The Guy in Khakis in the Hot Topic

So... I took a long break.  I had lots of feelings and emotions, and honestly, they were a bit much to handle.... and I didn't feel like I could process them in a way that would be healthy for blogging, so I have been a little silent lately.  Good news is, I feel great now.  I want to try and process some of the feelings I have had in writing over the next couple of weeks, but wanted to get something down quickly to rekindle my enjoyment of writing this blog.

So without further adieu....

So here is my a little comparison for the day.  Imagine it is 1999... and you are a punk kid (JNCOS, dog chain, studded belt and ringer tee included.)  All of your friends are also punk kids.... BUT, you also have a job at the mall that has a strict khaki and polo dress code.  One day on your 15 minute break from the Sunglass Hut, you walk down to the Hot Topic...  as soon as you walk in you feel out of place.  The guy behind the counter looks at you strangely, as if you aren't in the right place (also, you are not sure if this look is real or imagined).  You know in other social circumstances you may share a great moment of bonding listening to Blink 182's, "All the Small Things" but in this moment, in this situation, the guy with the spiked dog collar couldn't think he was more different than you.

You press on anyways.  You know what you are there for... and you know that even though it doesn't look like it is a place where you should be, you know you have the proper equipment, it is just hidden under your polo/khaki costume.  So you proceed to the chained wallet section (because for the 2nd time this year you have broken the piece that snaps onto your belt loop).  You choose one that suits you (probably red with sparkles like a 50s dinner seat) and you proceed to check-out.  All the sudden the guy behind the counter realizes you DO belong there.  You obviously had a desire for something in the shop, and although on the surface it doesn't look like this is your place, it is somewhere you had to go to get something that was necessary.

That's what going to the midwives office feels like.  Foreign and strange... not because I don't belong there, but because it looks like I don't belong there.  So maybe chain wallets and babies aren't the same, but I think you get the picture.

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. 

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.

One Year Ago Today...

On this day, a year ago, Amy and I took an irreversible step on our journey to parenthood.  After many discussions, meditations, prayers, and even silences, we had come to the conclusion that she would be handing the baby holding reigns over to me.  It was a huge sacrifice on her part, and I will always be grateful to her.
So on this day last year, we went to the Doctor's office, and long story short, we made the first attempt at getting my body pregnant.  I will never forget how scared I was...  Because I am a member of what some may call in lesbian-speak (again, not a lesbian... but down with the jargon) in the gold-star club.  So in simple, biological terms this means that I was officially a sperm-free zone... and that was about to change.  I had also spent a very long time ignoring that I had biologically female sex organs, and up until about 7 days before had never been to the OBGYN... by the time the 23rd rolled around, I had been pap-smeared, poked, prodded and probed,  and given a shot in the butt to get ovulation timing correctly.  So I was beginning to feel like my "girl parts" had become a side-show (this particular office was an on-call office, meaning you saw who was there... so 3 appointments, meant 3 different audiences to my downstairs...)
Due to some unfortunate work circumstances, immediately after the appointment (yeah, the one I was sure would be traumatizing and need several hours of debrief), I had to drive for 2 hours to do a 2 night overnight work trip.  I don't know if it has come through in previous posts, but Amy and I are VERY close...  maybe some would say unhealthy close.  Some days, it is really hard to get out of bed to go to work because the snuggles are JUST. THAT. GOOD.  Anyways, she is my safe space, and my home, and I never like being away from her, but I figured this would be excruciating.  I went to sleep away camp my whole childhood (starting in 2nd grade) and never felt homesickness until the first business trip I took away from my wife (lame... I know.) 

This is my rainbow.... as I rode out of town.  I have
often wondered if it showed up, just because it
made a great plot device in a story....

So anyways, as I am riding out of Columbus, after the world's most uncomfortable appointment, in which I feel like I had crossed an irreversible line that I never planned on crossing, and then had to leave the only person that felt like a safe space, there was a perfect rainbow.  (Please see footnote about rainbows... are blogs supposed to have foot notes?  Well.. this one does)
 Now, this blog is certainly not about religion... but let me tell you, in that moment, I knew that in someway, someday, everything was going to work out.  Now... I wish it had been an omen for that moment, and that attempt...  and of course it wasn't, because then we would already have a baby.
So here we are, one year later, almost 5 months pregnant, planning doula appointments, thinking about registries, knitting blankets (well... I don't knit, but Amy does) and reflecting on how we got here.  The world is so strange, and scary... but some days it just makes sense.  In that moment, with that rainbow, there was a certain amount of clarity... although completely muddied by own expectations.




Rainbow Footnote:  I love rainbows...  I love them because they are a naturally occurring bit of magic.  There is not other perfect color scheme where one color leads to perfectly into another with blending and shades in between!  They are also scientifically amazing (I teach kids about rainbows, so I know a thing or two about refraction and prisms)...  But the whole gay pride rainbow has REALLY gotten in the way of my love of rainbows.  NOT EVERY RAINBOW IS ABOUT BEING GAY!!  Sometimes I want kids to make a rainbow craft, because it is, AGAIN, the most wonderful color scheme, and then I have to second guess myself, because I don't want people to think that I am trying to trick their kids into queerness by a slip of the spectrum into one project or another.
So... I love that rainbows are a sign of pride, but I hate that I feel like I can't use them everywhere I want because it may get me into trouble!