me, talk down to me and strip me of my independence. And when they're done they stand there expectantly, beaming, waiting for my praise or the praise from other passers-by. That is no longer being a good samaritan, that is using people with disabilities to feel better about yourself... and accusing me of being ungrateful of their charity only proves my point.
I know I'll get more used to this as time goes on, but for now it really bothers me. I haven't adjusted to this, I haven't lived this all my life, and I'm left feeling self-conscious and vulnerable as I get used to changing from "could hide it" to "really obvious".
Last Thursday was a particularly perfect afternoon for this variety of fuckwaddery. After I dropped Xan off at preschool I went to visit my favourite bakery for coffee and a snack. I tried, unsuccessfully, to parallel park in front of the building but my hip would spasm every time I tried to do a full shoulder check while reversing and I'd end up having to stop hard when I flinched. Four failed attempts to get into place drew a line of seventeen cars who just waited there for me to finish even though the opposing lane was clear and they could have easily just gone past me. I kept waving them on, and no one listened. I'm convinced this is because they saw the handicapped sticker, because even if one guy would eventually pass the next would start to, only to stop hard as soon as he made eye contact with the hanging placard. Eventually I got so fed up I just sped out of the spot and parked around the corner. I'd have to walk an additional block, but whatever.
I nervously wondered if someone would have seen this, recognize me coming around the corner and would then give me those pathetic looks when I hobbled into the bakery. I took off my sweater and put on some shades in hope it would disguise my appearance enough to fool any of the patrons seated outside who would have witnessed my struggle. I waited an extra five minutes to make sure.
I felt stupid. I know this is stupid. Yet, I couldn't make myself not care.
I got out of the car and hobbled over to the bakery. As I approached, I realized a mom I sort of knew from the preschool had just walked up. She was chatting enthusiastically with someone else. She isn't exactly a friend, and hasn't had any interaction with me in quite a few weeks so she hasn't seen me since I started using the cane regularly... as I passed her she stopped in mid-sentence and openly stared at me, watching, mouth still partially open. I tried to ignore her. As I entered the building she scoffed and mumbled something about being ignored.
GEE I WONDER WHY I WOULDN'T WANT TO RESPOND TO YOU.
Inside I ordered my food and then sat down at a table and waited for my name to be called. A young man looked me up and down.
"How pregnant are you?"
"38 weeks."
"Have you, uh, always had the cane?"
Pause. "No".
"Oh, okay." He walks away.
Translation: [if you always had the cane] how in the world did you find someone willing to fuck you?
My coffee came. The barista brought it up to my table as a nice gesture, without a pitying look, and moved on immediately without standing around waiting for me to slobber on her in gratitude. I appreciated that.
I was in a lot of pain and needed to take my pills with food, so I took that opportunity to take them out and put them on a napkin while I had a few sips of my coffee. A middle-aged man sitting across from me stared at me. I looked back at him, but said nothing. He made a point of looking at my pills, to my belly, raising his eyebrows, looking back at me expectantly. Back at my belly. Subtle shake of the head. Normally people might glance over and then glance away and go about their business, but not this time, this time I'm a young woman who is visibly, heavily pregnant and therefore it's everyone's fucking business what I'm doing "to" my helpless unborn fetus who undoubtably will be born with half a head and macrodactyly as a result of my carelessness.
I kept staring at him, thinking of a million clever responses and mentally practicing them in case he actually opened his damn mouth and said something about it.
"Oh these? I just found these outside and figured I should take them."
"Well no I don't *need* them, I just like the way they make me feel."
"Don't worry, it isn't these pills I should worry about... it's all the heroin."
"What do you mean 'pregnant'? These are for my inoperable stomach tumor."
After another uncomfortable minute of the belly-pill-face staring contest, he looked away with another subtle shake of his head, and went back to his coffee. I got up and left the bakery.
When I got home my mom came down to talk to me about some unrelated issue and I ended up bursting into tears and ranting to her for 15 minutes about how much I hated feeling stripped of my femininity, independence and sexuality by a fucking piece of wood.
She admitted that as an older woman she doesn't get the same kind of attention, but has noted on numerous occasions the kind of ableism I'm talking about. She also said that even at 65 she has people walk up to her and say things like, "You're much too young to have a walker", or, "arthritis only effects old people". What is the point of shit like that? Really?
Curtis and I talked about it earlier today as we were out walking (successfully - hurrah!) and he noted all the weird attention I was getting from people. He suggested that it might be easier for me if I got a cane with a bit more personality. Currently I'm using a classic wooden hand-me-down from my mom, which also used to be my grandmother's, so it sort of screams "old lady". I think he's right - I hope he's right - and maybe having one that's more "me" will reduce some of the pitying bullshit, and help me feel more confident using it.
Once we opened this dialogue, Curtis had a million ideas for what would constitute a better cane.
"What about that one made of bull penis? Oh, or one wrapped in leather! Hot pink? Flames."
"Car flames!" said Xan.
"Purple is nicer," added Tempest.
"Oooh, ooh! What about a black one, and then put space invaders stickers on it?"
"Okay, that would be pretty awesome."
"Or one with interchangeable skins."
"I don't know that something like that exists."
"You could DIY it. Then, you could pick a new internet meme every month to replace it with. Like a picture of Mount Doom with the caption, 'One does not simply cripple walk into Mordor'."
"... I love you."
Quotes of the Day:
I was retelling a story to Curtis about the time I brought my mother to a health food store that had a big display of "Emu oil" in their front window.
"What's emu oil made of?" my mother had asked me.
Without missing a beat, I replied, "Pressed emus".
"OH MY GOD, REALLY?"
"Yes, just like baby oil!"
"OH G-- oh wait. Fuck you."
After retelling this to Curtis, he added, "It could be worse: could be emo oil."
Me: "From pressed Emos?"
Curtis: "Made from the finest Emos."
Me, imitating, "My life is pain."
Curtis: "My legs are dangling, can't you do this any faster? You're even fucking up my death."
Me: "Can't we get any better music for this? Why isn't The Cure playing?"
Curtis: "No no, for when a pneumatic press is slowly crushing you to death, only My Chemical Romance will do".
Xan has stopped tolerating "boy" underwear, and will now only wear "girl" underwear. He says this is because boy underwear has "a penis hole" (something we always referred to as a "circumvent"). We were buying him the boy underwear for the extra crotch space, as I thought it would be more comfortable and that he may find the girl's underwear constricting, but apparently not. He started stealing all of Tempest's pink panties and eventually we had to go to the store and buy several more packs to split between them.
He also stopped liking his more gendered "boy" clothes, and instead steals Tempest's clothes to wear. The more "girl" gendered, the better. We get a lot of hand-me-downs, and him and Tempest wear the same size top (but not bottoms, much to his disappointment) so he can get away with his cross-dressing without looking like he's wearing a tent.
Homophobics tend to immediately trot out the, "But he'll get teased" trope in response to this behavior... but I'm pretty confident he'll be fine, as he recently attested to in an interaction with another preschool boy.
Other Boy: "Are you wearing girl clothes?"
Xan, grinning: "Isn't it great?"
Links of the Day:
Foremilk/Hindmilk - A fascinating look at how breastmilk changes during a feed, confirming what many mothers already knew: an 'empty' breast makes a better, more filling meal. Scheduling feedings is bad, yo.
Our easy home birth - Another fantastic birth video. This is short, sweet, and not done by professionals... BUT it's one of the clearest and brightest landbirth videos I've seen to date. Great shots of baby crowning over an intact perineum, mom relaxing and vocalizing through contractions, and a fantastic support circle of family and attendants. Also, as the head crowns and mom seems uncomfortable, her elder daughter touches her leg and says, "It's okay mom, it's almost out" - it brought tears to my eyes! So wonderful. What an amazing family this is. If more births were like this, we wouldn't have this idea that it's "too traumatic" for siblings to witness. Watch this and try to say these kids were anything less than fascinated and awestruck!
Scientists cure cancer; no one cares - Money money money moooooooney.
Limewire vs. RIAA case settles; Limewire pays RIAA $105 million... artists allegedly hurt by piracy receive $0 - See above.
Meghan McCain to Glenn Beck, "Don't call me fat" - A response to Beck's sexist ranting about how she should wear "a buqua" because her appearance makes him vomit, and it's "the only thing that will fit her" after seeing her appear in a strapless dress (simulating nudity) for a skin cancer PSA.
Man tracks stolen laptop and has it returned, from 800km away - Twitter and Prey to the rescue!
Cat/man do - Good news: Cats have learned how to use tools! Bad news: these tools are made of humans.