Girl Talk Thursday 04

April 16, 2009 at 7:10 am (Girl Talk Thursday) (, , )

Girl Talk Thursday is Mommy Melee‘s weekly event, and I really love the thought, so here it comes: my thoughts on the topic of “Sex Shenanigans. Share an embarrassing story”!

There’s really only one to share, because it’s epic.

I’m twenty years old, living in an apartment in Connecticut.  This is the only time I’ve been entirely on my own, and it was awesome, if short-lived.  It’s the first day — or night, really — that Chris and I have physically met (we got together online!).  My mom had mentioned that she might come over and meet him, but after a lot of chatter, a little Red Sox watching, and a dinner of chicken cacciatore, it’s 9pm and we’ve finally decided that she’s not coming over.  So we start getting our groove on.  I’m pretty sure you can see where this is going.

I’m naked.  He’s naked.  It’s the beginning of July, I don’t have air conditioning, and it’s brutally humid.  I’ve got my front door and all of my windows open (I honestly can’t even tell you if my blinds were drawn) to try and get some nighttime air inside.  Of course, the fact that we’re doing the deed doesn’t really help the humidity per se, but that’s okay, we’re having fun.  Loudly.

He pauses.  “Did you hear something?”

“No…”

“I think I heard something,” he insists.

“No,” I repeat, and pull him close.

And then, to borrow a phrase from Meatloaf, LIKE A BAT OUT OF HELL, my mother comes storming into the living room where we are.  Chris leaps off me and, ass-naked, goes racing up the stairs.  I fumble around, grab my bathrobe (the one time in my life that my bad habit of leaving my wet towels wherever the hell I want to has come in handy), and physically get in front of her to block her.  She’s screaming: “IS THIS HOW YOU TREAT MY DAUGHTER” etc etc… I’m telling her to stop, to leave him alone, whatever.  I mean, this is terrifying.  I’ve never seen my mom like this.  Hell, I’m pretty sure she’s never seen me like this, in flagrante delicto and all.

Eventually, after much teeth gnashing, she leaves.  It turns out that my siblings are in the car with her, and she told them to stay there because she thought she heard “something” through my open windows when they pulled up (whoops).  Also, she tells me that maybe I should, you know, CLOSE THE FRONT DOOR if I’m going to be doing the nasty (whoops two).

Lesson learned, right?  But here’s the best part:

Chris, my 6’2″, 185lb brown belt in karate, has locked himself in the bathroom.  Because my mother, angry, is just that scary.

Yeah, I love you, Mom.

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36 Weeks 4 Days

January 22, 2009 at 7:19 am (Baby Stuff) (, , , , )

My midwife is coming over today for a home assessment, and bringing a homebirth kit along that will stay here… so I will take many pictures to post and share with you all!  I am supposed to try and avoid rearranging things too much, but I figure if I take pictures as I disassemble it, I can reassemble it well enough.  The house is presentable.  Our desks are disaster areas, but we’ve managed to keep the rest of the place in pretty good shape, so I’m not too worried about last-minute cleaning.  And honestly?  The woman’s gonna be, like, staring at my coochie, diving into it, and helping my baby arrive into this world, I don’t really need to try to impress her.  I just hope the dogs don’t pee on the carpet and make it smell.

A lady at Chris’ work was bemoaning the fact that she had so much baby stuff taking up room in her house, now that her youngest is 3 years old and has outgrown it all.  This “stuff” includes a little bouncer chair, a bathtub, a highchair, a swing, and a playpen.  And she gave it to us for free! Woooo!  I’m so happy!  The only ‘big’ things we are waiting on now are a bassinet, which my mom is getting, and a rocking chair or glider for me, which isn’t a need but would be really, really nice.  I’ve been keeping an eye on Craigslist for one but no luck so far.

I’m short of breath lately — forgot to write that in my last update.  The other day I had a pain in my sternum that went all the way through to my back and I had to breathe shallowly, but opening the window and walking around with my arms over my head helped that out after a few minutes.  I’m gassy, but that’s nothing new, that’s just the story of me being pregnant.  I don’t keep the window open ONLY because I’m overheated…

Also, I’m like super horny.  WTF?  I’m fucking 9 months pregnant, I waddle when I walk, my leg hurts when I move it sideways, my hands and ankles feel like sausages half the time, I haven’t shaved in months, my child likes to push her elbow out so far that I look like a spike of flesh is protruding from my side… and I want to have sex all the time?  Couldn’t this have happened earlier in my pregnancy?  The universe has a fucked up sense of humour.  I brought up sex to Chris the other day and he gave this nervous little chuckle like I really hope she’s not serious and changed the subject.  It’s okay, I would probably not be a very good partner, I’d lay there and be like “just fucking do it already and I swear to God if you make me go into labour THERE WILL BE HELL TO PAY”.  I can see how that’s not the most attractive attitude ever.

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How It All Happened (Minus the Details)

September 14, 2008 at 10:20 pm (Baby Stuff) (, , , , , )

This pregnancy is unplanned. It happened because I screwed up on my birth control, and we didn’t “play safe”. Unplanned, but not unwanted; every day, I dream about this little life we’ve made and I feel deeply at peace. For several years, I had no desire to have a baby — ever. Ever. Then Christmas 2007 rolled around, two weeks before my 25th birthday.

Every December, my mom sends me a Christmas ornament; every year, those ornaments sit in a box waiting for a tree to be hung on. Chris and I never buy a tree. Those ornaments never come out. I remember how much pride my mom took in her tree, with all of its mismatched old ornaments, lopsided garlands, and unevenly distributed tinsel — as we sat in Chris’ aunt’s house, with her perfectly manicured fake tree that could have come straight out of an L.L. Bean catalogue. It had been four years since I’d spent a Christmas with my family. I missed my cousins running around, I missed all the pets playing together; I missed the green bean casserole, the yams with marshmallows, the stress of preparing the house for dinner guests only to realize, once everyone was sitting together laughing, that blood is more important than the dust bunny in the corner that we missed.

I realized… for both Chris’ family and mine, the “new generation” hadn’t started yet. My mother’s house would be getting quieter every year as my siblings and cousins grew up, becoming more mature, carrying on more adult conversations. Most of us had grown out of sitting at the kid’s table.

I wanted a baby then, sitting there staring at this “perfect” Christmas tree with my husband at my side.

It didn’t seem right to want to bring a life into this world when I had hardly started my own — I have no “higher” education, nor do I have a job. Blame Immigration, whose red tape has kept my hands tied behind my back for nearly five years now. I didn’t tell Chris how my mind had changed; he didn’t say anything to me about wanting to start a family. We just coddled the dogs and spoiled each other. Still, our parents seemed eager for grandkids and the comments started coming: “I don’t want to push you, but when…” “That’s a big backseat … now all you need is a baby back there!” “I don’t think I’ll ever be a grandma…” We smiled and bore these comments, shaking them off with a casual “Oh, maybe someday!”

We didn’t intend to become parents for at least another three-four years. I needed to get my residency status here in Canada, get a part-time job, start school, get some sort of diploma/degree, find a career, and THEN have a baby. Our life just didn’t seem stable or adult enough to fit a child into, and I felt confident in our plan.

Sometimes women know when they’re pregnant. I knew within the next week. Something just clicked in my brain; maybe it was more that there was virtually no way I could not be pregnant (we are a hyper-fertile couple). I knew, when I went to a friend’s birthday party weekend at the beginning of June, that I should avoid drinking. When I went to visit my family in mid-June, I hadn’t taken a pregnancy test, I wasn’t suffering from any symptoms of pregnancy other than a vague fatigue in mid-afternoon, but I knew. My period was late. This, in and of itself, wasn’t a worry to me; I had never kept track of my cycle and figured that I was just remembering the week incorrectly. So when Chris, via MSN Messenger, asked if I’d started my period yet and then, in a shaky follow-up, “When should we start worrying?” I had already settled in my heart that I was pregnant: A few days ago…? I replied.

“What do you want to do?”

Long ago, I had made up my mind: unless there were extenuating health-related circumstances, I would not abort my husband’s baby. We’re adults. If we make the choice to have unprotected sex, then we make the choice to bear all consequences. I hate the word “consequences” in this context; it sounds like a punishment. This isn’t — our baby is a blessing. So I told him this.

And all he typed back was: “Okay.”

Then, being the man that he is, he immediately tackled the finances, rebalanced our budget, and started looking for a two bedroom apartment. I honestly thought he was unhappy about the decision, but our communication was all online or through brief phone calls while he was at work, neither of which are conducive to in-depth conversation. But when he came down to pick me up, our eyes met, and he hugged me fiercely as if he hadn’t seen me in months rather than 10 days, I knew he was ecstatic.

We’d had sex under the pretense of ignoring basic biology while both delighting in the possibility of creation. And we want what we’ve gotten.

So, to you, the little gymnast that has been kicking my abdomen with a fervor that makes me think you want to meet us as much as we want to meet you — you are already the best thing that has ever happened to us.

We love you.

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I Think I Know…

September 12, 2008 at 9:16 pm (Daily Life) (, , , , )

… what I want to get a degree in: http://www.uc.utoronto.ca/content/view/284/1809/

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