Oblivion is Overrated

Due to the simple fact that I am nearing menopause and drop about as many eggs as a rooster, one can imagine my surprise when I started to feel "different". My usual summer appetite increased from a modest continual feasting to that of a war ravaged vulture. Unfortunately for me, there were no other vultures there to fight me morsel for morsel, therefore ultimately consuming more than my share of delirious concoctions. I vividly remember having a cellular telephone conversation with my BF in Foster City (Orlando 5) and describing to her what I had on the agenda for dinner. Thanks to my obsession with all things Apple, I snapped a photo of my delicacies.

Yes, this is a well rounded meal of Tribes traditional flavored hummus accompanied by a variety of mustard dipping sauces for mini pretzel sticks and spicy black bean chips finished out by a cup of Big Spoon yogurt (granola and white yogurt chips on the side). What did not appear in the photo, however, was a bottle of Dr. Pepper and a Shirley Temple with soda water instead of 7-up. Who drinks the "uncola" anyway?? Amazing as this may seem, nothing about this meal seemed odd to me.


What DID seem odd was that my once inverted A- (minus) size "band aids" were growing at an alarming rate. Now, we are all aware that breast tissue is simply fat. Why I got jipped in this area is beyond me (thanks Mom) but there comes a time in every flat chested girl's life when she looks down and realizes she is starting puberty. This usually happens for most at age 13 or so. It took me 33 years, extra bountiful eating habits, and an abundance of a foreign hormone to happen to me. I realize the sad but true fact that my cha chas were actually fitting into the carriers I had been wearing for years. Not only were they fitting, they were fitting nicely! Which means I was finally a TRUE A! Imagine my excitement. They actually look a little something like this...


As if the signs couldn't be any more clear...I stumbled upon this obviously mislabeled aisle in the neighborhood Safeway. Thinking it hysterical, I of course emailed the photo to several girlfriends with the title..."Wanna Get Pregnant?...Use Kleenex!"

A trip to the state fair with a giant pickle craving over a deep fried White Castle burger...

Oblivious!

A Face Melter image of an over sized me squatting on a mini garbage can in a Vegas tramp stamp dress...

Utterly humorous...nothing more, nothing less (well maybe more)!

Avoiding all possible indications that something could be amiss, I kept on truckin' with my daily doses of denial and tomfoolery. After a week or two of the continuing side effects and unable to calm my ever increasing anger towards anything breathing and most things inanimate, I decided to use a year old, buy 1, get 2 free underground (cheap) pee stick test. Now, I am very adept at peeing on a stick due to the good ol' Atkins diet eons ago and knew I completed the task in the most precise fashion imaginable. As if I wasn't confused enough, this is what I got...

If you can't see the second line very strongly, you know what I was faced with. Is it there? Isn't it? Is it KIND OF there? What does kind of there mean? Am I kind of pregnant? Kind of not?

In my last ditch attempt to prove this plastic thing right or wrong (I wasn't quite sure which one I wanted to prove), I drove the LONG 2 blocks to the Safeway to buy another set of buy 1 get 2 free. The reason I didn't walk is clear. It was entirely too difficult to carry the mass quantities of raw fish Safeway select sushi I was about to gorge on if in fact these sticks were going to tell me something diet altering. A Hawaiian roll, spicy tuna roll, and California (the only one left) later, I peed again. 3 times. Same thing. Faint line. JEEEEZZUUSSS. Seriously? Time to consult a friend and then the Internet. Of course consulting a friend first is the best bet as personal experience trumps the stranger behind the screen. Personal friend votes....a faint line IS a line. Pregnant. Internet activated! Internet geniuses in cyberspace vote...pregnant. Sutter OBGYN confirms...pregnant.

And so the journey begins...(with a large Big Spoon yogurt and a million outgoing calls and texts)!

The Thin Red Line

Your Ma and Pa (clothed)

Your Ma and Pa (in the buff)

I must begin this blog with a brief comment about the "No Sir, Not my Baby" blog posted a few months back. Um...well...I still hold those beliefs close to my heart and no doubt, when given the first opportunity to jump out of an airplane, free ball down a double black diamond, or throw myself into a punching bag at the local dojo...I will take it with enthusiasm and reckless abandon. I will, however, have to figure out a way to strap the little tyke safely to my board, back, or punching glove as I engage. Stranger things have happened. Take for instance the fact that I am pregnant. Nuff said.

I figured I better include the blog to give a better idea of my attitude towards parenting and motherhood just a mere 1 month before conception. I think they call this type of thing...Murphy's Law.

Entered June 25, 2008

No Sir, Not My Baby

My blogs and verbal diarrhea can at times seem like rants, other times like raves. Nonetheless, today's rant, slash, blog, has the personal connection of being a little bit of both. This morning after 47 minutes of high intensity laps in the pool at the Alhambra gym well before 6 am, I snatched two magazines off the shelf in preparation for my after shower ritual (titles at this time unknown)…flipping through meaningless articles while applying my mask on the floor in front of the mirror listening to the morning news. As I laid them out in front of me, I was immediately hit with a sense of disorientation. One magazine was titled "Parenting", and the other titled "Transworld Surf". The photos on the cover were obviously quite different as one might presume. "Surf" portrayed a ripped Dustin Barca sequence atop, in, and over the most beautiful turquoise wave you've ever seen. "Parenting" was proud to display a brown haired, blue eyed toddler boy leaning effortlessly (obviously posed), over his mothers yellow bikini clad waist. The mother's face was not in the picture, giving the reader the impression that the kid was the obvious focus here. In a split second, my mind made one of those unconscious, yet, conscious decisions of which magazine lifestyle best mirrored that of my own. For those of you who know me, I am not an avid surfer. That is not the point here. This magazine could have been any number of publications; National Geographic, Horse Illustrated, Travel, Ski, Kiteboarding, etc. The list could go on and on. What the periodical did say to me was this. It brought to light the negative connotations attached to women my age without children. Am I a bad person because I would rather surf or photograph rhinoceros? Am I missing out on some wondrous adventure in babysitting? Taking a few minutes to flip through both, this is what I noticed. "Surf" was filled with ads for Body Glove Board shorts, PADI diving excursions, adventure automobiles capable of sustaining a Go Green approach, and Extra's mintiest proportion gum. "Parenting yielded Sesame Street Beginnings, Intuition razors, Capri Sun and Crisco. Musical recommendations from "Surf" included the likes of Wu Tang Clan, Brimstone Howl, Radiohead, and White Hinterland. "Parenting"…Bossy Bear, Songs for the Coolest Kids, and Danger Rangers. Sure methods of pacifier freezing for maximum gum numbness is interesting as is the fact that the average temperature of a lit sparkler is 1000 degree Fahrenheit and thus dangerous for youngsters. Yes, doodling on the sidewalk with colored chalk is fun as well as is constructing drum sets out of pots, pans, cardboard boxes, and other household items. To me however, remedies for reef cuts using a lime juice antiseptic or successful escape routes thorough deserted dirt roads of Mexico are a little more my speed. It is often overheard that people without children "don't understand" or the infamous, "when you have kids, you'll know" sentiments. For the record, I think kids are great. I teach them. I love them. I believe in their future. I also think freedom and the ability to explore the world are necessary to my internal and external survival. When parents are confronted with this type of thinking, many immediately become defensive that their "children are their life" and "you can do both". Actually, you can not do both. You may be able to randomly hitch a ride to a border town for a weekend in Tijuana or plan a family vacation to Hawaii, but parents are always, always attached to their responsibilities. I am happy for you and your children. I am happy that your families are your priority. I am happier though, that I am free. I may delete this post in the future if I happen to wake up one smoky Wednesday morning feeling overwhelmingly maternal. But for the time being, I choose to surf.