Where there's a Will...

I wrote our Last Will and Testament recently. It includes very little about assets (pretty easy to gloss over that part when you don't have many of them) and details about things that are so adult and mature and responsible they make my head spin. Things like who will be our child's guardian if something catastrophic were to happen to both Matthew and me? Who will be the executor of our will/estate? Who will be the secondary guardian if something catastrophic happens to the primary guardian? What do we want our advanced healthcare directive to say? When do we want artificial life support and when do we want nature to take its course (previously this was very cut & dried for me... but previously I didn't have a baby on the way - that changes everything)? These are things that are important to get into writing, even though the mere thought is extremely painful.

I wrote it out while Matthew was at a meeting and then we went over it when he got home. It's so basic, it hardly took any time at all, but it was tough to do. Our only assets as 30-somethings who rent our home are our car, M's guitars, and my retirement accounts. Not much when you add it all up. The easy part was thinking about who would get what should we both die. That took all of 5 minutes. The difficult part was typing out who would care for our child if we're both gone. The answer to that question is so obvious that it took a split second to make, but it took about half an hour and many lumps in the throat to type up.

Understatement: It's hard to think about your own mortality. It's even harder to think about not being around to raise your unborn child. Does it get heavier than that? I don't think so. Sitting down and writing up the plan for your child's care if you're dead is an awful thing to have to do. But it had to be done. No question about it. It wouldn't be right for us to skip along willy nilly and not have anything in writing - it would be irresponsible.

So, after our very adult evening spent writing up our Will we had a very adult conversation with 2 of our best friends this past weekend. Conveniently, they're married to each other, so that works out well. One was asked to be our executor and the other was asked to be the secondary guardian (in case my sister in law, the primary guardian, isn't around) with the understanding that they act as a partnership and do both as a team. We cried about it, we laughed about it, and then we ate lunch. They were honored and we were relieved and now it all feels exactly as it did before - we always assumed these friends would take care of our kid if we kicked it, but assuming and knowing are two different things. It's important to have it in writing and have the understanding out in the open.

I encourage you to write up a little something about what you'd like to happen if something awful were to happen to you even if you don't have children. It's amazing how emotions cloud family members' judgment when catastrophe comes calling and it's better for all involved to lay it out on paper. It's no picnic to do, but you'll be glad you did.

I know you didn't just toss that.

Lyn reminded me of something I meant to write about here last week and then life got in my way. Let's hop in the way-back machine and go to last Wednesday. I'll set the scene...

I was walking to the subway around 4PM to go into Manhattan to get a massage. Have I mentioned that my massage therapist is also my doula? It's such a sweet deal. Anyway, back to the matter at hand. I was walking to the train and it was broad daylight. For some reason, that strikes me as a very important part of the story. Broad daylight, folks. I was headed down the block and a teenager approaching from the opposite direction took the last sip from his Snapple bottle, put the cap back on, and when he was about 10' from me he tossed it on the ground.

He. Tossed. It. On. The. Ground.

This goes back to the broad daylight comment - it was not dark, it was not in a bad part of town, the kid was not the only person on the block at the time. In fact, there was a middle aged man walking right behind him who said nothing. The man said not a word. So, if you know anything about me at all, you know that I 1) cry at the drop of a hat, 2) really hate puking, and 3) believe wholeheartedly that it is up to each of us as individuals to stand up and speak up when we see things happening that are not OK by our societal standards. If we don't do #3 we (the royal WE) are destined to let bad crap happen over and over until we decay into the kind of people none of us want to be.

Again, back to the matter at hand. The young man tossed his bottle on the ground and I look to the older man to say something. I wasn't looking for an out, I just happen to think that perhaps a few guiding words from an older black man would have more of an affect on a black teenaged male than those same words from a 31 yr old me. The man said nothing, so I realized quickly that it was my responsibility to speak up.

"I'm sure you accidentally dropped that bottle, my friend. I'm sure you didn't just toss that."

Silence, the kid kept walking but glanced back at me.

"You really think it's OK to toss your trash around this neighborhood? We both live here and I'll tell you right now that's not OK."

At this point people are looking at me, but no one is looking at the kid and no one is joining in what should be a chorus of sane voices speaking up against ridiculous behavior.

"Alright, I see how you want to play this one. I'll pick this up for you this time since your mother clearly isn't here to clean up after you and I refuse to live in a neighborhood covered in trash. I'm bending down now (getting louder at this point to make sure he can hear me halfway down the block) to pick up your trash. All 9 months pregnant of me, cleaning up after your sorry self. I really hope your mother doesn't know you act this way. Have a great day!"

I picked up the bottle, carried it to the corner, deposited it into someone's recycling bin and that's when I heard the laughter. There was a teenaged couple walking behind me laughing and I heard the boy say to the girl, "Yo, she picked up that fucking bottle, yo! She fucking picked that shit up! Hahahahaha!"

"It's funny to you? It's not funny to me, and it wasn't hard, either. I picked up someone else's mess because I live here. Did you grow up here? Do you want this place where you grew up to look like shit because someone else is too selfish and lazy to take care of his own business? I bet you don't. I'm sure you don't want that."

Another important note in this story is that I didn't get heated. My tone of voice was calm and assertive, but not aggressive. No use in acting like a crazy person just because I'm pissed off. You do far more good when you're calm than you do when you're irate and just screaming at folks. It's like when I need a seat on the subway because I'm hugely pregnant and people are acting like they don't notice or acting like they're sleeping (mmm hmm, both of those happen all the time). I don't get all huffy. Instead, I calmly go to the largest, strongest man sitting down and ask politely if he would mind giving me his seat. "Excuse me, sir? Would you mind if I took your seat? I hate to ask, but I'm 9 months pregnant and my balance is pretty awful." It works every time. No yelling, no crazy antics. That man (and everyone else on the train) is far more likely to notice the next pregnant woman and give her a seat instead of remembering the loony pregnant chick they saw on the train yelling at some dude.

Moral of the story? Do good, be good. When you see something that doesn't fall into either category, calmly encourage the person doing it to reconsider. You just might make a real difference. It's not as gratifying as screaming in outrage in the exact moment it's happening, but 30 seconds later you'll feel so good you might surprise yourself.

Squeeze, cramp, spasm, repeat.

Braxton-Hicks contractions are strange. I started having them about 2 weeks ago. The midwives say everything is A-OK in there, so I'm not worried about them. They're just strange. The first time it happened I knew right away what it was and I didn't freak out at all. I just had to lean against a gate on my walk home and take some deep breaths.

I know now all those books we've read really have sunk in. Pretty amazing. I feel we're prepared. Well, we're as prepared as we can be. Which is to say that we are well educated about childbirth and we are armed with copious information.

That wonderful education also means that we are fully prepared to know absolutely nothing once labor actually starts. Flexibility is the key. We're ready to throw it all out the window at a moment's notice and take each moment as it comes. I think that's mainly why I'm not scared. Labor doesn't scare me. Delivery doesn't scare me. I'm prepared for it to be painful and tough and amazing and beautiful and weird and disturbing and fulfilling all at the same time. Sounds simple, right? *wink*

Pardon me. I need to go rub some oil on my belly. My belly button is flush with the rest of me now and it feels like it will pop out at any moment.

Talk is sometimes more than cheap

If you've been coming here for awhile, or even if you're new to my world, chances are you know I'm a big sap. I cry a lot. I cry when the wind blows, when I'm sick, when I'm happy, when I'm sad, when I'm overwhelmed, when I'm hurt, when I see touching commercials on TV (damn you, Walmart at Christmastime!).

It's no surprise that I cry a lot lately. This kidlet cooking in my insides makes for a pretty fascinating hormonal ride. I'm up, I'm down, I'm up even higher, I'm down even lower. Luckily, as soon as I passed the 15 week mark I started ending up on the high notes and not on the low ones. The first 15 weeks were tough. Tough is an understatement.

"Tough" is one of those words you use when people ask you how you're doing and you don't want to say, "I've never experienced this kind of crushing, all-consuming depression before and I'm terrified that it will never go away." You don't want to say that to people because it's scary. It's scary for them to hear and it's scary for you to say because then you're acknowledging it. It becomes too real.

I've read a couple medical studies done with pregnant women in different parts of the world and they've found that perinatal (during pregnancy) depression is as common, if not more common, than postpartum (after birth) depression. Postpartum depression (PPD) has been getting more media attention in the past handful of years since more women have been willing to be open about how they're feeling rather than hide their extreme emotions out of shame. The attention is good, but there also needs to be a discussion in the medical and mental health communities about perinatal depression. It's a real thing. I've been there.

For the first 15 weeks of my pregnancy I didn't want to get out of bed in the morning, let alone see friends or family, go to work, interact with people. I didn't want to have a conversation with anyone because I felt that the only thing anyone ever asked me about was the baby. It's understandable, but it made me feel like I was disappearing. I felt as if Melissa was invisible and some strange incubator had taken her place. My identity was very shaky and malleable and the ground felt uneven under my feet all the time. Matthew saw it all first hand and he was amazing. He was nothing but supportive. I can't imagine having gone through that without him. Single women and even women in relationships with less than supportive partners have to endure their pain in silence, alone, without a support network. Something about that needs to change.

I've joined a support group in Brooklyn for PPD and perinatal depression and hope that it grows into something where I can volunteer to help other women who are going through what I went through. I'm monitoring my emotional and mental health on a daily basis and I'm listening to what my brain tells me. Once the baby comes it's that very monitoring that will let me know if I'm one of the millions of women across the world who suffers from PPD. Catching it early is important. If you know someone who has suffered from perinatal depression or PPD don't be afraid to talk to them about it. The more we talk about it, the less monstrous it becomes.

It's true, he really did

Photo courtesy of Jill Greenberg

Here is an interesting article giving the timeline of the cunt-calling and the video where McCain was recently asked about the '92 incident.

I wouldn't care if his vice presidential running mate were a woman with 14 breasts, 3 vaginas, and 17 children at her hip - her womanhood would not in any way encourage me to soften my stance on McCain's opinions and policies.

Lucky # 7

7 years ago today my husband ran through the streets of TriBeCa, a thin layer of ash and dust collecting on his skin and clothes. He called out to his friends, held the hands of strangers, pulled his dog into a building to escape the cloud of smoke and ash filling the street behind him.

7 years ago everything he knew about life and about New York changed. He was one of many. Many who were lucky and many who were devastated.

We will never forget. We need no bumper sticker or tribute video to remind us.

I read the news today, oh boy...

My previous post elicited some pleas in the comments (and even a couple emails!) for news about what this thing is I feel I've been called to do. Well, let's just say that I will be volunteering for a group that advocates on behalf of pregnant women in some pretty dire circumstances.

I am in the throes of a pregnancy that has thrown me for more loops than I can count and I know that I couldn't get through the hard times without my amazing support system and my wonderful midwives. The moment of clarity I had last weekend happened quickly. I was sitting at home, watching TV, nothing major happening at the time. It hit me like lightning that I am extremely lucky to be receiving the high level of care that I've gotten since the day we found out I was pregnant.

Many women, even some in my own neighborhood, don't get prenatal care. If they do get some care it's typically not of the caliber I've received. I know about my options. I know that there are birthing options available to me and that I don't have to go along with the dramatized television version of childbirth. I don't have to lie down on a bed with an IV in my arm and have men in white coats yell at me to push push push! Did you know that lying down is one of the hardest positions for giving birth? Why do so many women in this country think that's the way they should do things? Because they're told so by TV, the media, and even some medical staff. The uterus has a drive angle just like a piston and when the drive angle is off it makes pushing the baby out far more difficult. When you lie down to give birth you are essentially pushing your baby out uphill. I don't know about you, but I want the option to make things as easy as possible on myself.

I've bought books and I have friends who have given me great literature about pregnancy, birth, and babies. I have access to so much information it blows my mind. Every pregnant woman doesn't have the kind of surplus of information that I have and it's a severe imbalance. It's not only a question and economy and class and race and culture. It's a question of age and social circumstance and support network and employment.

Every pregnant woman should have access to what I have access to. No woman should think her only option is to wander to the closest ER when she goes into labor and settle for whichever obstetric team is on staff. No woman should have to be alone during the most intense experience of her life. No woman should be brushed aside because she looks different or she is poor or she speaks another language or she is scared of deportation. Each pregnant woman should be given the same respect I am given by my care provider.

I knew I needed to do something. I have bigger plans for the future, but for now I did some research and emailed an organization in NYC that I really respect. The Executive Director emailed me back the next morning. I meet with her on Tuesday. I couldn't be happier about it. This is going to be hard work and I am looking forward to it like you wouldn't believe.

Next time won't you sing with me?

Amazed. Bewildered. Captivated. Delighted. Excited. Frenzied. Gaga. Hopeful. Intimidated. Jubilant. K. L. Marvelous. Neurotic. Overwhelmed. Piqued. Questioning. Rapturous. Shocked. Terrified. Unbelieving. Victorious. Wondering. X. Y. Z.

My ABCs of pregnancy. Anyone have any suggestions for K, L, X, Y, or Z?

Complacency

It’s a word that drives me nuts. Complacency. I despise it. To me, it’s the worst trait we have developed as Americans. As citizens of the world, actually. Complacency makes us decide that the path of least resistance is the best course. Complacency makes it easy for us to do nothing. We don’t speak up. We don’t react well. Proactivity? What’s that?

I am tired of complacency. I want people to speak up. I want people to stop thinking they can’t change anything, so it’s not worth it to even try. As a kid, if I was doing something wrong I expected adults to reprimand me. For the record, as a kid, the worst thing I did was chase a neighbor boy down the street and occasionally cut through someone’s yard when I shouldn’t have. Those minor infractions got me a scolding by adult neighbors. I deserved it. That was everyone’s neighborhood and everyone had a stake in it. You can’t have kids running through peoples’ yards and trampling flower beds. They were right to speak up.

So why is it so rare for people to speak up nowadays? Is it our general fear of a lawsuit? We are an insanely litigious society that sues for the most ridiculous things. I can understand someone not wanting to get involved in a situation because they don’t want to deal with the ramifications of engagement. But I still think that’s bogus logic. Is it our media-fueled fear of violence that makes us hang back? Whatever it is, it’s absurd.

People don’t speak up when they see something wrong happening. This past weekend Matthew was waiting outside the grocery with Duke while I picked up a few things. A kid of about 7 or 8 walked over and shoved Duke. He just walked up to the dog, grabbed his hips, and shoved him. Matthew saw this kid’s father standing about 20’ away talking on his cell phone. He grabbed the kid by the arm and marched him over to his dad. The guy wouldn’t acknowledge that Matthew was standing there. He had to tell the guy to get off the phone and pay attention. If a stranger had my kid by the arm you better believe I’d be paying attention! He told the guy he needed to explain to his son that it is dangerous to antagonize a dog, especially one you don’t know, and that if his kid had done that to another dog he very well could have been bitten. They guy acted like he didn’t speak English (he was speaking English a little later when I saw him) and turned his back on Matthew to continue his phone call. Matthew told the kid’s sister, who was also there being ignored by their father, that her brother could get seriously hurt and that she should keep an eye on him until their dad got off the phone.

Later that same day we were in the city and a handicapped access bus was parked on 8th Ave. The doors opened and trash started flying out onto the street. The doors closed. Not being one to see something wrong happen and say nothing about it, I marched up to the bus doors and knocked with a big smile on my face. “Why did you do that?” Bus driver responded, “What are you talking about?” I explained that I saw him toss trash onto the street and I was wondering when he was going to pick it up. He said he didn’t do it, even though he was holding the empty plastic bag he had just dumped out. An exchange followed, in which I told him that no one is so entitled that they can litter… I said I live here, too, and I don’t want to have trashy streets… he said if I was so concerned that I should pick it up... he called me a bitch and told me to fuck off… I said my husband had written down his plate # and that we were going to call and complain, just as soon as I picked up his mess because even though it was his responsibility it would be wrong for me to just leave his garbage on the street. He drove away screaming obscenities at me and flipping me off. I’m calling today to make a formal complaint. I picked up all his trash because even though I didn’t put it there, this city and this planet are everyone’s responsibility. There happened to be an empty vodka bottle in the same pile. I don’t know if it was his or not, but you can be damn sure I’ll mention that I picked it up when I talk to the company. If I don’t get an acceptably concerned response from the company, I’ll call the police. Littering is illegal. I have the license plate #.

People cannot keep watching others do things that are wrong and say nothing about it. Get involved. Nothing will change if we all stand idly by. What’s that saying? Democracy fails when good men do nothing. Well, society in general suffers when we all get complacent. The problems are big, but that doesn’t mean that individual actions have no effect. Take the chance. Even if it makes no difference at least you’ll know you tried.

It's about time!

As of yesterday, California began performing and recognizing same-sex marriages. The first couple to wed in San Fransisco was a couple that has been together for more than 50 years. Del Martin, 87, and Phyllis Lyon, 84 got married. They actually married back in '04 during the brief window when CA said same-sex marriages were legal... only to later have that union invalidated.

These two women are an example of perserverence. They are an example that love can triumph and that committment can last. For more than 50 years they've shared their lives and been partners. That's all I can hope for my husband and I - that we reach the 50 year mark with as much tenacity and love as those women.

Yes.

Rep. Denis Kucinich from the great state of Ohio has introduced Articles of Impeachment to be exhibited to the United States Senate. The powers that be finally have proof enough on paper (after the report released this week) that our President and his cohorts conspired to start a war based on lies. This is the first step toward impeachment. Many people are outraged, most of the ones I know are thrilled. It is so obvious that our country invaded Iraq based on false information. False information was knowingly used to ramp up support for invasion even when there was nothing to back it up. Years have passed and thousands of people have been killed. I do not understand why there is a case to be made for the status quo. It is unfathomable to me that we would not impeach our president.

What pisses me off to no end is how loud and inattentive the House was during Rep. Kucinich's turn at the podium. Notice at :34 seconds how he has to tell Madame Speaker that the House wasn't in order. Why the hell wasn't she calling order again before he started speaking on her own accord?

Check, check... 1, 2, 1, 2

This and this and this all display varying degrees of my lack of patience. As if I needed to make it just a little more obvious...

It's only 9:28AM and I started checking my cell phone obsessively every few minutes around 7:30 just to make sure I haven't missed a phone call from HR at the company I hope will be making me an offer today.

I am pathetic.

At least I am aware of my own pathetic state. That might constitute progress on some level.

The previous sentence might constitute an utterly ridiculous attempt at justification.

Maybe.

**UPDATE**
I GOT THE OFFER. I got the call and the offer was superb, better than I'd hoped, actually. I've called my old NYC boss and told her about my resignation, but I haven't been able to get in touch with my current boss because she's been in meetings ever since she got online this morning. I'm making next Friday my last day and I'm not starting the new job until 6/2. That means I'll have a full week off between jobs. I've never done that before. I've always ended on a Friday and started the next gig on Monday. Not this time! This time I essentially gave myself a hefty raise, better benefits, and a week's vacay. I'm feeling pretty good right now.

Breath in, breath out

I kid you not - after the fiasco of yesterday's bonus ridiculousness I had to attend a pre-scheduled office meeting. The topic? Stress management.

I swear.

Stress freaking Management. Here's something that can help with stress management - paying people when you say you will. Telling the truth to your employees who count on you. Yep, that about does it.

Instead, they demonstrated varying techniques for mental and physical balance, which I actually respect because it's pretty new age-y and progressive for a corporate environment. Yoga, meditation, breathing techniques - all these things are methods I employ in my own life already, so to know they're being presented by office management is pretty awesome, but there's no way I can take it seriously. Sitting there at the other end of a virtual meeting with everyone else across the country, listening to the heavy breathing in the room as people practiced what was demonstrated I could do nothing but laugh. The expression "too little too late" applies perfectly.

This chick has a solid Warrior 2 and is ready to take her strong body to a new job.

I miss Shell Silverstein

Colors
by Shell Silverstein

My skin is kind of sort of brownish
Pinkish yellowish white.
My eyes are greyish blueish green,
But I'm told they look orange in the night.
My hair is reddish blondish brown,
But it's silver when it's wet.
And all the colors I am inside
Have not been invented yet.


Listen to The Mustn'ts
by Shell Silverstein

Listen to the MUSTN'TS, child,
Listen to the DON'TS
Listen to the SHOULDN'TS
The IMPOSSIBLES,
the WON'TS
Listen of the NEVER HAVES
Then listen close to me--
Anything can happen, child,
ANYTHING can be.


I needed all that advice today. I'm glad I looked him up.

How many more?

4,000 American soldiers dead since the Iraq War started. I don't feel much like blogging today.

I do not follow rules

Today, Feb. 29, is supposed to be the only "day off" from blogging in 2008 according to the rules of Blog 365. All participants are allowed this one freebie to rest our brains and fingers. But, you know me, I'm not a rules kind of girl (which is why I'm such an awful baker - because it is almost impossible for me to be disciplined enough to follow a recipe), so I'm taking this opportunity to blog anyway. Why? Masochism? Self-loathing? Nah. Just got the itch, so I'm going to scratch it. *scratch, scratch*

So, today is Leap Day. The day that only comes every 4 years. Actually, if we're being totally scientifically nerdy about it, Leap Day is a day that doesn't just come every 4 years. It's much more gradual and constant that that. It's not like the universe just decides to add a day every 4th year. It's more accurate to say that in our 365 day calendar we lose .2422 days each year and Leap Day is how we make up for lost time. Why do we need to make up for lost time anyway?

Well, our calendar is based on a tropical year (a.k.a. solar year), which is the time between 2 vernal equinoxes. What the hell is a vernal equinox? The vernal equinox is when the sun is right above the equator, on the way from the southern to the northern hemisphere. The time between vernal equinoxes isn't really a flat 365 day span. It's actually 365.2422 days long. You might think that the extra .2422 day per year isn't a big deal. It's only about 6 hours, after all. But, if you add up those 6 hours over a 100 year period we'd end up losing 24 whole days. That would make our seasons a mess! Here in the US we'd start to have Spring in late February instead of late March. That would mean that June would be really hot and November would be the dead of Winter rather than delightful Fall. Plus, as time passed it would be even more skewed and more skewed until eventually the seasons would get shifted backward and backward until they started all over in the months that we're familiar with today. Of course, we'd all be long dead and would never see it, but it's just not a good idea to let that happen.

There you have it, folks. Your science lesson for today. Courtesy of this big geek. Enjoy. Happy Friday. Happy Leap Day!

SUPER TUESDAY

As one of my wise blogging friends said recently... Tuesday is CHOOSEDAY.



Here in New York the polls open at 6AM and don't close until 9PM. Get there. It counts this time. This primary is important and your individual vote really matters. Complacency has had its day. This is our day. Time to take back the nation.

Words of wisdom from tinseltown

"Ever notice that 'what the hell' is always the right decision?"

- Unknown Hollywood script writer (obviously before the current strike)