Two of my coworkers/friends, Kerrie and Jen, threw me a baby sprinkle this last Friday. They reserved a conference room after hours and set up a lovely arrangement of food and drink and even a diapercake! The diapercake was delicious.
We played games, I opened gifts, and Z and Andy made an appearance towards the end. It was a lot of fun. 🙂
Everyone put in a bid for Madrox’s (yes, that’s his name! :P) birthdate, most of them within this month. I have a feeling I’ll give birth in February, but who knows? I might be late this time (*screams*). I’m really ready to meet Mad and to get my old body back. Lugging around this extra 35-40 pounds is really wearing on me. And I’m tired all of the time because I can’t get any sleep at night: I have to pee every 2 seconds, which means I get up several times a night to carefully walk down the stairs to the bathroom. It’s a wonder I haven’t broken my neck.
These last weeks are going to be an eternity!
I’m trying to put them to good use by looking for suitable childcare for the boys and organizing the house a bit. I never had this nesting instinct kick in with Zain, but I’m making up for it now! 🙂 The annoying thing is that I can’t buy everything that I want to for the house, so I’ll just have to be patient, which is…impossible right now. I am ANXIOUS.
Buuuut I’m mostly fat since the baby is about 5 pounds now and I’m 35 pounds heavier. HUZZAH!
So apparently I can’t take good pictures anymore…but you get the idea. Just pay attention to my large belly and the fact that my 20 month old can take cover beneath it. THIRTY FIVE WEEKS. It’s so close. So close! I could weep with relief. Because, um, it’s now become a chore to walk and get up from a seated position. I’m on my last legs people.
I’ve been sick this past week with a cold and have subjected several people to my curiously stretchy snot while blowing my nose. Except I can’t really blow it because my nose has been stuffed up so I have to do that gross thing where I shove tissue into the leaky nostril. It’s pretty sick and I apologize to all who have had to witness it (Andy, Kerrie,etc).
Back to uncomfortable pregnancies: It’s hard enough having one fetus crammed up in mah belleh, I’m trying to imagine having EIGHT. Jeebus CHRIST. Human beings are not meant to have fucking litters. Stop. the. insanity.
I have to pee.
Christmas came and went and thank GOD. We’ve been moles for the past week or so, Andy leaving only to go to work occasionally. I can’t say I’m not glad the holidays are almost over. We weren’t able to see any family, and couldn’t even fly out if we wanted to due to the weather. And it couldn’t have been a better time to miss out because my mother, whom I haven’t seen in like 5 years and who has never met her grandchild, was in Sacramento along with the majority of my siblings and their children…and that NEVER happens. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! The annoying thing is that I can’t complain or be sad about it without someone in my family saying something like: “But you’re with your family.” and while that may be true it sounds a little like, “STFU and be a stoic grownup, whilst we play in the hay.” As you can imagine, that cheered me right up.
It’s all about the lessons in life.
Zain made out like a bandit as usual, will post pictures of that and snow soon. I promise that post will be cheery.
Old news to some, but that’s never an excuse to keep my mouth shut: People are using Barack Obama’s white heritage to connect with ignorant fools/racists in order to get their vote. And to that I say: FAIL.
The fact that people are stooping to this level to try to find a “common bond”? Speaks volumes about where this country is at in terms of race relations. And if he didn’t have a white mother? What then? Would he be a lost cause? Does that white blood save him from being a savage? Yes, that’s it exactly. Because of who they’re catering to, this kind of bullshit is deemed necessary and acceptable.
Although people might take my marriage to a white man as a sign of some kind of longing for acceptance, I don’t need to produce light skinned children in order to get someone to see me and mine as basic human beings. Simply put, if you can’t deal with me, I can’t deal with you. My child(ren) being lighter than a paper bag doesn’t please me, it scares me. Race is all about perception. When I look at Z I see me, thus, my child is black (Mixed race when I’m being technical). But what will other people see? My fear lies in the fact that people will draw on his “whiteness” to establish his worth. “You’re one of the good ones.” “Well, you’re not really black.” These are things that were said to me, based on the way that I spoke and carried myself. I was “trying to be white”, see, just by speaking in a coherent sentence.
Who I am has largely to do with the color of my skin; my experiences as a black woman have colored (excuse the pun!) my view on a good amount of things. To some I am a bitter black woman, refusing to let things go. I prefer to think of myself as aware. Not a day goes by without some reminder that I am different from the majority of the people around me, especially during this election. People can be ugly and cruel individuals when it comes to dealing with change or difference. I am not naive enough to think that my children won’t have to deal with all of the profundities of race like I have even as they straddle the barriers. I just hope that they will have pride in who they are no matter what others might perceive them to be.
Zain is going to have a little brother come March (didn’t you LOVE my cheesy title?)! Andy and I are very excited. I had been having daydreams about having a little girl lately, though…you know, the dresses, the tights, the little mary janes. This is strange because I never felt like I wanted to have a little girl and then all of a sudden BOOM. Couldn’t stop thinking about it. Andy, of course, can’t wait for one (yes, we are going to try again…several years from now). I even started looking up girl names and found the perfect one. We’ll use it some other time. And although we’ll have to wait a little longer for frilly things, I’m very happy. I can’t wait to see this kid. I mean, Andy and I already know we make good baby! 😛 So this one will be amazing, no doubt. And I’m glad Z will get a playmate so close to his age, plus we’ll save some money on clothes and shoes. 🙂 We’re still going over names (it’s Andy’s turn to come up with a first name…he takes FOREVER), but there are a few that keep coming back up.
The odd thing is: all of my sisters have boys, and all of my brothers have girls (except for one whose second child was a boy). So it seems to be a trend here. I may end up the lone female in this household!
This baby girl was very lucky to have been born in India. She is being worshipped as a reincarnated god.
This girl was very unlucky to have been born in South Africa. To white parents. In 1955.
I recently read When She was White, the story of Sandra Laing, a dark skinned child born to white Afrikaans. Sandra’s parents (especially her father) fought long and hard to keep their daughter classified as white. The novel was difficult for me to sit through, not only because it’s so disjointed…probably because Sandra is so traumatized by everything that’s happened to her that she’s blocked out most of her past…but for more obvious reasons. Simply put, the story is damn depressing. Not to mention infuriating. Her parents…where to begin? How does the saying go? De Nile is not just a river in Egypt? Well, I suppose it’s not technically denial since they both acknowledged her skin tone as evidence of African ancestry in their family trees, of course, one would have to in that situation, but to expect others to see her as white simply because she was their child? To enroll her in a white boarding school sight unseen and not expect some sort of backlash? That’s got to be denial. But of course, to label her as anything but white was out of the question. And if she was indeed white…why couldn’t she attend an all white school? Yeah. Makes sense when your life is steeped in crazy racist notions.
When I flipped through the pictures in the book it’s obvious that her mother and father felt completely different about Sandra. Her father was not…fond of her. Whereas it’s no mystery that Sandra came from Sannie’s loins, I’m sure that Abraham was constantly looked down upon as a cuckold. It was obvious that she wasn’t his child….right? Right? I don’t know how many times I’ve watched a TV show featuring a man happily awaiting his unborn child only to look astonished as a black screaming baby made his/her debut. It’s such a classic “Wait a minute…I’m not the father!” moment. Because otherwise, how would you know? Anything else could be explained away. But even if Sandra wasn’t the embodiment of Sannie’s indiscretion, she had to pay for being born. She was a stain on their white life. In the end, she went one way and her family went another. She was reclassified as coloured and her family continued to blame her for all of their (and her) problems.
I feel like there was a lesson to be learned in all of this, but ignorance prevailed.