"...anybody who wants to see Teddy Graham has to go through me first!"
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Dear Baby X (Letter #1)
Dear Baby X, aka Teddy Graham, aka Treasure, aka PJ aka The Alien:
I'm really sleepy right now but I wanted to make sure to write you a quick letter before I went to bed. I hope that you are enjoying your whirlpool jacuzzi - Mommy is sure trying to make sure that you stay comfortable. I wonder what you are up to in there...are you trying to work-off those sundaes and potato chips? If so, try some lunges and squats -- those always work for me! I can't wait to meet you - I bet you will be one cute little thing. I wonder if you will have your father's dark features, although I'd love it if you have my eyes and cheeks!
I pray you have your father's determination and my sense of compassion -- outside of our faith and love -- those are the two best things that we have to offer. You will probably have a combination of both of our senses of humor which means that there are surely lots of laughs to come. And despite all my previous cursing about my boss - I hope you learn early to deal with life's challenges with hope, patience, and unshatterable faith because you were given to God before you ever stepped forth on this Earth.
I also hope that you do not work a nine to five job. Although I would support any career you have -- this is the one thing that may break my heart. See the world! Learn Spanish in ways that I never could! Know that home is truly where ever your heart is. Experience the full magnitude of love, even the painful parts -- for it is truly what makes the world go 'round. But most of all, I pray that you find God, joy, and purpose in your life for these three things are the essence of what it means to truly live of life working living.
With Anticipation,
Your Mom
Oh...the changes I've been going through...
My Stomach
Suddenly I looked down and after 29 years in exile, my belly button was poking out!
"Hmmmm, I wonder if I got a hernia from lifting those boxes when we were moving??" was my first thought.
A baby being inside my stomach didn't occur to me at first, because my tummy seemed to have popped out literally overnight. To be honest, it was the size of my belly button that also threw me off. It was so big that you could see it through my clothes which seemed to be a HUGE tell-tell to people that I was expecting. With my protruding belly comes a daily need to grease myself down like a fried turkey in shea butter - because I am trying to prepare my skin for stretching that has only just begun.
My Pooch
Next, around my 16th week, my pooch began to feel like I was always riding a bike. My pelvis bones were beginning to soften and stretch and sometimes activities such as walking were uncomfortable. Out of no nowhere I would feel a sudden pain in my crouch and out of an unconscious reflex, I would grab my crouch like I was Michael Jackson to try to make it go away.
My Legs
One day, I was running late for work so I threw on a summer dress and ran out the door. Just as I was closing the door, I was horrified to see that my legs looked like they belonged to Chubaka! My leg hair was so long that you could have french braided it! I was so disturbed.
My Back and the Casaba Melons
Then came my back...actually it wasn't my back -- it was the two casaba melons that were putting stress on my back. By this time, my "girls" were pouring out of my DD (yes, those are two D's) bra cups but I was resistant to buying new bras until my 5 month because I suspected that they would only continue to grow and grow. Pat is afraid that one day I will just fall over. Most days, as soon as I come home from work, I fall out on the couch and unhook my bra to set my runaway breasts free from captivity...which brings me both great relief and happiness.
After weeks, no months, of feeling like I was carrying two twins on my chest, I finally bit the bullet and went to J.C. Penny's to get my maternity bras. When the lingerie department manager came in my dressing to measure me all she kept saying was, "Girl...I can't believe you are able to hold those things up! You are full of milk!" Just as I was about to get mad, she started to sing "JUST THROW SOME E's ON IT..." and I couldn't do anything but laugh.
I've began to put aside my previous notions of how "normal" feels because nothing about this experience could meet those old standards. Yet, I'm beginning to embrace it all because with 4 more months to go, my only choice is to give in - let go - and enjoy the ride.
Suddenly I looked down and after 29 years in exile, my belly button was poking out!
"Hmmmm, I wonder if I got a hernia from lifting those boxes when we were moving??" was my first thought.
A baby being inside my stomach didn't occur to me at first, because my tummy seemed to have popped out literally overnight. To be honest, it was the size of my belly button that also threw me off. It was so big that you could see it through my clothes which seemed to be a HUGE tell-tell to people that I was expecting. With my protruding belly comes a daily need to grease myself down like a fried turkey in shea butter - because I am trying to prepare my skin for stretching that has only just begun.
My Pooch
Next, around my 16th week, my pooch began to feel like I was always riding a bike. My pelvis bones were beginning to soften and stretch and sometimes activities such as walking were uncomfortable. Out of no nowhere I would feel a sudden pain in my crouch and out of an unconscious reflex, I would grab my crouch like I was Michael Jackson to try to make it go away.
My Legs
One day, I was running late for work so I threw on a summer dress and ran out the door. Just as I was closing the door, I was horrified to see that my legs looked like they belonged to Chubaka! My leg hair was so long that you could have french braided it! I was so disturbed.
My Back and the Casaba Melons
Then came my back...actually it wasn't my back -- it was the two casaba melons that were putting stress on my back. By this time, my "girls" were pouring out of my DD (yes, those are two D's) bra cups but I was resistant to buying new bras until my 5 month because I suspected that they would only continue to grow and grow. Pat is afraid that one day I will just fall over. Most days, as soon as I come home from work, I fall out on the couch and unhook my bra to set my runaway breasts free from captivity...which brings me both great relief and happiness.
After weeks, no months, of feeling like I was carrying two twins on my chest, I finally bit the bullet and went to J.C. Penny's to get my maternity bras. When the lingerie department manager came in my dressing to measure me all she kept saying was, "Girl...I can't believe you are able to hold those things up! You are full of milk!" Just as I was about to get mad, she started to sing "JUST THROW SOME E's ON IT..." and I couldn't do anything but laugh.
I've began to put aside my previous notions of how "normal" feels because nothing about this experience could meet those old standards. Yet, I'm beginning to embrace it all because with 4 more months to go, my only choice is to give in - let go - and enjoy the ride.
The first step is admitting that you have a problem... (My low sodium diet)
Pat and I were on our way from Chicago to Detroit for a line sister's wedding when I first noticed it. As I was getting out of the car for a restroom break, I wondered why my new shoes were squeezing my feet. When I looked down, I was mortified to see that my feet were bursting out of my flats like two Grands Biscuits. Immediately, I knew what was going on but I turned to my bff, Google, to confirm my suspicion.
I typed, "Feet swelling. Pregnancy. Traveling." and held my breath to see what Google had to say about the matter.
Seconds later, articles about pre-emclamsia, high-blood pressure, high sodium diets popped up on my screen.
Shhhhhhheeeettt!! I thought as I began to read the articles. It wasn't looking good. The fact is, with a family history of women with pre-eclampsia and high blood pressure, I knew that I had a proclivity to having some issues during pregnancy...but I guess I thought I was immune. I've always been in pretty good shape so I figured I could get away with a few months of indulgence without any issues.
But suddenly, as I looked down at the two chocolate biscuits that were previously called my feet, I realized that I needed to change my ways immediately.
As soon as I got home, I turned to Dr. Quinn/Medicinewoman (aka My Mom)for advice...
"...well you know I had pre-eclamsia with your oldest sister," she began.
"...So this just means that you have to be proactive and diligent about keeping your salt intake down Kirstin. Starting today, you really are going to have to put yourself on a low sodium diet. Talk to your doctor, but you need to cut out the salt."
She had no idea of what she was requesting of me....1) My husband is from the South and doesn't know how to cook without spices and 2) My daddy is from Mississippi. Spices are apart of my DNA...they are as apart of me as my leg or arm.
But knowing that my mother and my OBY/GYN (who later confirmed my mother's recommendations)weren't wrong, I began to ATTEMPT to change my diet...one meal at a time.
But my first week wasn't successful, despite my da**est efforts.
Day #1: In effort to turn over a new leaf, I went to an organic cafe for lunch. "Oh, the chicken pesto wrap sounds fresh and healthy!" I thought. When the wrap come out, it was one chicken tender, 1 pound of mozzarella cheese, with grilled onions and bell peppers with organic pesto sauce....on the side and french fries.
Day #2: I came home ready to make a magical grilled chicken salad for dinner. I even stopped to pick up some cranberries, walnuts, tomato, and cucumbers. My dreams were obliterated when I walked in to the smell of barbecue chicken that Pat had decided to cook. (Yes, I scraped the plate...)
Needless to say to say, my low-sodium diet was off to an horrible start but I was determined to get it right.
Day #3: Due to the devil's temptation, I ate biscuits, turkey sausage, and grits that morning...but I ate a grilled chicken salad for dinner.
Day #4: Pineapples and strawberries for breakfast. Salad for lunch. Salad for dinner. (Yay - finally...success!)
Day #5: Two english muffins, grits, pineapples, and lots of orange juice for breakfast. Honey Nut Cheerios for lunch. Two slices of pizza and two hot wings for dinner. (DRATS!)
It was a sketchy start but slowly and surely I am turning my diet around. Now I am eating fruit throughout the day and sticking with salads for lunch (although I still have my setbacks).
With determination in my heart and water retention in my feet, I know I will conquer my dependence on salt once and for all! My next appointment in on June 7th, so I will find out then whether my blood pressure is getting out of control. Until then, I will continue taking it one meal at a time...but if you see me on the street about to eat anything with grilled onions, bell peppers, or cheese... please be a friend and intervene!
I typed, "Feet swelling. Pregnancy. Traveling." and held my breath to see what Google had to say about the matter.
Seconds later, articles about pre-emclamsia, high-blood pressure, high sodium diets popped up on my screen.
Shhhhhhheeeettt!! I thought as I began to read the articles. It wasn't looking good. The fact is, with a family history of women with pre-eclampsia and high blood pressure, I knew that I had a proclivity to having some issues during pregnancy...but I guess I thought I was immune. I've always been in pretty good shape so I figured I could get away with a few months of indulgence without any issues.
But suddenly, as I looked down at the two chocolate biscuits that were previously called my feet, I realized that I needed to change my ways immediately.
As soon as I got home, I turned to Dr. Quinn/Medicinewoman (aka My Mom)for advice...
"...well you know I had pre-eclamsia with your oldest sister," she began.
"...So this just means that you have to be proactive and diligent about keeping your salt intake down Kirstin. Starting today, you really are going to have to put yourself on a low sodium diet. Talk to your doctor, but you need to cut out the salt."
She had no idea of what she was requesting of me....1) My husband is from the South and doesn't know how to cook without spices and 2) My daddy is from Mississippi. Spices are apart of my DNA...they are as apart of me as my leg or arm.
But knowing that my mother and my OBY/GYN (who later confirmed my mother's recommendations)weren't wrong, I began to ATTEMPT to change my diet...one meal at a time.
But my first week wasn't successful, despite my da**est efforts.
Day #1: In effort to turn over a new leaf, I went to an organic cafe for lunch. "Oh, the chicken pesto wrap sounds fresh and healthy!" I thought. When the wrap come out, it was one chicken tender, 1 pound of mozzarella cheese, with grilled onions and bell peppers with organic pesto sauce....on the side and french fries.
Day #2: I came home ready to make a magical grilled chicken salad for dinner. I even stopped to pick up some cranberries, walnuts, tomato, and cucumbers. My dreams were obliterated when I walked in to the smell of barbecue chicken that Pat had decided to cook. (Yes, I scraped the plate...)
Needless to say to say, my low-sodium diet was off to an horrible start but I was determined to get it right.
Day #3: Due to the devil's temptation, I ate biscuits, turkey sausage, and grits that morning...but I ate a grilled chicken salad for dinner.
Day #4: Pineapples and strawberries for breakfast. Salad for lunch. Salad for dinner. (Yay - finally...success!)
Day #5: Two english muffins, grits, pineapples, and lots of orange juice for breakfast. Honey Nut Cheerios for lunch. Two slices of pizza and two hot wings for dinner. (DRATS!)
It was a sketchy start but slowly and surely I am turning my diet around. Now I am eating fruit throughout the day and sticking with salads for lunch (although I still have my setbacks).
With determination in my heart and water retention in my feet, I know I will conquer my dependence on salt once and for all! My next appointment in on June 7th, so I will find out then whether my blood pressure is getting out of control. Until then, I will continue taking it one meal at a time...but if you see me on the street about to eat anything with grilled onions, bell peppers, or cheese... please be a friend and intervene!
Give me a pickle, hot wings, with a Peach Snapple...to go!
The first thing people usually ask me when they find out (or see) that I am pregnant is "What are you eating?? Are you having any cravings??" Initially this question seemed intrusive to me because of ALL the things that happen during pregnancy, eating -- or the lack thereof -- is sometimes a touchy subject...either you are eating too much or not enough, either everything makes you nauseous and you throw it up...or the only thing that keeps you from throwing up IS eating, which was the case for me throughout my first trimester.
For the first few months, I had no particular craving except for the deelicious taste of trans fat and sodium. If a snack or meal had fudge, was fried, or had "salt" or "vinegar" in its name then I wanted it and spent most of my day thinking about how I would get my hands on treats such as ice cream or flaming hot chips before I got home that evening.
Eventually, my infatuation with all things unhealthy subsided and I focused my attention on pickles. I ate pickles all day, every day - usually 3 or 4 at a time - even if it meant that I had to steal them from someone else's plate. Soon, I found the perfect match for my pickles, an ice cold Peach Snapple, and would travel to four or five stores during lunchtime until I found that magical combination.
Soon my food fixations evolved from pickles and Peach Snapple to EVERYTHING that was delicious. If someone told me a story about a chicken gyro at 8:00 a.m., then I would think about that chicken gyro all day until I got it...even if that meant that I had to drive 45 minutes through traffic, pay $10 for parking, and run 2 miles through the rain as a pit bull chased me to get it.
I think the baby got fed up with me and put itself on the Fat Smash Diet. I'm happy to say that my most recent cravings been on watermelon, salads, and water although I still can't resist the taste of salt and vinegar potato chips or a pickle every now and then.
For the first few months, I had no particular craving except for the deelicious taste of trans fat and sodium. If a snack or meal had fudge, was fried, or had "salt" or "vinegar" in its name then I wanted it and spent most of my day thinking about how I would get my hands on treats such as ice cream or flaming hot chips before I got home that evening.
Eventually, my infatuation with all things unhealthy subsided and I focused my attention on pickles. I ate pickles all day, every day - usually 3 or 4 at a time - even if it meant that I had to steal them from someone else's plate. Soon, I found the perfect match for my pickles, an ice cold Peach Snapple, and would travel to four or five stores during lunchtime until I found that magical combination.
Soon my food fixations evolved from pickles and Peach Snapple to EVERYTHING that was delicious. If someone told me a story about a chicken gyro at 8:00 a.m., then I would think about that chicken gyro all day until I got it...even if that meant that I had to drive 45 minutes through traffic, pay $10 for parking, and run 2 miles through the rain as a pit bull chased me to get it.
I think the baby got fed up with me and put itself on the Fat Smash Diet. I'm happy to say that my most recent cravings been on watermelon, salads, and water although I still can't resist the taste of salt and vinegar potato chips or a pickle every now and then.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
"MOFO"/ Jesus take the wheel (part one)
It all started one day when I was driving to work and I realized that I was singing a negro spiritual...
"Jesus on the mainline, tell him what you want...
oh! Jesus on the main line, tell him what you want..."
This song is always a sign of an emotional breakdown on the horizon so when I pulled into the parking lot, I turned off my car and simply said, "Jesus give me the strength" before collecting my things and walking inside the building.
It was a Monday morning, which is always hard for me because at 10:00 a.m. my boss (who I will refer to as "MOFO") and I have a meeting to discuss the priorities for the week.
"So I was thinking," MOFO started, "if we do this right, in a year, we will be able to set our own salaries. Cause there's nobody in the game doing the type of work and policy analysis that we doing. If we do this right, we are going to monopolize the urban agribusiness market in Chicago. Cause ain't no white man coming into my community to exploit my land..."
Jesus, be a fence...ooo, Jesus be a fence!, I began to sing in my head.
It's too early for this sh*t, I told myself but nothing that I tried could stop the aggravation of hearing MOFO talk.
I tried my usual apathetic response of, "Yeah, I hear ya."
I tried my blank catatonic stare.
I tried working on my weekly "to-do" list while MOFO talked...but 1 hour and 10 minutes later there we were - still in the conference room, having this bootleg staff meeting.
To me, MOFO symbolized all things that was wrong with the future of the planet Earth and I began to wonder who the hell I killed in a previous life for my karma to lead me to this job.
Have you ever been so desperate for a word from God that you were certain that Jesus needed to come down through the clouds, sit down at your coffee table, and have a sip of chamomile tea with you? Or at least appear to you in a dream -- perhaps as a bright blinding light or a large talking lamb? Well, that's exactly how I felt that day.
Luckily, Revival had been going on at my church and I decided to be there at 7:00 o'clock (on the dot) because I knew that I was spiritually running on fumes and needed to get it together; if not for myself then for the baby.
"I don't want to catch the Holy Ghost!" / Jesus take the wheel (part two)
That night, the visiting minister preached about how God only puts us through situations that he knows that he equipped us to conquer in order to produce character, perseverance, hope and increased faith. I was moved to tears because the message resonated deeply with me and I felt encouraged in moving forward in the wilderness called "My Career".
Nevertheless, once the alter call began, I quickly sobered up because as a saved person, you never want to look "unsaved" during alter call...especially at a church where everyone knows you as "Deacon Karry and Sweet Sister Liza's Daughter".
The choir began to sing...
"We offer Christ to you...all my brothers..." the choir sang as the minister invited anyone who had not received Christ up to the alter.
"We offer Christ to you...all my sisters..." the choir continued as the minister invited all people who wanted to recommit their life up to the alter.
Suddenly...my heart started beating fast. I had felt this feeling many times before but unlike other times I was unable to ignore it.
"Oh no!" I thought. "Jesus, please don't let me get the holy ghost" I thought as my heart began to palpitate rapidly.
"Oh come! Come on! To Christ..." The choir echoed.
"Don't leave here the same way you came in," the preacher encouraged the congregation.
By that time, 15 people had walked to the alter and the church was going crazy.
Then suddenly, I heard God say, "Get up Kirstin,"" in a deep Barry White voice.
">Wait, God are you talking to me and are you sure? I mean...I know you...you know me. I think I'm okay", I negotiated back.
Get up Kirstin, God said again. But this time his voice sounded alot like mine so I wasn't for sure what to do.
Then the visiting minister came up to the alter and said, "Wait. Stop the music. There's somebody here who needs to recommit their life to God. I don't know who you are but you need to stop playing. God has kept you through many trials and tribulations. You need to reaffirm your faith."
I knew that was a sign and that God could only be talking to me. So with all the courage in my body I stood up and stepped into the aisle...
Back in Jesus Bootcamp/ Jesus take the wheel (part three)
...Simultaneously, me and this guy who looked like he'd just shot somebody stepped into the aisle to walk forward.
"Dag, that brother looks like he just robbed a liquor store before coming into church Jesus...Maybe you were really just talking to him?" I thought to myself as I continued to move forward with excitement, relief, and anxiety.
Once we were escorted downstairs, I looked for the "Unsaved" and "Saved with Issues" sections of the room but found neither. To my surprise we all sat in one group and we were asked why we came forth.
"I came forth, cause I'm tired in living in dees streets," said the gangsta.
"I came forth cause I am tired of feeling alone," said another girl.
"I grew up in church but sometimes you just need to be reminded of who God is," I proclaimed to the group in part to let everyone know that I knew the Lord.
Unfortunately, it seemed that no one was buying it. I spent much of my one on one session trying to explain to the minister that I was really saved but she kept responding with "oh, I used to say I was saved too."
"Do you want to get baptized again?"
You can't say no to getting baptized, I thought. "Well, I has baptized when I was 16, so I think I'm okay."
'Hunny, I was baptized three times so I'm going to put you down as a yes!"
I couldn't figure out why they gave the option for people to recommit their lives if they wouldn't believe them. By the end of the night, I was signed up to be baptized again and pre-enrolled in "New Membership" classes although I had been a member of the church for 25 years.
Somehow, the night didn't turn out the way that I envisioned when I walked down the aisle. I wanted to say, "...Listen, I really do love Jesus," but it felt like no one would believe me. While I didn't want to lose the great feeling that I had that night, I did begin to ponder what about me spoke "heathen" so loudly that no one would believe I could possibly know Jesus.
The truth is that I take my relationship with God very seriously and this experience - both, inspiring and revealing - me made begin to reflect on whether I was really living the life of a Christian, or just wearing a figurative "Jesus Peace" like I was a rapper at the Grammy's...
Why I really started this blog...
The truth is, I didn't EXACTLY start this blog for my baby. It was really for Alicia Keys!
Don't get me wrong, I had always planned on documenting my journey privately, but it was a nationwide contest to be the head blogger for a new website called, "I AM A SUPER WOMAN.COM" that led my sister to convince me to try to apply.
As I read the details of the contest rules I knew that I would be perfect for the head blogger position. Somehow, it felt like the universe was really coming together to answer my prayers and I just knew that this job would be mine!
Though I didn't TECHNICALLY have a blog up and running, I knew that I had enough random writings to develop two websites - one political and one personal - which would surely let the judges know that I was funny, smart, and sassy.
Over the course of 4 weeks I began to build my baby blog and by May 3rd at 5:30 pm I was ready to submit my resume and blog for consideration.
My cover letter was ready.
My resume was ready.
And my blog sample was ready.
I prayed one time for favor and went to press "SEND".
The message, "ERROR -- PLEASE TRY AGAIN LATER", popped up on the screen.
I tried again three more times and to my horror the following message popped up on the computer.
"THIS JOB IS NO LONGER AVAILABLE."
I was crushed. Kind of.
The fact is that I waited until the last day to apply. Not only did I wait until the last day, but I waited until the last day AFTER I got home from work to apply. Subconsciously I recognized that I psyched myself out before I even applied and by waiting until the last minute, I could more fully except it if I didn't get the job.
Nevertheless, I search the internet until i found three publicists who worked for AK worldwide and sent my package to them just to make myself feel better. While I obviously didn't get the job, I am glad that I started this blog and I am choosing to believe that everything happens for a reason and that no effort is ever wasted because the intention will always perfect the action. (Thanks for that inspiration Angela R!)
The Cover Letter (That Wasn't)...
Title:
Yes, this is the last day to enter…but YOU SHOULD REALLY PICK ME!
By:
Kirstin Williams Smith
(Wife, Mother-to-be, Friend, Sister, Politico, Comedian, Fashionista, etc.)
May 3, 2010
Dear Sir or Madaam:
Before you dismiss this email because it was submitted on the last day of the open call, please reconsider because simply put, I was scared. How does one submit a resume to Alicia Keys for their dream job? A job, mind you, that isn’t what you went to school for, have a vast amount of experience in, nor have a plentiful portfolio to represent you. But a job, nonetheless, that you know is meant for you?
The truth is that it isn’t easy to go after our dreams because oftentimes we can defeat ourselves before we even try. Nevertheless, for better or worse, here I am taking a giant leap of faith.
So who IS this chick that is rambling on you might ask?
My resume would tell you that I am a pretty smart cookie with an educational background from two of the best schools in the country. While this is true and I am proud of what I have experienced and accomplished, like so many women, there is much more to me than meets the eye.
The fact is that I am a wife, a mother-to-be, a sister, and friend. I am a pseudo-comedian, a quasi-politico, and a very bootleg sports fan (as I only follow my city’s sports team when they are winning).
I have experienced heartbreak, the pain of losing a best friend to malaria, and the worry of almost losing a father on two occasions.
So who am I you ask? I am a superwoman.
I am a superwoman because I embody the joy, happiness, struggles, and tribulations that so many other women live every single moment of every single day.
I ask for consideration of this job not because I am different but precisely because I recognize that I am no different than any other woman who refuses to settle for anything less than pure happiness. The woman to represent your organization and website should be able to speak across class, race, faith, and economic lines and I know that I can do just that.
So again, forgive me for submitting this at the final hour because I suffered from a little bit of hesitation and doubt. That merely makes me a fallible human and the truth is that most women can relate to that too.
With Love, Peace, and Hope.
Monday, May 10, 2010
You're not Dying...That's Just Gas...
Before I became pregnant, I may have passed gas once every six months after eating nachos with cheese and chili on top. But now, on nights when I am fast asleep, I find myself awakened by a secession of "toots" coming from my rear end. I always jump up suddenly, awakened by the rumbling vibration and I check to see if Pat heard it...but luckily he is often too deep in sleep to notice.
The first time this happened, it was early in pregnancy and I woke up embarrassed because for the first time it was I who pooted in the middle of the night and not Pat. I announced, "oh my goodness baby..sorry but I pooted!" Thinking this would be an isolated incident I went back to sleep.
Now, 3 months later, gas stays with me like a close friend every evening. Luckily, the "poots" in the middle of the night have slowed down. Unfortunately, they've been replaced with a packet of gas that sits on top of my stomach every day.
I've tried everything to get rid of this gas but nothing seems to work. In fact, I often have the WORSE gas after eating healthy meals and snacks like fruit, vegetables, crackers, and water. It's kinda sad.
After eating lunch I go from looking 4 months pregnant to looking 7 months pregnant because my stomach swells up so fast that it reminds me of my childhood when my brother used to call me, "The Ethiopian."
What's odd about gas is that it always make you feel as if you are dying. Every time I have heartburn, at least once I consider that perhaps I am having a heart attack and wonder how long it would take Pat to find me on the floor by the toilet.
But I also wonder, if I am this uncomfortable, what's the baby doing? Is he or she punching on my stomach because there's not enough room in there? Is my gas the result of the baby "tooting" too?
The first time this happened, it was early in pregnancy and I woke up embarrassed because for the first time it was I who pooted in the middle of the night and not Pat. I announced, "oh my goodness baby..sorry but I pooted!" Thinking this would be an isolated incident I went back to sleep.
Now, 3 months later, gas stays with me like a close friend every evening. Luckily, the "poots" in the middle of the night have slowed down. Unfortunately, they've been replaced with a packet of gas that sits on top of my stomach every day.
I've tried everything to get rid of this gas but nothing seems to work. In fact, I often have the WORSE gas after eating healthy meals and snacks like fruit, vegetables, crackers, and water. It's kinda sad.
After eating lunch I go from looking 4 months pregnant to looking 7 months pregnant because my stomach swells up so fast that it reminds me of my childhood when my brother used to call me, "The Ethiopian."
What's odd about gas is that it always make you feel as if you are dying. Every time I have heartburn, at least once I consider that perhaps I am having a heart attack and wonder how long it would take Pat to find me on the floor by the toilet.
But I also wonder, if I am this uncomfortable, what's the baby doing? Is he or she punching on my stomach because there's not enough room in there? Is my gas the result of the baby "tooting" too?
...On Pickles
It all started one day at Morry's deli in Hyde Park when I ordered a fabulous turkey and swiss cheese sandwich [toasted, with onions, hot peppers, and mustard on marble rye bread].
As I walked to meet the little Italian guy at the end of the counter, I nervously went over what I was going to say next in my mind because I had become accustomed to the looks of pity and sympathy that I had began to receive when I ordered food.
"Okay ma'am...I got 'ay hot turkey sandwich...With onions! With Hot peppers! With Onions! And With Mustard! Can I get you anything else?"
"Yes sir. Can I have a peach Snapple, a bag of salt and sour chips, a lemon loaf, and 4 extra pickles please."
He stared at me in silence.
"Okay...... I got a Snapple, a bag of chips, a cake, and... a total of five pickles coming up," he said as he held in his laugh.
I looked down in shame.
Soon I made it to my car and drove to a spot near the lake and got excited thinking about the great meal that awaited me.
I slowly ate my turkey sandwich, slowly savoring every bite. Next I ate my chips and hot peppers (separately, one by one), and finally I drank my peach iced tea until it was all gone. (My lemon loaf would be saved for later on that night.)
Then...finally, it was just me and my five pickles alone in the car.
Up until this point in my pregnancy...I hadn't really gotten pickle cravings at all. In fact I hated sour stuff. But suddenly while standing at that deli counter - my body not only wanted pickles, but EVERY pickle that was in a 5 mile radius.
Like I suspected...those 5 pickles were pure ecstasy! In fact...those pickles made me feel like a crackhead trying crack for the first time. I couldn't explain it then and even now...2 weeks later...as I sit hear typing and eating pickles I still can't figure out why pickles taste like manna from Heaven. But I've decided that I am not going to resist the natural urge that has plagued pregnant women since the beginning of time -- maybe babies need pickles to help their hearts or toes develop? I really don't know...but I'm certainly just gonna roll with it.
As I walked to meet the little Italian guy at the end of the counter, I nervously went over what I was going to say next in my mind because I had become accustomed to the looks of pity and sympathy that I had began to receive when I ordered food.
"Okay ma'am...I got 'ay hot turkey sandwich...With onions! With Hot peppers! With Onions! And With Mustard! Can I get you anything else?"
"Yes sir. Can I have a peach Snapple, a bag of salt and sour chips, a lemon loaf, and 4 extra pickles please."
He stared at me in silence.
"Okay...... I got a Snapple, a bag of chips, a cake, and... a total of five pickles coming up," he said as he held in his laugh.
I looked down in shame.
Soon I made it to my car and drove to a spot near the lake and got excited thinking about the great meal that awaited me.
I slowly ate my turkey sandwich, slowly savoring every bite. Next I ate my chips and hot peppers (separately, one by one), and finally I drank my peach iced tea until it was all gone. (My lemon loaf would be saved for later on that night.)
Then...finally, it was just me and my five pickles alone in the car.
Up until this point in my pregnancy...I hadn't really gotten pickle cravings at all. In fact I hated sour stuff. But suddenly while standing at that deli counter - my body not only wanted pickles, but EVERY pickle that was in a 5 mile radius.
Like I suspected...those 5 pickles were pure ecstasy! In fact...those pickles made me feel like a crackhead trying crack for the first time. I couldn't explain it then and even now...2 weeks later...as I sit hear typing and eating pickles I still can't figure out why pickles taste like manna from Heaven. But I've decided that I am not going to resist the natural urge that has plagued pregnant women since the beginning of time -- maybe babies need pickles to help their hearts or toes develop? I really don't know...but I'm certainly just gonna roll with it.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Dedicated to my sweet, Christian, mother...Eliza.
In light of Mother's Day having just passed, I wanted to dedicate this entry to my sweet mother and friend, Eliza 'Sunshine and Shotgun' Williams.
My mother is a unique creature. If you meet her once, you will be convinced that she is a saint - as she will offer you the clothes off of her back, the food off of her plate, the money out of her wallet, and give you a scripture to carry you on your way. However, those of us who know her well understand that in that same Christian vessel lies someone who could pull a shotgun out on you if you push her then fix you a nice warm dinner afterwards simply because its the "right thing to do."
She doesn't know how to participate in many things without fully committing and that is clearly where my job bearing genes did NOT come from. My mother is the most focused, fierce, and fly woman that I know and sometimes...it just gets on my nerves.
Every morning at 6:45 am she calls and says "rise and shine, give God the glory" and tries feverishly to convince me to love the devil known as my boss just because God is too good to give any life to negativity.
(Sidenote: I try to remind her that she was cussing about her boss four short years ago but she assures me that in retirementt, the Lord has revealed to her that cussing is not the answer.)
Back to Eliza...
My mother retired at the age of 55 with full benefits, a paid off house, and no bills outside of what she wants to spend weekly when she goes to the Sam's Club with my father.
She pursued two master's degrees while working full time and raising 3 kids.
Best of all...every meal, every day, included either a candy yam, greens, or black eye peas when I was growing up.
I swear I don't know where my mother gets her drive and determination. Maybe that mighty field slave blood is still pulsing through those veins - while I'm only filled with the blood from an emancipated negro.
In all, my mother is one bad mother...shut yo' mouth, and I can only hope to one day be the woman, mother, and wife that she has always shown me to be.
Love you mommy,
Your Ooopps! Child
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