Famous among dozens
We went grocery shopping at 6 a.m. on a weekday, and it blew my mind, people.
Rather than deciding between the meagre remaining cartons of lemon and vanilla yogurt, we found Stonyfield Farm Organic Lowfat Raspberry yogurt. I didn’t even know this existed. I wanted to pour it in aisle and roll around in it.
Don’t even ask what happened when we got to the Ben and Jerry’s.
Thus far, I’ve spent 32 waking hours in a car in the last seven days. Apologies for the lack of posts, I thought the place where we were staying had Internet access, but I was not correct. I am an utter failure at the NaBloPoMo experiment.
Yesterday, we stopped for a van that had slid off the road into a ditch in Nevada. There were three adults and a two-year-old girl in the van. None of them spoke English, and none of them had warm clothes. I stumbled along in halting Spanish, and figured out that two of the adults (the ones with the baby) were deaf and possibly mute. I briefly wondered how we managed to end up in a David Lynch movie.
We took those two and the kid to a dubious bar/grocery called Water Hole #1, and explained the situation to a weathered, unhappy bartender. “What am I supposed to do with them?” he asked. We told him we’d return to tell the other guy where they were, and he’d pick them up.
We bought them some food and drinks, and wrote down what was happening in Spanish so they’d know. As we left, one of the drunk patrons was ambling toward the counter with a variety box of travel-sized cereals for the little girl.
Right now we’re in a hotel in Reno, preparing for the rest of the drive home. First, we’ll need to get chains. And about 16 magazines. And at least three tubes of chapstick.
Tomorrow I’ll return to our regularly scheduled programming. I’m in karmic debt for six posts. Fortunately, I’ve got some time on my hands.
-So I told him to grow up, and he was like, “I don’t plan to.”
-Whoa. You have to take him at his word there.
-Don’t I know it.
– I’ve never understood guys who say shit like that out loud, like it’s some badge of honor. “I don’t ever want to grow up. I’m still exploring my childlike wonder.”
-It’s like, “Later, virgin.”
I’m one of those women who strongly considered adopting because I was so afraid of labor. A month or two after I got pregnant, I had a two-week period of complete freak out and sent this note to a girlfriend:
“Last night I had a mini breakdown and decided that I definitely do not want to push a baby out my vagina. I want even less to have major abdominal surgery. I do not want to feed another human being with my boobs. Also, I will not be pushing a baby out of my vagina. I cannot imagine what my boobs are going to look like after this, let alone my ass. I have never felt less sexy. Also, my vagina is very small. I do want to be a parent, but don’t really want to be a mom. Also, I will not be pushing a baby out of my vagina. No.”
I was irrationally, but seriously, trying to think of other ways to get the baby out of my body. Intense meditation? Osmosis? Teleportation device? How ’bout it, science?
Anyway, I’m OK now. The panic eventually subsided as I made a conscious decision to stop playing Worst Case Scenario. I refused to read anything having to do with labor and related complications, and began screaming, “Only happy stories, please! Only happy stories, please!” when mothers tried to share their graphic labor survival stories.
This was unfortunately necessary, because when you’re pregnant, conversation in a group of women goes like this:
Me: I’m freaking out about labor.
Susie: Don’t worry, you’ll be fine! Just fine! God, I hated being pregnant, though. I was on seven months of bed rest vomiting into a pan.
Lisa: Really? (Pulls air in through teeth.) Yeah, I threw up every single day. Twice. And, hello? Jacob was 11 pounds. I was in labor for 46 hours. They really should have given me a C-section, I was pretty ripped up afterwards.
Gina: And then you’re just praying that you’ll never have to poop again because the thought is so terrifying. My first bowel movement was practically as painful as giving birth. I was so afraid the stitches would pop right out!
Cut to me keening and desperately trying to place my head between my knees, despite the watermelon sized belly impeding my ability to do so.
Susie: Oh, honey! I’m sure you’ll be fine.
Lisa: You’ll be fiiiine. You’re going natural, aren’t you?
Gina: Oh, yeah. You have to go natural.
Why I avoid researching exactly what’s happening inside my body:
-The baby is excreting urine inside me.
-All babies are born with big boobs from absorbing so much of your hormones.
-Some female babies are born menstruating for the same reason.
Magical, no? Magical.
– A severed and decaying boar’s head resting on the ground — at the end of a driveway.
– A young man brushing his seat clean of smashed window glass from his driver’s side window. He is dazed and has a large, fresh cut on his temple.
– I find myself nodding furiously in agreement with Angelina Jolie, who says, “If you ask people what they’ve always wanted to do, most of them haven’t done it. That breaks my heart.”
More questionable wisdom from my baby-update newsletter. This one is from an article about things that will change once you become a mom:
“18. If you have a son, you no longer curse men. (Hooray for all men!)
19. If you have a daughter, you hope she won’t endure your same heartaches.”
Apparently, before I got pregnant I totally hated men and found that the most notable aspect of being a woman was how it made my soul ache, like, constantly.
Lori is taking a Sunday adult-ballet class that she adores. Her teacher is a small, French/Japanese women with a soft voice and a thick accent.
Lori: When we put our arms above our heads she says, “Now open your hands, and let all the wishes of the world rain down upon you. Happy! Happy life!”
Me: Oh! I love that! It’s better than church.
Evany raises her arms above her head ballerina style, then furrows her brow and hunches her shoulders as though she’s carrying an immense burden.
Bryan: Man! Most of these wishes aren’t even mine!
Evany: All the world’s wishes are stressful.
Jeff: I don’t even want a pony!
An actual quote from my Baby Update newsletter, in a message to partners of pregnant women:
“Understand, too, that as her pregnancy progresses, she may feel unattractive at times. Even if you think that she is, don’t let on. Tell her she’s beautiful.”
Saw the Borat movie on Friday and I hated it. I realize that I’m well in the minority here, but the movie wasn’t funny, it was mean. (Spoilers ahead.)
He gets a rodeo crowd so riled up that it spooks the horse the flag-bearer is riding. The horse then rears up and falls over backward on top of her.
He pretends to be converted to Christianity and mocks the people speaking in tongues who believe he’s being born again at their revival.
He breaks several hundred dollars worth of antiques at a mom-and-pop store.
He attends an etiquette class followed by dinner in a private home. His hostess is so kind that she gives him a patient lesson in how to use the toilet when he brings a sack of feces to her dinner table, pretending to be unsure of where to dispose of it. Then he invites a prostitute over.
There’s also lots of naked wrestling with an obese man.
Overall, it’s about as amusing as walking in on your parents having sex. Enjoy, America.
Mighty Girl 