Confessions of the Divine Miss K

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Mommy and Daddy To Be

Well, I can now count the weeks on my due date on one hand. FIVE! 5 weeks until this baby makes his appearance. And simply because I have neglected to write in my journal in like the past month, for the sake of posterity, I am now going to record my latest and greatest pregnancy complaints.
First of all, everything hurts. And everything is work. And everything is exhausting. I can't tell you what a trial it is to get in and out of my car but OH MY GOD, running errands fatigues me like nothing else. I pee all the time now. Like I really never stop peeing. Oh, and despite my best efforts to do Kegal exercises, yeah, even after I'm done peeing? And have wiped and pulled up my pants? Sometimes there's MORE PEE. It's shaming, I know.
My ribcage is literally pressed so high up against my boobs, it's terrifying and I feel like I can never get a deep breath. My calf muscles hurt. And please, please, please don't make me pick up something off the floor. It's hell and requires a good amount of snorting and groaning (as does getting up off the couch or getting out of bed, so basically just general moving requires a lot of noise).
Also, it really does look like there's a beachball under my shirt. Who knew?! As for LB himself, he is just hanging out, twitching this way and out. The other day I had a conversation with him in a really high-pitched voice (Lucy, of course, thought it was with her and did backflips and hoola-hoop twirls in response). I even addressed him by the name that we have chosen with 95% certainty. And literally, in like 5 seconds after saying his name, THWACK! He kicked me and then proceeded to do his own little interpretive dance, similar to his K9 sister's. It was adorable. And a bit painful.
As far as emotions go, ooooh boy. There have been a few freak-outs in the last week. On Friday night Adders lost his temper because our hockey team lost in the playoffs. I don't know why he let this bother him so much but he freaked out. Which I thought was grossly unfair since hello! I'm pregnant! I OWN ALL THE FREAK-OUTS. They are reserved for me and me alone. So pretty soon I'm in tears, upset only because he's upset. Needless to say, we are a crazy couple. Then on Sunday night, I literally went postal on the soap dispenser in the kitchen. Like, it got thrown around, I got a wee bit hysterical about it. All at 10pm when NOTHING could be done (the good news is that I the next day I marched into Home Depot and demanded a new one, which I got, courtesy of my sweet pregnant belly, even though the dispenser is like 5 years old!).
But probably the worst part of the hormones is that I often feel like crying for no reason. Like, I sometimes have this pervasive feeling of sadness. It has nothing to do with the baby, or nothing to do with anything really. I'll just feel sad. Not depressed, not blah, just sad. But it's not crippling or anything. I can easily distract myself and I still also feel happy, excited, nervous, etc. But sometimes I just feel teary. And it's weird.
Of course, my midwife thinks we're going to have to watch me closely for Post-Partum Depression, which is probably a good idea. Although I've never really experienced any chronic depressino before so who knows? However, I've always been extremely susceptible to my hormones so you never know.
I read yesterday that husbands can experience their own version of PPD, which made me think of poor Adders. Now, I don't think Adders will actually fall into a depression once LB arrives. If anything, I think he's going to be blown away by how much he loves and enjoys having this baby. Because if Luscious Lucy is any indication, he may talk tough, but Adders is a total mush.
That being said, I still can't wrap my head around Adders being a dad. I read some horrible cheesy thing the other day by some celebrity who's name I can't recall. Anyhow, I hate insincere sentimentality and/or ickiness. BLECH. So she says some bull shit along the lines of "I never wanted children until I met my husband. And then I knew this man was destined to be a father. BLAH BLAH BLAH THROW UP."
Now I am not a very touchy-feely person. I can't really say that one of the reasons I fell in love with Adders is because I knew he'd be a good dad. I mean, obviously, I think (HOPE) he'll be a great father but I don't know that for sure. And all that mattered to me when I married him was that he wanted to be a father some day.
But now as the day of parenthood slowly draws closer, I can't help but wonder what kind of dad he's going to be. I already know that we're going to have to be careful to not fall into the good cop/bad cop routine (where obviously I'm the bad cop just because, well, I am. I'm bitchy and agressive and like order and structure and obedience and peace and quiet). I mean, just because Adders is more laidback than me doesn't mean he gets to be the nice parents ALL the time.
I know Adders will be great at the physical side of parenting - teaching them things, planning activites, etc. I just hope that he'll master the emotional side of it as well, especially since it wasn't modelled to him all that much.
As for me, well, I think I'm going to be a good mom. Strict, loving, fun and totally crazy. Which is what my mom was - and I still think she's the best.

Friday, March 26, 2010

Musings on God and Jenna Jameson

So last weekend I was doing some ironing and to distract myself from the misery, I turned on the television. "Bruce Almighty" happened to be on, which is a movie I've always enjoyed. I happily tuned in, though it was near the end, after the whole "God" thing has gone to Bruce's head and his girlfriend has left him. For being both a mainstream film and a comedy, I think the spirituality of "Bruce Almighty" is dead-on. And I couldn't help but be struck again by two pivotal scenes. The first is when Bruce tries to win his girlfriend back and when she rejects his feeble efforts, he decides to try and use his "almighty" powers to make her love him. He stomps his feet, raises his hands, as if casting a spell, and says, "Love me. LOOOOOOVE ME!" She just looks at him as if he's nuts and then simply replies, "I did." Later, Bruce bitches about this to the actual Almighty and says, "How do you make someone love you without affecting Free Will?" to which God replies, "Welcome to my world, son. If you come up with an answer to that one, let me know."
I was raised in a spiritual/religious home. I can't remember "God" or if you prefer, the concept of God, not being a part of my life. It's who I am, it's part of my identity. God is as real to me as this computer that I'm typing on, and that is no exaggeration. However, I am married to a man who, although raised with some Christian foundation (First Communion, Catechism, church every Sunday until he was 14), is probably as unspiritual as they come. And I don't mean that in a condescending way. It's just a fact, and he would agree with it.
The irony is that we ended up together. Me, who did an undergraduate degree in Religious Studies and led Bible Studies during my time at university, married to a guy who has a more-than-healthy skepticism about the relevance of God in his life. What's even more ironic is how poor Adders has got played and duped by this spirituality of mine. When we first met, I was worn out and discouraged in my spiritual life. I had never had a "Come to Jesus" moment growing up because hell, I'd always known Jesus. So I can't really say that I was "on fire" for God. And trying to come back to my small town and fit back in to the narrow confines of the church I had grown up in, particularly after being exposed to so much more education and "spiritual reality" while at university was particularly depressing.
Plus, I was living at home during this time period, broke from my trip around Europe. I was 23 years old but long overdue for the teenage rebellion I had yet to experience. So at any rate, when Adders walked into my life, my relationship with God took not just a backseat but was dumped on the side of the road, and I decided to let myself do all the things I felt I had so unfairly missed out on.
Over the next three years, Adders got to know a girl who was very angry at God, her mother, her upbringing, her belief system. EVERYTHING. He had no way of knowing it was just a temporary rebellion or an extended temper tantrum. He took everything I said - every condemnation against religion and my stupid strict parents - as gospel truth.
Needless to say, when I got sick of being in the driver's seat and disillusioned with all the choices and mistakes I'd made, when I literally did not know how I was going to get by and so had no choice but to return to God and my spiritual walk, poor Adders was stunned. Albeit it has all happened gradually, and so it has only slowly snuck up on him. But just as water takes time to boil, it doesn't mean the poor lobster still doesn't get cooked at the end. And so now Add is having to deal with a wife who is nothing like the girl he married and who has instead gone all "religious" on him. Which I empathize with because c'mon, is there anything more annoying than that?!
And yet now we're at a crossroads. Adders is perplexed and still trying to hold me to position or a statement that I made years ago, not fully understanding that I made those comments under the influence of my own drunkeness and foolishness. And I am somehow stuck with trying to figure out how you get a man who has made it "just fine on his own, thank you very much. Religion is nothing but a crutch" to not only realize that he needs God but in fact he should actually LOVE God.
Last night Adders and I had a big discussion about this. It's very, VERY frustrating talking religion or spirituality with him because the gap between our understanding is so very large. Couple that with the danger of coming across as preachy or condescneding or as knowing better or as holier than thou or as just being wiser, these discussions are riddled with land mines. I try to explain the basic tenants of theology to him but it's like trying to teach a Korean not only English but English slang, all when you don't have any experience teaching English to begin with! All that needs to be explained is overwhelming. Adders makes a judgment against religion based on some conversation he had with my mother 4 years ago or by some joke he hears on TV. And yet it's not a fair judgment because he doesn't have any of the context, any of the framework. Not to be overly critical but for someone who was raised in a somewhat religious household, his foundation and basic understanding of Christianity are woefully inadequate.
And that's also an issue for us. I was raised with this perspective since birth. My understanding of it is so innate and nuanced and complicated that to try and explain it in a basic sense is nearly impossible. When Adders asked me last night WHY I loved God, I was stumped. I mean, it would be an easy answer if at 18 or something I had been strung out on drugs and turning tricks on the street but then found Jesus who helped me clean up my life and look at me now! I'm a success! There would be a concrete example as to why I love Jesus.
But for me, I don't have an answer. It's like asking me why I love my mom. I mean, I guess I could tell you all the things she does for me and all the things about her that make me happy. But I also just love her because I do. I was born loving her. Just like I love this baby in me right now. I don't even know him, don't know the slightest thing about him, and yet he's loved! That's how I feel about God. I don't know why I love him, I don't know why I continue this journey, but I do.
Adders, of course, is all too willing to assign my relationship with God as simply based on fear of hell. A belief which may have some merit. I mean, if that's what I believe (and I do believe in an eternity, where we play out the choices we made in the here and now), then obviously SOME of my motivation for loving and following God is going to be based out of fear (oh Jesus, spare me the eternal flames of suffering!!!!).
And of course there is the simple self-serving aspect to following God - namely, I don't want to fuck up my life. And while I accept that just because you don't follow God doesn't means your life is going to be, well, a miserable fucking disaster, I do think that your chances of making some serious life-altering mistakes are certainly higher if you aren't in tune with His will.
When I first headed down the road of my rebellion and flipping God the bird, it all started because I fell in love. I met Adders and I was crazy delirious with hormones and with the desire to be with him ALL. THE. TIME. And when something like that consumes you, you understandably don't have much time for the more dreary aspects of life (and let me tell you, often this whole spirituality thing is DREARY and HARD WORK). Being with Adders all the time led me to want to be naked with Adders all the time, which of course led to me wanting to have naked sex with Adders all the time. Is this normal? Absolutely. Is it bad? Well, here's the thing. I do still firmly believe that there is definitely a difference between casual sex (which I'm sorry but I don't think any good can come of it) and simply pre-marital sex between two people in a loving, committed relatinoship. That being said, for me the sin of the pre-marital sex wasn't the sex itself, it was the behaviour that resulted from the sex. I felt guilty for it. I then got mad because of the guilt. I then decided that the guilt and God and my whole stupid strict upbringing could go screw themselves, and so what did I do? Naturally I separated myself from it all, much like Adam and Eve did after eating the forbidden fruit and coming into realization - they hid themselves from God.
That therefore became my sin. I ran away from God. Which led me down a bitter painful road. I learned a bunch of stuff from the entire experience. I grew up a ton in that time period. In some sense my mom and I came out with a healthier relationship. So good did come out of it. But was there a less painful way to have gotten to the same point in life? I'm sure there was. And sadly, in my foolishness, I just chose not to take it.
And that's what I tried to explain to Adders last night. Being religious or following God doesn't mean life gets any easier. In fact, it can often be the opposite. But here's the benefit I see in following God. I no longer fuck up my life out of ignorance or foolishness or stupidity. Or at least I try not to. Life is still life. Bad things still happen. You will still stub your toe and fret about money and have a bad day even if you walk closely with God. But IF you are walking close to God and you listen to what He has to say, nay - if you CONSULT him on what you should do and then listen to what He has to say - then you don't have to worry as much about all the needless suffering that so many people have to experience due to their own ignorance. And that right there is reason enough for me. Life is hard enough. I don't want to make it any harder because I didn't pay attention and missed an opportunity.
But again, this doesn't ecapsulate all the reasons I walk along with God. Because I'm neglecting to explain the most important one which also happens to be the most difficult one to articulate. I love God because I know Him. He is real to me, He makes sense me, we have a relationship, I bless Him, He bless me. And this must sound so weird and creepy and cheesy to my husband's ears. Because as I said at the beginning, he can't even wrap his head around needing God at this point, muchless loving Him.
So what to do? We talk about religion and I try to address his fears that his wife is becoming a freak. Only this morning we had another debate about pornography. Porn star Jenna Jameson had made an appreance on Oprah yesterday. I missed it but Adders told me all about it. When I asked how Oprah treated her, he said that she wasn't as nice as she could have been to Jenna. And I explained that it's probably because for all of Jenna's claims that she's a businesswoman and that she has no regrets, Oprah is probably calling bull shit. Because I'm sorry - since the dawn of time, women have always made money selling their bodies. It's not a difficult thing. Any old fool can do it. But true female empowerment has only come along in the last 50 years because of the hard work done by women like Oprah who have paved the way and become successes in the actual real business world.
Anyhow, I then went on a rant about pornography, which Adders rolled his eyes at and said, "Stop being such a Bible thumper!" I protested because while yes, maybe part of my dislike of pornography no doubt stems from my religious upbringing, I've also reached this stance because of my experiences as a woman, as a feminist and as a person who has read enough stories of people whose lives have been ruined because of pornography addiction.
And that's really what comes down to the problem with Adders and God. Adders has yet to experience any true suffering in life. He is one of those affable live and let live kind of guys. He doesn't have an addictive personality so really has no issue with drugs because they've never affected him in any negative way. Same goes with pornography. Or alcohol. Even just life experiences - everything has worked out well, and he hasn't had to deal with any real tangible pain. So what benefit can God even bring? And when his wife can't seem to articulate what God brings to the table in her life (which is really THEIR life), Adders must think, well, what's the point?!
And yet when questioned if he would have a problem with our daughter becoming a Jenna Jameson, he said "Of course! Oh God, I would hate for my daughter to be in pornography or be a stripper." Which obviously. But then isn't that motivation for walking with God? Can't this baby then be enough of a reason to love God? Adders doesn't have a relationship with God so therefore doesn't trust God. He doesn't believe that a relationship with God guarantees you that your daughter won't be a stripper or your son strung out on crack. Me? I'm sorry but I do. In fact, it's about the only guarantee I have.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

To Hell and Back in 6 Weeks

Oh sweet God. Am home from Mexico. Which means my holiday is over. Which means it's back to reality (why does reality have to be such an insufferable bitch all the time?). Which means there is nothing to make the next 6 weeks go by any faster. Nope, time has marched to a standstill and now it feels like, 6 weeks, 6 years - IT'S ALL THE SAME AT THIS POINT.

Let me tell you about all of the suckage of being 34 weeks pregnant. First of all - I'm fat. I'm no longer just pregnant looking. I'm actually fat. My face rolls into my neck. My thighs have this rippling layer over top of them. I think I'm getting stretch marks on my back, for God's sake. Then there's the heartburn. At this point, it's near constant. Which I could deal with if it weren't for the terrible constant pain underneath the right side of my rib cage. Seriously, why does this child insist on wedging his foot up in there? Is it just to piss of his mother?

But it doesn't end there. Oh, no. The back pain is merciless, especially in my lower back. Positions be damned - flat on my back, sitting, standing, fetal position - ALL ARE UNCOMFORTABLE. Then there are the baby hiccups which inevitable start up at 2am and can no longer be considered cute. Not when they make my entire stomach jump every 1.3 seconds.

Yet there's more: I can no longer get a full breath of air. And that is a horrible feeling, particularly when it's not like I'm even exerting myself. Like who knew driving was a work-out? But the way I pant as I drive around town is ludicrous. I also grunt a lot too. Getting up from the couch? Requires a grunt. Bending down to pick up a leaf that Lucy has tracked in? An even louder grunt. Picking up my husband's shoes that he's left by the back door in disarray? Well, this requires both a grunt and a tongue-lashing aimed in his direction.

Oh, I could whine on and on about this pregnancy (Braxton-Hicks contractions - you are a slut). But what's the point. Sharing my misery won't make it any less, well, miserable. And worse yet, I have no choice but to suck it all up. I have 6 more weeks of this shit! It's only going to get worse. And really, I shouldn't complain because as I've said before, in the big-pregnancy-scheme-of-things, mine has been a walk in the park. Now just knock on wood that my labour and delivery will be the same.

One more thing to note, however: LIBIDO IS STILL IN HIDING. Am getting worried. Perhaps it's lost? Or been kidnapped? Should I put an ad for it on some milk cartons?

Charkins wants to know why I don't have any pregnancy cravings. And I don't really have an answer for that other than that it's very disappointing for me as well. I was all prepared to crave pickle chips and send my husband out for a Quarter Pounder at midnight. This has yet to happen. I crave chocolate but no more than I always have.

As for actual baby preparation, I am pretty much ready to go. I mean, we're still waiting for his nursery carpet to come in. And I'm having a helluva time trying to track down a car seat base. I've also ordered a few things down in the States that I need to pick up but otherwise, we are ready as we'll ever be for our LB.

Oh, except for diapers and stuff! This weekend I plan to do all my baby pharmaceutical shopping, i.e. diaper wipes and baby Tylenol and Q-tips. I am ridiculously excited about this. I don't know why. It creeps me out a little too but still, I have my list all ready and I am chomping at the bit to hit up Superstore's Baby Department and buy myself some diapers already!

Wow. Apparently I am incapable of talking about anything other than this pregnancy. Like, I could write about my trip to Mexico but then all I would want to talk about is how many weird/uncomfortable looks I got on the beach as I strolled along in my bikini with my 8 month belly exposed. Or how this one older lady did at least come up to me as I walked along with my white stomach hanging out for all the world to see, and said, "Good for you!" Or how I tried to dig myself a hole in the sand so I could lay on my belly (something I miss so achingly much) and it was disappointingly uncomfortable in approximately 32 seconds. Or how I read like 2.5 books while I was gone, a far cry from my 8 book record that I earned during my week-long stay down there last May. But I needed to nap! And reading made me sleeping! Or how I was awoken from one nap to see this Mexican man peering down over me as he told Adders how beautiful I was pregnant. That was a bit creepy. So see? Even all my Mexican stories can be related to my pregnancy. Except the Mexican wasp sting, but even that was made all the more dramatic by my pregnancy, what with the collapsing and sobbing on the beach due to the intense pain, and the crowd gathered around, wondering if they'd actually get to see me give birth right then and there.

So basically I am consumed by this pregnancy now and it's all I can think about, all I can discuss. I have become a pregnant cliche and the world's most annoying person, I realize. But it's not my fault. 6 weeks that equal into an eternity while you can do nothing but grunt is enough to make anyone annoying.

Tuesday, March 09, 2010

Perplexed about Parenthood

As this pregnancy slowly draws to a close (emphasis on the word SLOOOOOOWLY. So slowly that I actually wonder if time has stopped altogether), you would think my thoughts would naturally turn to labour and delivery, or more accurately, panicking about labour and delivery. And while it's true that I do spend a certain amount of time wondering about what it's going to be like, I've been surprised by two things.

First of all, I am usually a realist about most things. I like to prepare myself for the worst so I can be pleasantly surprised when the world doesn't crash to an end like I had anticipated. Yet in this circumstance, I fear I am doing the opposite. Maybe I'm so worried about psyching myself out that I am only thinking somewhat neutral or happy thoughts - how Adders better brush up on his massage skills (we should be practicing for at least an hour each night, I reckon), how delicious that Big Extra and Large Fry is going to taste once I've pushed a 7lb baby through my vagina, and how unbelievably AMAZING it's going to feel to hold this little squalling newborn in my arms and think, "Holy shit! I made him! And he's all mine!"

And yet, I can't claim that I have somehow achieved a zen personality where I am able to control my thoughts and only think happy, positive things. Oh, no. Because instead of focusing on the impending doom of vaginal terror that is otherwise known as labour, I am instead focused on "Sweet baby Jesus, can someone tell me how to be a good parent?" That is the focus of all my stress, all my worries, all my prayers. And I'm not even talking about basic stuff, like how to breastfeed or how often I bathe him (sidenote: how often DO you bathe a baby? Every day? Twice a day? Once a week? Someone tell me before I fail at motherhood!). I'm talking more along the lines of, "How do I make sure my kid is not addicted to meth and turning tricks by the time he's 8 years old?"

It's crazy to think this way because really don't think it's even possible to know what kind of parent I'm going to be at this point. And so much of parenting is determined by the kid itself. But therein lies the problem. I was such a good girl growing up. Oh, I'm not without my sins. And I was a little hellion when I was a toddler (think temper tantrums that may have ended with me foaming at the mouth). But as far as being obedient, I was a perfect child. I practiced my piano dutifully each day. I never even tried a cigarette until I was 24 (and even then it was like a puff). When I was 10 or 11 my mom told me I wasn't allowed to watch "Pretty Women" because it created unrealistic expectations in women. It took me until like Grade 12 to work up the courage to disobey her edict. I always got A's in school and was an extremely concientious student. As for Adders, well, he may not have been quite the goody-goody that I was (and still am!), but as far as teenage rebellion goes, he was an exemplarly kid. Got good grades, was close with his parents and siblings, always had a part-time job, went to parties but never got too wild, graduated and immediately chose a career path and stuck with it.

But my fear is that we're going to somehow produce this wild child that neither of us can relate to and what then? WHAT THEN?!! And yes, of course, I know the answer: God, spirituality, prayer, yes, I believe! And I will do that (hell, I've already started). Yet nevertheless, I still have a hard time wondering how I will do the physical aspect of parenting. Like what books/movies/video games do I make verboten? I'm not interested like some parents in being LB's "friend" per se, but no one wants to be an over-bearing parent either. You have to allow the kid some freedom and growth. But how do you find the right balance?

It doesn't help - well, maybe it does - I don't know. Nevertheless, I have big shoes to fill. Just like every other parent in the world, my Mom wasn't always perfect in her role as "mom." And our relationship has certainly had to endure some hardships over the years as we struggled to transition from a mother/daughter relationship where I was (albeit quite contentedly) very controlled to a more relationship of equals. But all in all, she's pretty much the best mom anyone could ask for. She was fun, she was wise, she was strict but she was laidback. No one was more terrifying than her but the respect she commanded was part of what made her so amazing (it's odd to talk about her in the past tense like she's dead because she's not! She's alive and well and still as awesome as ever but I'm referring to her from the viewpoint of my childhood). And if I do say so myself, not many mothers out there have accomplished what she has: three happy, well-adjusted, God-fearing kids, all while keeping her marriage intact as well.

It wasn't always easy. She herself would attest to the blood, sweat and tears and, above all else, the enormous amount of prayer and trust in God that it took to raise us three successfully. But she did it. So how do I do it? How do I do it when I don't feel like I'm the spiritual giant that she is? How do I do it when I already recognize that I'm much more over-bearing than she is, and uptight about things she didn't concern herself with (tidy house, etc). No seriously, how do I? Because in comparison, labour seems like a walk in the park compared with navigating the trials and tribulations of raising a happy, normal kid.

Sigh. Why am I doing this again? Oh, right. Baby thighs that I can munch on.

Friday, March 05, 2010

Lolita or Pollyanna

Is there anything worse than a goody-two-shoes? Seriously, admit it, we all hate anyone who tries to act morally superior to us. Charkins can famously recall a time when we were like 14, at the height of our obsession with Hugh Grant (we had a binder of newspaper and magazine clippings dedicated to him and Brad Pitt – yes, we were creepy). My parents had gone away for the night and so we decided to rent this avant-garde film that he starred in, I believe it was called “Night Train to Venice.” Anyhow, the movie was just bizarre. I believe there was like a rape scene and other sex scenes in it. I really can’t recall that much about it except that it was very European and “arty”, way beyond our scope of understanding (which I think was the problem in the first place – the movie wasn’t necessarily “bad”, it was just much too old for us) and kind of boring. Charkins kept saying that we should turn it off, but whether this was because her conscience was bothering her or she just wanted to go to sleep like every other time we watched a movie past 10pm, I don’t know. Nevertheless, I insisted we keep watching. Did we finish it? I can’t recall. But the next day when my parents got home, my mom asked us what we did. I casually mentioned that we had watched a lame Hugh Grant movie. Charkins, however, piped up with the news that it was actually a terrible film, sinful even, and that SHE had wanted to turn it off… I shot her a death glare and later chewed her out for being, what else, a goody goody, to which she bowed her head in shame.

So see? No one likes a Pollyanna. And yet, suddenly that’s what I’ve become in my marriage with Adders. Now, I can’t really say if it has anything to do with the fact that I’m about to become a “mom” in two months. Or whether it’s the fact that for the past 8 months I’ve really started to get serious with God again but either way I find that I am suddenly much more “uptight” about things that I used to not blink an eye at. First there’s the cursing. Now, I have always had a bit of a potty-mouth and have no problem with a high-pitched exclamation of “ohmygod!” or the words shit or fuck (although I readily acknowledge that there is a time and place for it, and my God, fuck shouldn’t be used as an adjective in every sentence that you mutter – that’s just crass). I’ve even uttered my share of “goddamns” even though this curse was considered verbatim when I was growing up (my mother to my 13 year old self who had just muttered goddammit at her: “Don’t ever use that word! God doesn’t damn anything! HELL FOR YOU!” or something to that effect).

And yet, in the past few weeks I’ve noticed that whenever Adders has gotten angry about something, like missing the first 10 minutes of the Russia/Canada hockey game because I had used up all the milk that morning and he had to run to the corner store to get some as we needed it in a recipe for dinner, he shouts a string of “Jesus Christs” and “Goddammits” and wow, do I cringe. The hairs on my back literally stand up. It upsets me so much, even though, does Jesus really care? I don’t know. Maybe. But I do. It completely bothers me. Even last night making dinner together, Adders was throwing around curse words even though he was doing it in a stupid playful joking way. But I couldn’t resist the impulse to ask him to stop. I even pulled out the baby card: “You have to stop swearing so much! The baby is going to mimic you and how embarrassing if his first words are ‘fuck’.” Adders laughed and didn’t seem to mind my nagging that much, but as much as I was cringing at his cursing, I was also cringing at my rebuking of it.

But wait. It gets worse. So we have satellite TV and once in a while late at night there will be some show, whether it be on the Discovery Channel or Spike TV, that is basically a documentary on some whackjob that features soft-porn sex. Now I have always had two conflicting views on pornography. On the one hand, I think it can be a terrible, horrible, evil thing, leading to unrealistic expectations in men, the degradation of women, and the encouragement of meaningless, soul-less sex. Plus, hello, addiction! However, like many things in life, used in moderation I also realize it can be used as a periodic tool in the bedroom to add a little bit of spice in that department. I mean, it’s a natural human curiousity to want to watch people having sex, we all enjoy being titillated, and if you channel that in a healthy and respectful way between a couple, is it a bad thing? I don’t know. I used to say no.

And yet last night Adders got home from the gym around 10pm and came and sat beside me on the couch, flicking through the channels to see what was on. He stopped on some program that was, not-surprisingly, a documentary about some crazy (and butt-ugly) woman who makes porn on the side in order to fund her bisexual/transgender art gallery. So it showed the cameras filming her sex scenes with various women and men and wow, was I ever horrified. I mean, first of all, part of the problem was the type of sex they were having. There was nothing loving, sensual or even erotic about it. It was literally like watching two animals hump. There was biting and scratching and clawing at one another’s boobs, there was sucking each other’s assholes which was so disturbing I gaped in horror at Adders. But whereas before, I would have tsked tsked but still been interested (and admittedly a bit turned on) because hey! Crazies having sex! It’s like watching a car crash – you can’t help but stare, absolutely fixated. Yet last night, oh no, last night I was just disturbed. And sad. I frowned and told Adders to turn the channel, while commenting, “How do people get like that? How sad is it when sex rules your life, and instead of being just one itty bitty aspect of who you are, it somehow becomes your entire identity. How depressing to live your life so much in the physical.”

The people in the documentary seemed so stunted to me, like they were stuck in the throes of puberty, consumed by a sexuality that they don’t have any perspective on. And yet, Adders just kind of laughed and said, “Oh, Courty, stop being so uptight.” He also likened their wholehearted embrace of the physical to being just as twisted as people who live their entire life in the spiritual. I didn’t say anything in reply (was that a shot at me? Perhaps) but instead decided I would head to bed instead.

But this morning I thought long and hard about that incident and what my role should be. I am the spiritual leader in our household, and as horrifyingly icky as that statement sounds (and trust me, I know it sounds SOOOOO icky and creepy), it’s the truth. I need to set the standard and rules for what’s acceptable or not, for what we believe in, what we stand for, and where we draw the line. Of course, this is going to change over the years, both for Adders and me and for our family as we raise kids together. But it’s going to be up to me to set the benchmark. And yet, how do I do that without being, well, a goody goody? What is acceptable and okay? Is a tasteful porn movie once in a blue moon when Adders and I feel like getting frisky morally kosher? Do I chastise my husband for his “Jesus Christs”, hoping it builds awareness and respect or am I instead alienating him from God even further with my constant nagging and morality? And my God, I haven’t even begun to anticipate the struggle of being a parent – what movies/video games/books/magazine, even friends, are acceptable and what aren’t.

No seriously, how do you stay spiritually pure while also living a physical life? I was raised in the church my entire life, I’ve always had a relationship with God, I’ve always been more or less a “good” girl. And yet I feel like I’ve now been called to a higher standard. But how do you walk at a higher level if you still have to maintain an intimate relationship with someone who isn’t there yet? How do you still have fun and remain appealing/relevant to someone, while also being intimate with God? I don’t want to be a goody-goody. I want my husband to be able to relate to me and for us to have fun together, whether it be in the bedroom or elsewhere. I want to be able to watch a movie or a TV show or listen to music and not get uptight. I also don’t want to raise my kids with guilt over sex or other hang-ups. But I do want Adders to understand that that lady on the show last night? Maybe her physical body was writhing in ecstasy as it was bitten and scratched, but her spirit, oh her little spirit, was sitting in the corner, absolutely hopeless and dejected. And it was heart-breaking to see.

Thursday, March 04, 2010

9 weeks to go, why God, why?

Oh sweet God, how am I ever going to endure 9 more weeks? I am officially “over” this pregnancy. I’m over having nothing to wear and always feeling ugly. I’m over having to wake up multiple times to pee throughout the night. I am over having to wake up just to change positions multiple times throughout the night. I am SO over my bad skin and blubbery thighs. I am even over the once adorable kicks to my ribs and abdomen because now, holy fuck, they hurt! But wait! I’m not finished complaining! I’m over the bone-crushing exhaustion that had taken a brief hiatus during the 2nd trimester but has now returned with a vengeance. And I’m over how bloody hard it is to get in and out of my vehicle. Or to, you know, bend down and pick up a sock. I am over it taking me twice as long to walk the dog because I now officially waddle. And I am over always feeling slightly out of breath. I am over putting the slightest thing in my mouth and suffering the horrible pain of heartburn, forcing me to down as many Rolaids as possible in quick succession. Lastly, I am really over having a non-existent libido because dammit, I miss sex with my husband (even though the neck rubs he gives in replacement are mighty nice too).

All in all, I am done. And yet apparently I’m not because hidey ho I still have over two months to go. Although I’ve started to tell LB that while he certainly must stay put while mommy takes her Mexican vacation next week, he is free to show up any time after that, provided his lungs are good to go. He hasn’t said anything in reply, but I hope he understands. Right now he’s dancing a jig for no apparent reason. No for reals, my belly is terrifying to watch at this moment. He is literally trying to make off with my belly.

Next week we leave for Mexico. Apparently this makes us crazy because everyone seems to think it’s a foregone conclusion we’re going to end up delivering the baby down there or something. I’m not worried. In fact, I’d be more worried if we weren’t going away, as in “hide all sharp objects from Miss Courty.” I don’t know – maybe it’s the hormones, or sleep deprivation, or just the fact that it’s March and ugly outside and my new blonde highlights aren’t blonde enough and I can’t even go spring shopping as a pick-me-up, but wow, am I depressed. Not depressed depressed. I did manage to clothe myself and haven’t cried in probably 3 days. But I feel like I’m in purgatory. Work is now boring. This pregnancy is simply uncomfortable. And literally I have run out of baby items to research on the internet. Even my nesting is slowing down because hi! I CAN’T FREAKING BEND DOWN TO CLEAN ANYTHING UP! Have I mentioned how exhausted I am?

Although I can’t blame it all on the pregnancy. I had a busy past couple of weeks, which included two trips to Richmond for work-related Olympic stuff. My days were long and filled with the most taxing of all things – being nice to people, including the annoying ones. Is it any wonder that I’m a wreck?! We all know how trying being gracious is for me!

The one thing that was interesting during my time at the Olympics was that I got to use public transportation a fair bit. Now I’m not a public transit kind of girl. And it’s really truly not because of the snob in me. It’s because I’ve never really lived anywhere that public transit was required. Even during my university years in Montreal, I used the Metro sparingly as most places I frequented were in walking distance. And I think I used the bus like all of 3 times during my 4 years there. But considering that I was staying out in Richmond and my mom was downtown Vancouver, I was forced to use the Sky Train and bus many times during my stay there the past two weeks.

Of course, because of the Olympics, the Sky Train was always packed and seats were nearly impossible to get. Before I even boarded, I always wondered how long it would take for someone to offer me their seat, and if it would be a male/female/young/old. About a month ago, my parents, Adders and myself took a day trip down to Spokane and ended up at a Red Lobster for dinner (which BLECH. I am having dry heaves just thinking about that meal). Being a Saturday night, we had to wait for a table, along with a bunch of other families. My mom and I must have stood for 10 minutes before finally a man in his late 30’s noticed me and offered me his chair. I declined, although I profusely thanked him (we had been driving all day so it felt good to stand for a bit).

But back to my time in Vancouver – every time save once on a bus I was offered a seat. Maybe not straight away but definitely by the 3rd stop or so, someone would notice me and offer me their spot. And yet surprisingly there was no definable age/gender/race that did the offering. Once it was a woman in her 30’s, another time it was an older Chinese fellow. One guy was an American man in his 50’s, another little Asian woman in her 40’s. The only age bracket that consistently did NOT offer me a seat was those assholey teenagers and early 20’s folks. Which pissed me off because all those stupid 16 year old boys did NOT need to be sitting down, and as a result they all received death stares from me. What was funny though is that often times people who were sitting (while I was still standing) would see me, make eye contact and then quickly look away, as if they KNEW that they should offer me their seat but oh God, they sooooo didn’t want to and so would pretend they hadn’t noticed me and my enormous belly. Jerks!

Anyhow, so that’s my story. In short – I am over this pregnancy, I am depressed and blah because I am over this pregnancy (and also because it’s March), I am SOOOOOO thankful (hallelujah!) that I leave for Mexico in less than a week (oh, that beach! I can hardly wait!), and society still encourages people to give up their seats for pregnant ladies and thus we have not completely gone to hell in a handbasket.

That is all for now. Over & out.