I GUESS you can write about it. If you want. I mean, lots of people don't, but...whatever. It's YOUR blog.

I am not a super-confrontational person.

As a matter of fact, my people-pleasing tendencies go so far as to potentially align me with doormat status. I am working on this, on balancing between being helpful to others and still meeting my own needs, when reasonable. On the other hand, I'm not trying to be reactive, and take a stand as a big FUCK YOU just to prove I'm not too accommodating. It's a bit of a line, and I am always erring on the side of conceding to make happy, but for me, it is one of my greatest works in progress.

One of the things that is helping me on this path to greater self-enlightenment is my work environment, where the primary language spoken is passive-aggressive.

Sweet baby Jesus all curled up in the manger, please just say what you goddamn want to say.

I am not free of this sin, I know. While I try to avoid it because it drives me so fucking nuts in my daily interactions with others, sometimes I find myself doing it in my closer, personal relationships. With my husband, with whom I can usually shoot straighter than with anyone else, I find myself employing this if I know it's a touchy subject. Like beer.

Him: My BF and I were thinking of going to check out some pubs we've never been to in Nearby City.

Me: Oh, um, really? Great. Y'know, we're a little lean this time of the month [while furiously thinking about the ridiculous amount of moolah he just spent to brew beer which was supposed to save us money because that's what he'd drink but instead we still buy just as much at pubs and grocery stores IN ADDITION to the stuff he brews] so maybe, y'know, you could think about pushing it back until after payday? I mean, I don't want to tell you what to do, but...

Him: Are you asking me to go next weekend?

Me: Well, I don't want to tell you what to do...

Him: Okay, seriously, would you rather I wait until later in the month?

Me: Well, it might be better, but I don't want to be the controlling wife/partner...

And so on.

Really, I'm well within my rights to say, "Hey dude, want you to have fun with your BF and all, but can it wait until we are not broke-ass and you put us into overdraw status so you can have yet more beer?" Knowing my husband, he'd be fine with this (mostly). If I just came at it from where my concerns lie, and not from a point of I'd-like-you-to-do-something-but-won't-ask-straight-out-but-will-still-expect-you-to-do-what-I-want-and-if-you-don't-I'll-be-unreasonably-pissed, I think it would be easier.

But that programming is tough.

I do NOT want to gender stereotype. My husband and some of my male friends can be passive-aggressive with the best of 'em. But I think societally women are trained that assertiveness is aggression; that asking for what you want without compromise--but within reason--still scrapes uncomfortably against the idea that women are nurturers and pretty much exist for others. Throw in making a statement or request born of anger, displeasure, etc., and my god you might be labeled with that lofty title of "BITCH." Some women don't give a fuck how this works. This is, I think, how it should be. But many do, and struggle with being assertive or straight-forward, especially in their communication with other women. Again, I know this is a problem across genders, but I think the stereotype of a submissive, people-pleasing woman is still very pervasive throughout.

Where I work, this type of passive-aggressive back and forth is a plague. We have a lot of women in my work place (it being education and all) and many of these women struggle with assertiveness, and so resort to beating around the bush and making it clear they need something or want something changed, but can never just bloody come out and say/ask/demand it.

And it is omnipresent in this work place. I have sat in meetings so saturated with underhanded, passive-aggressive back and forth that I resorted to making rude, grunting sounds like a sullen teen or asthmatic pig, which is not exactly productive in and of itself but made me feel a helluva lot better. I understand that it takes all kinds but lord a livin' it's not THAT hard to say what you think/want in a way that's not going to piss people off. And if it does, oh well. That's life, and sometimes people get pissed off. Nobody really dies from it, and most people eventually get over it. Honest.

All of this is to say that it's helping me be more assertive and straight-forward in my communication. Because watching this ridiculous by-play makes me want to scream and throw things, and because I know it doesn't help shit in terms of work-place efficiency, fluency, professionalism, etc. I am conscious of when my inclination is to go there, and I very deliberately make myself be more straight-forward and plain in my speech.

Does this mean I don't cringe when I say something I know someone's not going to like? No. Do I sometimes still chicken the hell out when I should've been more assertive? Lord, yes. But I am trying, every day, to get better. And the other aspect of that is letting other people know that it's cool when they speak their minds in a candid, direct manner. Hey, even if I disagree with you, if you're not being an asshole about it, then it's fine, and I respect you all the more for being straight with me. I don't think you're a bitch/asshole/dick etc. We're cool, it's cool, and let's move on.

I recognize it's an uphill battle. But it's one I am determined to take on, if only to preserve my sanity.

"Deadwood," how I love thee...let me count the f*ckin' ways

This week was shitastic, so I'm not going to blog about it only in order to avoid reliving it. Because it will really just be me saying "My job sucks, most of the people I work with suck, and sometimes, much worse than job-suckage, life really, really sucks. WTF, God/Buddha/Allah/etc.???"

Instead, I'm going to focus on something that gives me much pleasure.

DEADWOOD.

Yes, I am speaking of this show, the HBO foray into the late 19th century gold rush in South Dakota before it was officially South Dakota. And yes, that show has been off the air for over two years. And yes, I am slow on the uptake in discovering this.

Why?

Well, because I am without cable and mostly reliant upon Netflix to get me through the days (much as I love having four local channels and four public broadcasting channels, courtesy of my converter box, it's just not quite the same as those glorious 200 options I used to bask in on a daily basis. But I'm not bitter. Okay, I'm bitter, but I'm working on it.)

So the husband and I have started this habit of ordering television shows that are no longer airing. We get to watch a series straight through, it makes for an easy (and cheap!) end to a date-night, and there are no possibilities of spoilers heading our way. We made our way through "The Sopranos" (excellent, excellent show) and "Six Feet Under" (not quite as excellent, in my humble opinion, but compelling in a lot of ways). We have a few more coming down the shoot ("The Wire," and I'm trying to go for "Battlestar Galactica," only because a bunch of different friends--those more inclined towards nerd and those who are not--have said it's a good show. Including my dad. Who is most definitely inclined toward nerd and whom I love dearly because of it) but for right now, we are immersed in the wild world of unannexed Deadwood, South Dakota, in the late 1800's.

Sweet lord, I'm addicted.

It feels a little weird, honestly. Because it's been a non-entity in the entertainment world for well over two years--a century in entertainment world-speak--everyone I want to talk with about it, all caught up in my excitement and my urge to analyze and dissect, etc., is sorta like, "Uh, Deadwood? Yeah, I'd heard about that show" or they're willing to chat about it with me but c'mon, it was done two years ago and the interest/excitement/desire to analyze has long worn off for them.

In a way, being slow on the trend uptake takes me back to high school. I was never one of those girls who was swooning left and right over whatever teeny-bopper heart-throb was being marketed at that time (except for an extremely embarrassing letter to Leonardo DiCaprio I wrote after Titanic came out, which I am mortified about to this day but in my defense, he was such a bloody romantic character...hmmm, I wonder if he ever got it?) but my freshman year, I had a very intense, vivid dream about John Lennon. Yes, of the Beatles. Deceased for 15 years at that point. I'd grown up listening to the Beatles and other "Classic Rock" legends, but this dream shot me into a whirlwind of Beatle worship that probably looked quite out of place in the mid-90's. I'm talking books, posters, t-shirts, obsessively educating myself about them--John in particular, who remains my favorite--the whole shebang. So yeah, I jumped on the swoony, ridiculous, teen-worship bandwagon...for a band that had been broken up for 25 years.

Being behind the curve is nothing new for me. Heh.

But back to "Deadwood," two years too late or not.

The first episode, my response was: "No. Nuh-uh. Dialogue is weirdly stilted and hard to follow on occasion, I'm not sure I like ANY of the characters at this point, and I. Can. Not. Stand. The. Protagonist (Seth Bullock)." (Two things: one, I'm not sure he's the true protagonist, because the character development is a bit more complex than the initial impression gives and two, Timothy Olyphant--the guy who plays Seth Bullock--is a pretty terrible actor and that's why I did not like his character.)

Had a conversation with a friend who saw and liked the series and told me "to think Shakespeare and give it a few episodes" before I decided I wasn't digging on it.

Truer words were never spoken.

By the third episode, I was hooked. The dialogue was oddly formal and stilted in some ways, and yet, at the same time, earthy, witty, and cutting...much like Shakespeare. Characters had grand monologues (often given during the oddest activities. Like, say, receiving a blow-job from a hooker), the swearing was gratuitous and they dropped the c-word like it was the word "the" (which took me a while to adjust to...unfortunately, now it comes to my mind and almost my lips very easily when I'm having the road-rage) but my god, it was amazingly grand.

And the characters...oh, the characters.

Here, at the ripe old age of 29, I'm damn near starting a fan club for Ian McShane, a.k.a "Al Swearengen." When, recently, there was a run of episodes really without him in it, my husband commented that while getting to know the other characters was a good thing, it sort of felt like we were just waiting for Al to show up again. When he's in a scene, it's hard to see anyone else. He's sardonic, sarcastic, vicious and vulnerable, and he can convey all of that with the slightest of eye-brow raises and the smallest utterance of "Fuck." I cannot express how enraptured I am whenever he's in a scene. He gives any of the so-called "legends" (DeNiro, Hackman, Brando, whatevah) a run for their money.

My second favorite character is "Doc Cochran," played by Brad Dourif. He is a tortured soul, committed to healing and helping, gruff and caring and fucked up. I LOVE watching he and Al interact. He's a mystery in a lot of ways, and every episode I get to learn more about him I fall for him a little more. Trixie, played by Paula Malcomson, is a hardened, nervous, straight-shooting hooker whose complex feelings for Al shine a light on how her heart and head work, and I very much have enjoyed getting to know her as well.

I've got to stop myself here, because I could go on and on about each character. Short of Seth, who, again, is limited by the actor playing him (although he is perty and can speak through clenched teeth reeeeaaaallly well) every single character on that show is fascinating. Even the ones who come through and are short-lived; the writers did a fantastic job of developing the story arcs and the actors they asked to flesh out the characters truly came through. I feel like "Deadwood" is one long-running, beautifully written allegory about the human condition. It's the kind of show that makes me want to go back and get my PhD in film/television studies, just so I can write my damn dissertation on it. It's just that frickin' good. If I were writing a dissertation, I'd discuss the misogyny, the violence, the fact that no character is simple or one-dimensional. Because I've already blathered on, I won't get into it. But there's a wealth of shit to be mined in this show.

We are now mid-way through the second season. We really haven't stretched it out because every time we get a Netflix in the mail, we're so excited to watch what's coming that we go through the two to three episodes on each disc in one sitting. My heart is breaking a little bit to know that it was canceled after season three, and that because of this, we may never get resolution for many of the different plot developments, not to mention, no more "Deadwood" a'coming in the mail. That is definitely teh suck. But even with this knowledge, I'm glad we discovered it. For the time being, I will continue to be dorkily excited, two years too late, and my friends will just have to put up with my giddiness and compulsive need to talk about it all the time.


But please, watch the beauty that is Ian McShane as Al. God, it's amazing.

Making a go of it

I had a conversation with a coworker friend of mine the other day that, surprisingly, rolled off my back in a way I thought it never could. I've blogged about him before; good guy, conservative Christian, relatively sheltered in world view, etc. We were joking around about a sub in our building who he thinks is "super hot." Yeah, she's definitely cute, in a teachery way. And more importantly, she seems like a nice young lass.

But that's not what we were talking about, of course. We were talking about her hawtness.

She also happens to be ridiculously tiny. Petite all around...you know the type. Upon brief reflection, I posited to him that I believed he thought "hot" = "skinny." After thinking about it, he sort of mockingly/sort of seriously said, "Yeah, I s'pose you're right." While a part of him was irritated I'd categorized him like that, because he knew it wasn't flattering (and because he was talking to someone who was definitely NOT skinny), I think a part of him had to 'fess up that yeah, in order for a woman to be appealing to him, she'd probably need to be thin.

I was joking/serious, too, in my irritation. I mean, I'd called him out, but when he was (sort of) honest with me, it pissed me right off. At my office door, I told him I think we needed to be done with this conversation (again, with the joking yet not joking tone) and he followed me in saying, "Ah, come on..." I sat down and told him: "It's cool, I have a lot of shallow asshole male friends like that." He gave me the "Yeah, whatever" and left.

(Side note: I know I'm being a hypocrite to a certain extent. I certainly am attracted to men who fit a certain socially constructed ideal, but I also am very drawn to dudes based on a whole picture sort of thing: honestly, most of the guys I know that I'm consistently attracted to--i.e., over a long period of time--I became attracted to them after getting to know them. And I'm sure my friend is not ONLY attracted to skinny chicks. And I know most people have a multi-dimensional approach to what's attractive in others. But that's not really the point of this. )

The point is, as much as anything I do ever has a point, that I wasn't disturbed as much as I would've been in the past. I mean, yeah, it torqued me a bit. To introduce the idea to this guy that--to be fair--BOTH of us are totally influenced by social construction of what's attractive, regardless of what we might think if we weren't influenced by social construction (gawd, can you imagine such a world?!) did cross my mind, but then I thought, meh. Why bother?

Normally I might've been pissy about it for days, fuming to my husband and anyone who would listen; ranting and raving about the unfairness of it all and why I would even be affected by a guy who swallowed the Kool-Aid (mmmm, Kool-Aid) about what's attractive and appealing and how I goddamn swallowed it too and wish I could break free and yadda yadda yadda, ad nauseam. And believe me, I still feel that way.

But the cool thing is, I'm starting to have a different relationship with my body right now. Not only is it changing in such a unique way (as in, unique to me) but because of the purpose behind the change.

I've heard women who've said they LOVED being pregnant; that they'd never felt more beautiful, sensual, feminine. I've also heard women say: "I hated EVERY day of being pregnant. Hated the way I felt, hated the way I looked, felt like a cow, couldn't wait to be done."

I'm somewhere in the middle, honestly. I have my days where I feel like I'm just rocking a beer-gut. But more and more, I'm leaning towards the WOAH, lookit what my body can do. This is RAD.

Because my body is beginning to resemble something that is both so outside the norm/ideal and so easily identifiable as a temporarily "acceptable" way to be outside the norm/ideal, it's kind of freeing. Bottom line is that I'm building a human. When I can feel said human rolling around on occasion, that is pretty fecking great, and in that moment, I don't care what my body looks like, because it's only a shelter for that human, the center of my universe.

That thought is starting to enter my consciousness more and more. That my body is not just about appearance, not just about whether or not I measure up, but is primarily about what it can DO. It's changing in myriad ways because its primary job right now is to give and nurture life. To be able to connect that to how my physical appearance is outwardly transforming is strangely empowering. It gives me an appreciation for my body, my physical self, as opposed as a reason to constantly hate it.

In a weird way, it gives me confidence. It's like, I don't have to worry about gaining weight, I'm growing a goddamn baby and that gives me an out. I can walk, head high, posture straight, making eye contact, because of this knowledge. And surprisingly, I've noticed that men have been smiling, greeting, looking in a way that I've never noticed before (not that I live for this, but my perceived lack of seeing this often justified the horrid way I've treated myself.)

Here's where the paradigm shift comes in, though. I know, I know, anyone with a three-year-old's reasoning capability was here waaay before I was, but c'mon. Years of programming, here.

Why does pregnancy give me that out? Why is that my only excuse to love my body, and have confidence in its beauty and capability and all that it gives me? Why can't I just feel that way ALL the time, regardless of my condition? Is it that I'm knocked up that I've noticed a different interaction with men, or because my letting go of my issues in the name of pregnancy has given me the confidence to just say, FUCK IT, and that's what's attractive?

Or perhaps it is that my boobs are truly out of control, and what I perceive as attraction to my new-found confidence is simply awe at my circus-freak bosoms.

No, I kid. (Although it might be a little of that, for those dudes--and ladies--who dig on the rediculously sized boobage.)

Basically I'm enjoying this ride. It makes me feel beautiful at times, something I'm not used to. It makes me proud of my body, again, something I'm not used to. I hope, for the sake of my child, that I can hang on to this and remember it and incorporate it into my view of myself.

Freedom of Speech...and to be an idiot

The city I live in is comprised of an interesting mix o' people. Given it's a university town, you've got your fair share of liberal, elitist intellectuals. Throw in around 20,000 moronic undergrads, along with a dash of somewhat conservative retirees, and it's a smorgasbord of clashing views. For the piece de resistance to this recipe of clusterfuckery, the neighboring city is a definite working-class, conservative type place, and the two cities share one main newspaper. With all of these fascinating folks meshing in an area that is roughly 20-30 square miles, the Opinion/Letters to the Editor section provides me with daily entertainment. Occasionally you get away from people praising/denouncing the stupid university football team (more to come on that in a future post) to get down to some good ol' fashioned hatred.

To wit:

You can count me as one of those angry white males that E.J. Dionne...and his monied writing buddies enjoy condescending to. That’s right, you can also call me a hillbilly white trash redneck, because I just plain don’t care what media honchos call me and my angry white friends. Just don’t call me a Democrat. Just don’t call me a Republican. Them’s fightin’ words, mister. And I’m ex-military and not kidding, just angry. Angry that after several decades of civil rights, affirmative action, women’s liberation and abortion on demand there are more minority gangs roaming city streets than ever, more narcotics pouring over our borders than ever, and more homicides in our cities than ever.

This is progress? Angry that the same crowd that preaches family values is so quick to OK moving our family wage manufacturing jobs to Third World countries. This is fair? Angry that it’s very easy to find a radio jock quick to send American kids off to fight our proxy wars — but near impossible to find a radio jock that ever served in the military himself. This is a joke? Angry that the same women who moan and moan over women’s rights are so quick to do business with Red China, where female infaniticide and the abortion of female fetuses is routine, encouraged and winked at by the Communist Party leadership. This is human rights?

But don’t mind me. I’m just a pickup drivin’ old white guy wondering out loud why E.J. Dionne isn’t angry.

My favorite part is where he talks about how we women WHINED all those years for stupid women's rights, then we go and piss them away by conducting ourselves in business with those damn Chinee, who should...be bombed? Burned at the stake? Not sure, not sure. I'm sure he has some opinions he didn't get to share due to the 250 word limit. There's only so much racist hate you can spew in 250 words.

Gawd bless 'Merica.

TWITTER WILL KILL YOU

After much hemming and hawing, I've entered the world of Twitter. Reluctantly.

Why?

Not because I am against social-networking sites. Lord knows I've spent far too much time on Facebook, and far and wide (from family to friends) I get comments like:

"I really enjoy your status updates. They're very entertaining."

to

"Wow, you are one of those that updates A LOT. I mean, don't get me wrong, you're entertaining, but woah. A LOT."

Which always makes me feel somewhat ashamed, like I don't have a life.

*cough*

No, the reason I was/am reluctant is because I view Twitter as the first day of high school in a district you've never attended before. It's lunch time, there are masses of judge-y/clique-y teenagers milling about, and I know NO ONE, so I'm stuck standing there, holding my tray, anticipating eating outside on the steps like a loser.

The analogy is not totally off.

If you don't know anyone on there, you are basically Tweeting for yourself, which is kind of like doing a strip-tease for yourself. Uh, why bother? You can follow people and comment, but if they're not following you...it's a fast train on a one way track to Loserville. And I don't want to be one of those people who "follows" celebrities (like Ashton Kutcher, who is the mayor of Doucheburg, a neighboring town to Loserville) then comments/replies @AshtonK or whatever and feels like they had a conversation with a celebrity.

Nu-uh, not gonna do it.

I had a pal invite me to give it a shot. I very much enjoy this friend and the way their brain works, so I am timidly venturing into the world of Twitter. This friend also knows others who I might like to banter with, so I have an "in." I also have a few other pals who I know Tweet on a regular basis, and I'd like to see what they have to say. But honestly, there's no way I'd do it otherwise. I don't like feeling alone/ignored/pathetic (who does...right?) but somehow the internet and it's anonymous abyss can make a sistah feel that way. Like it's so easy to get butt-hurt if you post what you think is a hilarious status update on Facebook and nobody comments, or notices, or whatever.

Social networking on the interwebs honestly has the potential to bring back that kind of "oh shit no one likes me I'm not good enough how can I be accepted?!" high school bullshit that still plagues most of us (see tfln.) I personally hated feeling that way, and now that I'm older, it's rare for me to feel awkward in social situations (specifically, "real life" social situations.) Granted, I have a pretty set group of friends and a partner that make me feel secure socially, but there is just something about the social networking...perhaps the anonymity or controlled interaction that's somewhat more shallow...and oddly structured, which lends to its shallowness. People can say and do things to each other that would be a helluva lot harder to do to each other's face.

For example: my birthday is coming up. So, I thought, "Why not see if some of my friends want to hang out on my birthday?" Not trying to be self-congratulatory or vying for presents; just thought the ol' 'Book was a good way to invite peeps.

But my palms were sweaty creating the event, and I so wanted to qualify the whole thing with "It's cool, you don't have to come out for me, it's a Wednesday and I know you all have important things to do..." just to save myself the disappointment if nobody showed.

Now, 17 or so folks have said they're coming. And I am humbled by this. Seriously. What the eff? I mean, they're my friends. Sure they want to hang out with me on my birthday, and socialize with each other. Why am I G-D humbled for crissake? But I am. Because putting yourself out there to be accepted in somewhat literal form on the interwebs is just somehow harder. It's so weird, but there you go.

Anyhoo, back to Tweeting. I anticipate I will love it, and it will fast consume my time when I really should be healing really fucked up children (not that I can do that, but ostensibly that's what they're paying me for.) We shall see.

But for a treat, here's a video my pal posted on Facebook a while back. It's pretty hilarious, I must admit.

NO Socialized Medicine...don't mess with my Medicare!!

This has been chewing at my brain so I had to post about it.

I am getting to the point where I have no patience for people shown in the picture above. I think they're ignorant idiots who can't think for themselves, who simply spew back the dogma Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh feed them, and who aren't reasonable and therefore are incapable of any sort of rational dialogue. They are taking the health care issue and turning into some sort of springboard for viewing themselves as oppressed and tyrannized, which is ridiculous bullshit. Like they have to fight a revolution because the government wants to care for all instead of just those who can afford it (and don't even get me bloody started on the disparity with who holds the wealth in this country.) When you bring up the fact that our health care system is BROKEN, they ignore that, because they have no answers. Instead, they turn the argument back towards the socialistic, oppressive, out-of-control president and how he's turning our republic into a socialist/communist dictatorship, and crapping all over their god-given rights, dammit!

Except one of those god-given rights is not, apparently, the ability to access medical care without it breaking your bank or killing you because you don't have the money.

I know ALL of the people who attend these things are not dogmatic assholes. I'm sure some of them have legitimate concerns, and are capable of expressing them in a way that's not screaming or holding patently offensive signs (seriously?! Obama as HITLER??? Or, maybe even worse...Obama as a FRENCHMAN??? Heh.)

But I am so. Damn. Sick. Of. It.

Why? Well, let me describe a lil' anecdote that broke my heart and pissed me off and made me feel so fucking helpless it's not even funny.

Last week, we had a family come in, desperately looking for help and information. The mother lived in our rural area all her life, then met and fell in love with a Mexican man. They moved to Mexico, started a family, and lived there for many years. This year, they moved back here. Don't know why, but just know that the entire family moved back up here. Their son is a middle schooler, and has a tough road ahead of him, because his educational experience in Mexico was very different and he'll have some catching up to do to meet "our" standards. Luckily, the folks I work with, including the ELL coordinator who is my good friend and is an AMAZING teacher and advocate, are already looking to how we can better serve this student.

But the family came in because their son was desperately sick. He has pretty bad asthma, and unfortunately contracted some sort of cold/upper respiratory infection. He'd gone home sick, but then his whole family came back in to ask us for info because it was obvious, looking at him, that he needed acute care. Now.

In Mexico, the mother explained, they didn't really have to worry about health care stuff; they just went to the doctor then to the pharmacy and got his prescriptions and all was well, and, apparently, covered. Or at least very low cost. But here, they weren't sure where to go. They'd applied for state aid, but were still waiting. They were struggling financially, and did we know where there might be free/reduced cost health care? They were obviously worried, and as I watched him bent over, gasping for breath with blue around his lips, I could very well see why. But they also were already struggling financially, and they had two other children, so they were trying to figure out what they could do to help their son without further sliding into financial difficulties.

Somewhat helplessly, the school nurse, ELL coordinator, and myself gave them the names of some low cost clinics. But we emphasized that if they couldn't get in today, then they should go to the local hospital's ER. This is a Catholic hospital and often serves folks in their situation, with a willingness to work out the financial aspects in whatever terms the family could afford.

This family was scared. They were scared for their son's health, understandably so. They were anxious for getting him help, but they were also terrified of the costs and red tape associated with it all. Instead of taking him down to the doctor with no worries as soon as something seemed amiss, they were at our school, seeing if we could help them navigate a system which seems arbitrary at best, and uncaring, costly, and callous at worst. You could tell the mother wanted to bundle her son up and get him help right then and there, but a fear of cost and other burdens was making her hesitate. Again, understandably so...she had to think of her whole family right then, even though at the forefront of her mind was her very ill son.

That is utter and complete bullshit.

That a mother would have to hesitate in terms of getting her child care because of cost, or fear of rejection or no care at all, is unacceptable. This family was here LEGALLY (thank you very much, racist conservative assholes, even thought I don't think it should matter whether they're legal or not, as we are all humans, but whatever), they are trying the best they can in difficult economic times, and they had a sick kid they wanted to help.

We should have a system where the ability to get care is never in question. Where one does not have to hesitate on the basis of cost, because they fear helping one member of their family with a acute health care needs might totally financially break the rest of the family. Where the so-called insured take themselves or a loved one in for care then come to find out, due to some arbitrary reasoning on the part of a company whose primary interest is making money, that the care they received was not covered, and they'd have to find some way to pay themselves. So sorry. Not our problem. Good luck with that, there's always bankruptcy court.

It makes me want to hike to the top of a mountain and scream my lungs out. It makes me want to go to a "tea party" protest and set all their signs on fire. It makes me want to ask President Obama to pleasepleaseplease for the love of all that is holy, DON'T back off the single-payer option or a more universal approach to health care coverage. Please don't water down the solution so much that we're back at square one, people are still dying, insurance companies are still hugely profiting...all in the name of "bipartisanship."

Maybe it's melodramatic. Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe I'm super hormonal because I'm pregnant and my heart's just laid extra bare these days.

But looking at that sick kid and those worried parents got to me. It's been haunting me all weekend, and it brings this "national debate" straight home to my doorstep.

It's just such bullshit. It needs to be fixed so badly but there are rabid crowds of people who refuse to see it that way, and want to make it about something it's not, and I feel like they are getting their way.

And that's just fucked.

It's like....woah

All righty then.

Porn star, out of control, two sizes bigger (?!) boobs? Check.

Rapidly expanding waistline? Check.

Intermittent bouts of nausea that are never terrible but never a walk in the park? Check.

Going from zero to irritated mega-bitch levels of frustration for no apparent reason? Check.

Yeah, I'm knocked up.

It's been a ride, I'll tell you that. Today, I'm almost 12 and a half weeks (which makes the expanding waistline bit a touch concerning, given I have six freakin' months to go) and on Thursday I officially enter the second trimester, which is the breathe-easier time, ostensibly.

We've had two ultrasounds; in the first one, it looked like a lim- bean with a strong flicker of a heartbeat, and in the second one, done only a few days ago, there was a for real baby-looking thing in there.

It was AWESOME to see it, and finally, FINALLY, helped with some of the constant, ridiculous, irrational anxiety I was feeling.

I know that every woman probably feels some anxiety at some point when they're with child; even if there's no history of miscarriage or whatever it can still be worrisome until you get to that (somewhat arbitrary) point at which the risk for bad shit happening goes waaaay down. But mine was out of control. I mean, I didn't start to feel excited or joyous or more relaxed until we had that second ultrasound, honestly. And I've never been preggo before, never had any real reason to think things wouldn't go well. But my god, I was a wreck much of the time.

I've had a few women pals I know who've lost babies earlier on; some I knew about because I was friends with their partner or whatever, and some I was actually in contact/friends with. It was devastating for them, of course, for their partners, and my heart broke because it's something you never want to go through yourself, nor do you want to see anyone else go through.

It just sucks.

Plus there was the over-inundation of information. I've spent so many years preparing for this moment by reading articles, surfing message boards, etc. that I thought I was in a position to be an advocate for myself, that knowledge was power. And it's true, somewhat.

But knowledge can also make you a neurotic mess in the early days of your pregnancy.

My husband very logically (and kindly) pointed out that I kinda needed to simmer the hell down. That I was signing on for the rest of my life with this little person, and that if I was anxious/worried now, wait 'til the lil' bugger was actually here.

I don't want to be a mom who embarrasses the hell out of their kid because they make them wear plastic clothes and never lets them go outside because of "germs/strangers/errant cars/possibly feral or rabid cats/dogs, etc." And god, I can see myself going there with as anxious as I've been with this pregnancy.

So I tried to reign it in. He was right. Things were (and are) progressing nicely; I need to have faith in my body to do the right thing, and know that I have no reason to feel like things will go horribly wrong. Anticipating the worst because you don't want to be blindsided if it happens is not a fun way to exist, and it really was taking the joy out of this nauseated, body-image-wrecking, moody-as-all-get-out amazing life experience.

We just broke the news to the world, after letting it slip here and there leading up to the big press release on the ol' Facebook. And it feels good to talk about it openly with people, to share and bask in their joy for myself and my hubs, to get the advice from parents and the questions from not-parents. It's pretty cool. My family is over the moon, my in-laws are over the moon, and dammit, I should be too.

One thing that is amazing to me is how quickly the little spawn has taken over my identity. I'm not so much me anymore, now that people know, but I'm the pregnant version of me. Don't get me wrong, this is expected and not a bad thing at all, but at the same time, it's weird. At work, not everyone knows for sure because it's a "rumor" flitting around the district, but most people have heard whispers, and I catch the occasional speculative glance at my midsection. It changes people's perception of you; I've already been cautioned not to lift, not to do this or that, and have been called the preggo lady by some of my friends. Again, expected and fun to a certain degree, but there's also a part of me that is crying out: "Hey! I'm still me! I still feel a certain way and want to be perceived the way I've been perceived, up the duff or not. Remember? Remember how you talked to me when you didn't know I was pregnant??"

I'm not trying to sound ungrateful or bitch about something inconsequential like it's a big deal. I am seriously VERY happy to be pregnant, feel very blessed and am very excited about meeting my son or daughter. It's just been an adjustment, that's all. And I know it's only going to get more intense, as I start to visibly show (as opposed to trying to rock the Homer Simpson paunch that I am currently rocking) and people who don't know me will immediately identify me as "pregnant woman." It kinda takes over, and I think that's how it should be. It is a...Big. Freaking. Deal.

That being said, I want to make a conscious effort to not let it take over here. Of course, I will post about the progression, the big milestones, how I'm feeling, what I'm doing/learning in preparation for the wee one's arrival, and so on and so forth. Because that's going to be a huge part of my life, as well it should be. But I also want to keep talking about stuff that interests me, about work, about my thoughts and interactions with those around me, about political shit and whatnot. I want to keep it balanced as much as I can (and NOT FoxNews balanced, like for-real balanced).

All bets are off, however, when the little person arrives. Heh.