Here's To Silly!

So, a friend of mine (mid-sentence aside that has nothing to do with anything, but I just realized that I start a lot of posts, sentences, emails, and all kinds of semi-important things with the word "so."  It might be annoying, but I'm not sure I'm ready to stop) recently posted on her blog about her experience with high school PE.  It, of course, made me think of my own experiences, some good, some bad.  With the good came thoughts of Miss Buckley (a former weight lifter and Miss Universe [or something equally exciting] contestant, if the stories are true) and water aerobics.  It was my first introduction to the pursuit, so I had no idea of its connection to little old ladies.  Miss Buckley was anything but.  The seventeen girls in the class (and one lone boy who we all thought was strange until we realized maybe he was more wily than strange) were anything but.  The music we aerobic-ed to was for those who were anything but.  I loved me some water aerobics.  I still would, were they an option in my current situation, but there are no instructors here and I don't quite feel up to doing it myself (the instructing or just the aerobics). 

Anyway . . . as I pondered nostalgically the days of the water aerobic, I remembered my awkward attempt at taking a social/political stance.  We all wore swimsuits.  We all showered after class.  Not being in individual stalls, we all wore swimsuits in the shower.  I remember thinking to myself, "Self, this is silliness.  For certain boys don't shower in anything but the nude when in a locker room.  No one here is going to look or care if we just shower how showers are meant to be taken.  This is less comfortable and less effective.  Why are girls so silly?"  The next day in the shower, I proceeded to take my suit off and really shower.  My goodness, the stares of shock and horror were sharp.  I never did it again. I'd like to think today I'd be stronger in my stance against such silliness (which is strange, since in general I support all kinds of silliness; the principle is different, I'm sure).  However, I also realize now that in fighting the silliness, I was making 16 other girls uncomfortable.  At what point would value of their discomfort outweigh my own (as well as the importance of what was actually logical)? 

As I navigate my life now (my goodness, could that have really been half a lifetime ago?), I realize that I have always had a strange relationship with modesty.  I'm all for covering up what should be covered, except for when it's silly.  Back then is was a swimsuit, now it's a nursing cover.  I'll tell you what, the nursing cover (or lack thereof) is an issue that deals with a lot less skin, but seems to provoke even more social dander.  Still, my reasoning is the same.  It's less comfortable, more difficult, and less effective for me to nurse with everything, including Bean, covered up.  The social ire, of course, ruffles my feathers.  Turns out, instead of a nice, obedient (oppositional defiance aside), sweet and appropriate girl, I was meant to be a political activist.  It probably was my life's calling, but I missed it to be a mommy.  Putting it that way, I'm glad I did.  That's not to say a little activism won't creep up now and then, especially as it relates to being a mommy.

Conclusion:  Standing up for what you believe in takes more than gumption.  It takes diplomacy.

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Last night I had an interesting experience.  A friend of mine told me that I look really cute pregnant, followed with the clarification: "I know you never feel cute pregnant, but you really look cute pregnant."  I smiled and said thank you, as my mommy trained me to do.  Still, it kind of took me aback.  I realized that even though I often feel that I am in extreme discomfort with the heat and humidity and crazy shooting muscle pains and general fatigue, I don't feel that different than I did before.  Sometimes I still get surprised when I look in the mirror, because I look exactly the same - only with a HUGE belly.  It's like I haven't changed at all and this whole pregnancy thing is all a figment of my imagination.  Anyway . . . back to the cute thing.  I didn't like being told how I felt.  I actually still feel cute.  Call me crazy.  Acknowledge that I have a way over-developed sense of vanity.  Whatever.  I almost always feel generally cute.  I also assume that most people can tell that I'm cute (ok, "cute" may not be the word choice I would generally go for.  I'd probably choose something like "wildly attractive," but that's just my sense of hyperbole coming into play again).  I figure being pregnant is kind of like being bald: 
 I still felt cute (mostly).  I was definitely glad to not be bald anymore when that stage passed, but the lack of hair didn't detract from my cuteness.  Being pregnant, I am fully looking forward to wearing real clothes again and being able to slip through a crowded room without bumping people, completely unaware of the actual size of my bod.  Still, I'm cute.  And you can't take that away from me.  I'm not sure if that's weird, annoying, or good.  Hopefully I can successfully transfer that to the rest of my life, just like Amy is in the process of doing.  Although, sometimes my lack of caring what other people think about me has actually caused more problems than it has solved.  Meh.  I'm sure I'll find the balance somewhere.  Or not.  Who needs balance, when you're cute like me?  Exactly.

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My last visit to the doctor was quite empowering.  I said "no" to something routine.  And I'm fine.  So is Bean. 

So, I read a lot of what I call (especially in conversations with Wonderman) my "crazy hippie blogs."  Lately most of these have to do with childbirth or child-rearing.  There is a lot of talk about empowering women to take back the choices regarding their pregnancies and births.  Discussions range from the mild to the extreme - from how to have a conscientious hospital birth to the at-home, unassisted birth.  The common thread seems to be essentially like proselyting  to let women know that they are in charge of what happens to them and they can choose what care to seek or accept.  So much of my experience has been hypothetical, as the doctor I've been seeing for seven months is not the doctor that will be around when Bean is born.  I have all kinds of things to ask my US doc and all kinds of ideas about how my natural hospital birth will be, but none of it seemed particularly relevant just yet.  I just go in monthly, pee in a cup, stand on a scale, and tell the doc I feel fine.

However, about three weeks ago was the time I was supposed to have the glucose tolerance test done.  I didn't want it done here, mostly because I have had BAD experiences with the nurses here drawing my blood.  I really didn't think about it past that.  I was planning on going back to Utah, so I told Dr. Dominica that I would do it there.  Then I stayed.  It didn't come up in conversation for a while and I "forgot" about it.  Then this week, Dr. Dominica got a worried look and said "You were supposed to do that at 28 weeks.  I'm going to call and see if you can still do it."  I inwardly rolled my eyes.  I knew it was on the list of "optional" tests (at least according to the crazy hippies).  I didn't have any concerns or reasons to be concerned.  I didn't want to do it.  Dr. D. came back with a relieved look.  "You can still do it."  Like a three-year-old I said, "But why?"  She tried to explain that it would determine if I had gestational diabetes (duh) and that it was just part of the prenatal testing that was done.  "But what would happen if we found out I had gestational diabetes?"  She explained that I would be put on insulin and marked as high-risk.  Since I'm fine and I feel fine and I definitely want to avoid any unnecessary risk labels, I said "I don't think I want to do it."  Dr. D. was great and didn't try to convince me of anything.  She just smiled and said it was my choice.  Then she told me that if I had done it, I would have had to take the one hour (each way) bus ride to Roseau and spend a couple hours at the lab, because it wasn't a test they could do here.  For that reason alone I was glad I said no. 

It was a small thing.  I really am glad to avoid the blood draws, the gross orange drink, and the travel time, but it wouldn't have been a big deal to do it.  I am confident it would've come back negative.  Still, I felt elated to recognize that I had been able to be in touch enough with my body, my baby, and my Heavenly Father to make a wise decision for us even if it didn't go along with the generally accepted norm.  I also think this was an important step in helping me realize the power I have to make decisions for what is best for me and for Bean.  As long as I can remain in tune, we're gonna be all right.  And I may be a crazy hippie yet.

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Maybe it doesn't say much for my mental state that I just don't feel that I have much worth writing about, or I don't have time to write about it for a month, and then I feel that a comic filled with angst fits my mood perfectly. Meh.

Anyways (I always giggle in my head when I add the "s" to "anyway." It feels deliciously wicked and probably funny only to me), Wonderman has been talking about New Year's resolutions. I generally avoid them. Not that I think goals aren't wonderful and important. I guess I just think I'm too good to make goals. No, not really. Sheesh. I just . . . . oh I don't know. There's no good excuse, is there? Maybe I feel too lost in my own inadequacies to focus on just a few areas in which to improve? Maybe I my Adult Onset Attention Deficit Disorder keeps me from focusing on anything at all for very long? Maybe I'm just content to be that lame person that basically wallows in my weaknesses, eating popcorn with parmesan cheese and watching movies while I do it? That's probably it.

My dear Aunt Nina, however, has inspired me. She is going to throw more parties. I could do that. Or something like it. Despite my big smile, I find myself often being dreadfully socially awkward and kind of lonely. I can make social goals, right? I don't have to just lose weight like everyone else?

Conclusion: Goals are very personal and don't have to meet anyone's expectations except my own, thank goodness. Thanks for the reminder, Auntie.

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Blogging is new to me. But I’d like to see how it can improve both my quality of life and general impression of myself, thus improving my quality of life. It should be delightful. I’m glad you’re here to share that with me.

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