We Have at Least a Tie!Posted: November 6, 2012
No, not in the election. Let’s hope for an Obama landslide. Actually, I don’t need a landslide. A slim win would be just fine. I don’t want to get so greedy on the political front that the gods screw me on the baby front. It’s a delicate balancing act when you want two things very badly.
First things first. I voted. In my wheelchair. And I looked like this:
Now I know lots of people vote in wheelchairs because they use them every day. And plenty of people have to overcome far more than I did to vote (voter suppression, losing everything to a hurricane, etc). So I should probably stop lobbying for the Congressional Medal of Honor for my bedrest voting efforts. But I’m proud that someday I’ll be able to tell my daughter that I cared enough about her rights as a woman, and her healthcare, and her education, and economic and social justice for all Americans that I voted from a wheelchair. I can also tell her that in addition to voting straight Dem, I voted for medical marijuana, assisted suicide, and alcohol sales in our dry town. Weed, narcotics, and booze–yay, America! That ought to make her happy. That and the fact that I cared enough about her safe gestation that I–have I mentioned this already?–voted from a wheelchair.
Speaking of her safe gestation. we have at least a gestational tie between my two children! I’m twenty-seven weeks and five days pregnant with Baby Girl HH, which is as pregnant as I was when I delivered Das Big Boy. But Baby Girl HH has some advantages that her brother didn’t enjoy. She has all her amniotic fluid. She’s a girl, and they tend to be stronger. As a friend put it, “What is it with those white baby boys?” (They statistically have the worst outcomes of all preemies–although my little white boy has done great). “They’re entitled.” I told her, “They have a sense of privilege and expect the world to cater to them.” As it turned out, Das Big Boy was a fighter. And I have no doubt that his sister will be, too.
Today Das Big Boy survived his transition to a new class at “school,” which he will attend without a caregiver. Since I went on bedrest, he’s shown an increase in social anxiety, especially with children his own age. There have been a lot of tears. But he did great today. According to the teacher, he did very, very well for his first such class. Huzzah!
I have my dear auntie visiting today, Le Gigi was here for a while as she took Das Big Boy to school, and Nanny Sunshine is here. I’ve gone from being a Victorian consumptive with a doting mother to one with three handmaidens and a footman (my dad was here earlier, too). Oh dear. I’ve fallen into the trap of making bedrest seem glamorous again. Don’t be fooled. My hips are killing me from lying down for so long, and I’ve started making old man grunting sounds when I do stand up (you know, to go to the bathroom, my only truly sanctioned activity).
Happy Election Day (please, oh, please let it be happy), and happy tied-for-pregnantest ever day, too!