So... I'm Not the Only One....

I think I pass a little bit better than you,
Mr. Seahorse...

I have a new favorite animal.... It is the seahorse...  and here is why:

From:  Male Seahorses Are Nature's Mr. Mom, Researchers Say (although I find this title totally offensive, the article is still fascinating, if you leave out the heteronormativity...)

"When seahorses mate, the female inserts her ovipositor into the male's brood pouch (an external structure that grows on the body of the male) and deposits her unfertilized eggs into the pouch. The male then releases sperm into the pouch to fertilize the eggs. "It wouldn't be that interesting if the brood pouch were just a flap of skin where the females put regular fish eggs and they developed in the bag instead of on the sea floor," Jones said. "But the male pregnancy in some species of seahorses and pipefish is physiologically much more complex than that."

After the female deposits her unfertilized eggs into the male, the outer shell of the eggs breaks down, and tissue from the male grows up around the eggs in the pouch. After fertilizing the eggs, the male closely controls the prenatal environment of the embryos in his pouch. The male keeps blood flowing around the embryos, controls the salt concentrations in the pouch, and provides oxygen and nutrition to the developing offspring through a placenta-like structure until he gives birth."

So... I am going to start thinking of myself as a sea horse...  perhaps this will help with visualization during birth.  I was just REALLY excited to find this little fact out and needed people to know about this immediately. 

Becoming Baba

Here I am with our niece... Although I
had planned to  be her "Ancle", she had
 different plans and lovingly refers
to me as Didis, or Didi. 
(Taken at 6 months pregnant)

So... when it came to names I wanted to be called by my child... I was at a loss.  For a long time, I thought I would be a Doodah... which was a made-up name that I am can't even remember the roots of (although, I do know we had a dog name Doodah and one point in my childhood, and I know for a fact that the dog and the name for parent I had chosen were unrelated in any way.)  We have two feisty Jack Russell mixes and when they are misbehaving/being annoying/needing fed, Amy still tells them to "Go see your Doodah...", So I imagine I will remain a Doodah to our two fur-kids for evermore....

But then, my friend Paisley, sent me this fascinating article about Baba's: 

Why Hart Doesn’t Have Two Mommies

And I was going to write about my self-discovery and how I had chosen to adopt this name, etc. etc. etc., until I went back a re-read the article and although, our circumstances are different I felt like the author did a great job of describing their rationale....  But here are some highlights if you don't get around to reading the hole article...

1.  I have never been interested in being a Mom, or Mommy, or Mama.  Those words just don't feel right to me.... And like the author states, being a "Dad or Papa" felt like to much of a "project".  Reclaiming the masculine form of parent, seems like a huge undertaking and not something I imagine being ready for, while trying to juggle diaper changes, sleep deprivation, and all the other things that come along with parenthood.  After a while, explaining to people why I had chose Dad would become "BECAUSE I SAID SO"... which does no good for anyone.

2.  Baba has roots in different languages around the world... some where it is a masculine term, and other's where it was feminine.  I love this, because I love trivia... and because I feel like there are roots there.  Its like the universe gave us this excellent word, and I intend to make good use of it!

3.   I don't want to be the only gender queer parent in the world...  Because I have done enough of feeling like I don't belong.  There is a fine line to not feeling like you have a place, and changing yourself to be in a place that doesn't fit you.  I have learned this lesson repeatedly...  I like that there is a word for it, because I feel like that gives it power.  Knowing there are other Baba's out there makes me feel like I am not alone in this...

4.  A bit like/unlike the author... I, too, hope that people assumed that Amy carried the baby.  However, unlike the author, I am carrying the baby.  So... if I had my wish... they would assume Amy carried the baby... but they won't say it out loud, because it isn't important enough to do so...

So...  I will start out as Baba... and if our little one takes to that name, I will gladly accept it.  If she chooses something else, and I feel comfortable with that, I may roll with that as well...  I just want to be her parent...  And I want her to know that we have a very special bond regardless of what I am called.

Pregnant Boi in Blue and Pink Zones

In our 7th month of pregnancy, in Minneapolis,
with Mary Tyler Moore! 

For the majority of my life, I have spent time living as close to the "middle" as possible...  Which is damn near impossible when it comes to gender, because our society has given us very little middle ground.  So I have at least tried to choose what I wanted to choose, because I wanted to choose it... not because it was specifically male or female.  So I guess, this would  be an introduction to the difference between gender neutral (a space where gender one attempts to live in the middle of two genders) and gender open (a space where one picks and chooses from options regardless of what gender the typically, or stereotypically "belong" to). 

Anyways... pregnacy has forced me into a great many spaces that are typically "Pink" zones... ladies only.  And somedays I feel like a great pioneer.  And some days, I just want to be myself, without explaining, or discovering new ground, or planting flags, or manifesting destiny, or any other pioneering tropes...  So, I feel like by being forced into overtly female spaces, because of the law of averages I have subconcsiouly drifted more towards male "things".  I don't know how I feel about that, or really what it means, but it has definitely been interesting.

I would say the hardest Blue and Pink Zones, which I have navigated my whole life are bathrooms.  Just as a bonus, when in the 7th month of pregnancy, not only does your body start to rapidly change, you have no chance at doing the things you are normally physically capable of, and your feet are a constant reminder that you have "met your limits" for the day... you also have to go to the bathroom... a lot.  There was at time in my younger life where I would consume only the very smallest amount of water s that I never had to use the restrooms in public... and specifically in my rural/suburby high school, where kids were less than supportive of "difference".  But now, I am told drink, drink, drink.. and if I don't drink water, I feel crappy.... but if I do I have to go to the bathroom multiple times on out of house excursions.  Here are some strategies I have developed:

As you can see here, anyone who wears dresses, or doesn't,
or is a child, or little person (or maybe the small person is
average height and the two larger people are giants)
or you are in a wheelchair can use this bathroom.

1.  Dear God, let there be a family restroom:  I have read on some blogs that trans people are don't feel like they should use family restrooms,  because they have been set aside for a specific purpose.  I choose to ignore the word "family" if the sign includes it, and just think that the stupid sign, with the broad shouldered man AND the lady in the skirt, and imagine I fall somewhere in between those two things and therfore, the bathroom is intended for me (just as much as a male or female restroom would be intended for me.)  I certainly don't spend much time in there anyways...  On average it only takes me a minute to go, and then I am out!

2.  Duck and Roll:  There is a certain cadence of walking I have adopted when entering an all female restroom.  Peek around the corner, and eye up the scene.  Tuck the head, making eye contact with no one and approach the nearest stall.  I feel like, if I know what I am doing in there no one will ask me to leave, and if I walk fast enough, no one will have the chance to stop me.  Once safetly nestled in the stall, I do my business and listen very carefully until the coast is clear and I can make a clean get-a-way.  Amy is excellent help in this strategy and has also played the offensive line to my quarterback, allowing me to get in unnoticed.

3.  Belly out Chest Out:  Not my favorite strategy, but sometimes it is necessary when there is heavy traffic restrooms... like at our recent airport encounter.  This one is simple... look as pregnant as possible.  Remove hat (if wearing one), push bump out, and remove oversized outer garments.  Put hand in the small of the back and walk slowly in and look as tired as possible.  If there are any other pregnany steretypes that you see in the movies, now would be the time to use these tricks.  For ythe most part, Hollywood has designed pregnancy anyways, and somedays you just have to capitalize on that.  This one is hard, because it seems to be such a performance of pregnancy and femaleness, because thats what it is.  All morals and Theory aside, somedays this is the one that gets me through...  So this is for one of those "non-Lewis and Clark" days when I want to be a person first and an advocate later.

This list is not exhaustive...  nor is it perfect.  And bathroom situations will continue to be uncomfortable for the rest of my pregnancy, and probably the rest of my life.  But they are, unfortunately, a necessary evil.

Pregnant Boi and the TSA:
We recently spent some time travelling to Minnesota for a wedding.  And on our way back, I was just too tired to opt out of the body scan (sorry Paisley).  Like any other traveller, I took my shoes off, my jacket off, all of my belongings were removed from the pockets, etc. This left me in brown maternity pants, and an Old Navy V-Neck shirt.  Now again, I must mention, I am in my seventh month of pregnancy, and my body has changed drastically in the chest and stomach area...  But I stepped into the scanner, got into the arms up position, got scanned, and then waited... and waited, and waited, and then waited.  The agents whispered to each other, and looked confused, and then more whispering.  Eventually, after a long time, they asked me to step out, showed me that there were some places on my body were they had made some questionable discoveries, showing me the diagram, of a person, on a blue background with questionable areas over their chest, and belly.  They awkwardly asked if they could do the scan again.... and I agreed.  Second time: no discussion, no problem.  I stepped out... and the screen  reflected a person on a pink backgrond, with an "Okay" stamp....
Amy then explained to me (she had gone through security first and had watched the whole "show"). The first time they had scanned me as a male and shockingly found extra fluid in my pregnant stomache, and chest... but don't worry, as a female, I am no threat to national security.
There are so many thing I can say about this experience, and I am not sure how I feel about all of them, but I guess it is at least a little bit exciting that I am still passing, even if it is to a 70 year old TSA man.