"Turn and face the strange. Ch-ch-changes!"

Yes, I'm pregnant. It is still strange to say it out loud. Pregnancy so far has been an intensely private, personal thing. Even between me and my husband. He probably doesn't understand that I think about it almost all day. Every day. How could I not? Every time my stretching abdominal muscles protest, or my sciatic nerve twinges, or I heave at the sight of a perfectly fine piece of pizza... it's just another reminder. I'm not complaining about these things. They are uncomfortable at times... but context is everything.

All of this is for Life.

Last week I went in for what is called a Nuchal Translucency Screening, which is an ultrasound done between 10-13 weeks to look for signs of heart defects or genetic disorder, and I saw my baby for the second time. Once, at 8 weeks, I saw a gray smudge with a strong heartbeat. This last time, at 12 weeks, I saw something that looked distinctly more human.

And... male! The sonographer surprised me by asking if I wanted to know the gender. I hesitated because I was alone and I thought maybe T should be there... "Can you tell this early?" I asked, incredulous. "Sometimes," she said. "Yes," I said. "Yes, I want to know." I felt we were having a girl. I was so sure we were having a girl.

But there was our boy. You can't see, but I'm smiling as I type this.

I felt melancholy a little while later as I thought about the girl I was sure was there. I felt the idea of her slip away, and it was oddly sad. But as I thought about the boy, as I let the consciousness of a HIM sink in, I began to want him as much as I had wanted her.

Now for the vital stats:

Gestation: 13 weeks
Gender: Male (80% certainty)
Weight gain: maybe 1 lb. (I'm actually trying not to weigh myself too much, so I'll only update this when I am weighed at the doctor's office.)
Maternity clothes: No, but I can wear all of my pants without a belt now.
Food aversions: Chicken. Meat in general. (It's a texture thing.) Peanut butter crackers. Sometimes cheese.
"Cravings": Peaches, yogurt. Pasta, ramen noodles. Sushi (always)
Milestones: Beginning of 2nd trimester. Chance of miscarriage drops dramatically.
Symptoms: Lots of gagging. Lots and lots of gagging. Occasional, mild back pain. And intense hunger. It sneaks up on me and then I feel gross. I have to catch it at the right time or it is hard to eat.

Resolution 2.014

Gain at least 28 pounds. And then lose most of it by mid-summer.

Others

One week ago a tall, slender, middle-aged woman in a nice dress approached my desk at the library. Her hair was a dull, doll's hair brunette. She wore heavy makeup on a long, strong-jawed face. She spoke to me in a quiet falsetto. Can you show me where the self-help books are? There was vulnerability all over her.

I knew immediately. I knew that she... had once been a he. As we walked in silence, past Fiction, past Graphic Novels, past A to B, to BF, to Chicken Soup for the Soul, to Joel Osteen, to Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, it didn't matter. It--the undefinable It--was not the only thing that made her her.

Sometimes my prejudices are surprised out of me. I am not comfortable with them. I don't even like admitting that I have them.

But I do. And I like it when I meet Others, and my prejudices--unacknowledged or otherwise--are blown out, gently, like a candle.

And I am filled with understanding.

Dog Days

I have struggled for the last month how to feel about this small, furry interloper. I love his quiet companionship. I hate his piercing bark. I love his playful energy. I hate his need to lead on a leash. There are moments of joy, of absolute connection with him: He is an amazingly affectionate dog. There are moments where I am so angry and embarrassed that I shake and cry and beg to be freed from the responsibility. After one of these moments, I tearfully asked my husband to find another home for him because I couldn't stand to feel this kind of anger. 

The inevitable parallels between dog-ownership and parenthood have been drawn by just about everyone I've talked to. I have never been more afraid of parenthood than I am now. I am afraid of my own emotional fragility, my difficulty controlling my temper, and my debilitating fear of embarrassment and judgment from others. I can calmly steer my dog away from a situation that is making him frenzied, but I am dying a little bit inside every time. What about when my child is throwing a tantrum at the grocery store checkout? This is inevitable. How can I deal with this if I can't cope with a 23 lb. dog? What about when my child hits or bites another child? What about when my child is rude to another child, or another grown up? How can I guide this child if I feel so much anger and embarrassment?

The answer, obviously, is that you can neither guide a child nor a dog with anger and embarrassment. 

My hero, Cesar Millan, talks about fulfilling a dog on his own terms. Respecting that he is first and foremost an animal--not a little human--and to treat him like one. This is not an insult to him. I heard this, but I did not truly understand it until recently. Humans and dogs have been companions for so long, I think we sometimes forget that they are separate species, and they are hard-wired very differently. Those of us who choose to accept responsibility for these animals cannot expect them to navigate their way flawlessly through our human world. We need to help them make different choices when the choices they make don't work. There is not room for anger here.

It isn't about punishment; it's about redirection. And it's totally about love. It's about love for this animal that, for whatever reason, has thrown its evolutionary lot in with Man. We can't betray that trust by punishing a dog for being himself.

This whole week I have been focusing on what I love about him, and I have felt my patience with him grow two-hundred fold:

I love that when he is alert one ear sticks straight up and the other kind of flops. I love the way the silver in his fur makes him look shiny. I love his softness, his warmth. Schnauzer eyes can look a little intimidating from far away. I love how bright and earnest they are up close. I love that he is big and robust for his type, and that we can take him on long walks and hikes. I love that said walks and hikes wear him totally out. :) I love it when he puts his nose to the ground and "hoovers" all around the carpet. I love the way he gently licks my hand when he wants affection (i.e. all the time.)

I love that his whole body wags with pure, effervescent joy whenever I come home. There is nothing quite like the love of a dog.

A Video is Worth a Thousand Pictures...

...sort of.

Here's what I've been doing for the last half hour.

Can you still be my friend...

...even if you don't know me very well?
...or have known me too long?
...even if I'm too old?
...or (more likely) too young?

...even if I don't like the same things you do?
...watch the same things you do?
...read the same things you do?
...listen to the same music you do?
...eat the same things you do?
...dress the same way you do?
...look the way you do?

...even if I don't believe the same things as you?

...even though I believe in God?
...and evolution?
...knowing that I swear sometimes?
...or laugh sometimes at inappropriate things?

...even if our opinions differ?

...even though I didn't vote for the same person you did?
...even though I'm pro-choice?
...and pro-life? (It isn't a dichotomy.)
...even though I support gay marriage?
...and believe in the sanctity of marriage (They're not mutually exclusive.)
...even though I don't believe everyone should have a gun?
...but will have guns in my house nonetheless?

...even if it offends you that I hold so many opinions that society and convention say cannot exist in the same person?

...even if I don't have children?
...even if you do not like my friends?
...my spouse?

...even if I broke your heart?
...even if you broke mine?

Can you still be my friend even though we are separated by time and space?

I guess what I'm asking is, can you be my friend even though we are different?

I'll give it a go if you will.

Vehicular Anger Management

Guys, Las Vegas is not a fun place to drive. Neither is Utah. But add to the obliviousness and stupidity of Utah drivers the bad and uncertain driving of countless tourists (I'm lookin' at YOU, California) as well as a general tendency to imbibe, and you have a cesspool of bad driving.

I spend roughly two minutes of my commute on the freeway, and by the end of that two minutes I'm glad I don't have a gun in the car. After that, I spend fifteen minutes trying not to kill or be killed on Flamingo Road. So much weaving in and out. So much tail-gaiting.

Surprisingly few accidents...

But to the point! SO MUCH BAD DRIVING.

I didn't notice it at first. I was too busy trying to get from point A to B. In fact, now that I think about it, I was once probably one of those oblivious out-of-towners making everyone else nervous with my erratic driving.

Now it may surprise some of you that I have anger issues. Oh yes. I get pissed when people do things in cars that put me in danger. My commute is neither long nor arduous--a mere 20 minutes both ways--but I realized that 40 minutes of anger everyday was kind of ruining my day. I realized I can't control what other drivers do, but I COULD change the mood in my own car. So here's what I do. And because I love numbered lists...

1. Music.
DUH. Music is a huge mood changer. It can make the most monotonous drive epic. Or wondrously melancholy. Or surprisingly fun. Also, I sing in the car--and I don't mean to brag or anything but I'm pretty great. <*sarcasm*>

2. "Car Talk."
Not all NPR. Specifically "Car Talk." It's on every Saturday on my drive to work. You would think a radio show about cars would bring my attention back to my drive, but on the contrary. It is very agreeably distracting. I can't help but start my day in a good mood.

3. Leaving with plenty of time.
This is a huge one. My road rage is exactly proportional to my lateness. The person going 55mph on the freeway goes from Kind of Clueless to The Worst Human Being in the Universe. When I've got time and to spare, who cares if I just missed the twelfth light in a row? (Well, I still care. But I feel less inclined to yell at inanimate objects.)

What do you do to stave of Road Rage? I need all the help I can get.