I have to start this post with a huge, "Thank you!!!" to those of you who reached out to me last week after my slightly emotional post on the work/don't work dilemma. I was over-whelmed by the kindness and insight of the emails I received and conversations that I had with you. I am surrounded by such incredible, strong, smart women and you all serve as role models to me. I got so many emails that were chock full of sound advice and wise words. You all should write a book! I honestly feel so blessed that I can put out a virtual call for help and that you ladies respond like so many super-heroes, sans the Lycra outfits and magical accessories, but you know what? You could rock those too. You are some pretty amazing ladies.
Which leads me to this week's topic: the difference in the genders. Perhaps at no other time have I been so acutely aware of the "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus" phenomenon as now, when I am dying to know if the little apple-sized baby inside of me is made of "sugar and spice" or "snakes and snails" (guys really got the raw end of the deal with that adage!).
I have had some pretty funny experiences with the opposite sex regarding my pregnancy lately. Let's start with Ivan, shall we?
I must preface this story by telling you that almost all of the time, Ivan is wonderful with me. He is patient when I cry over ridiculous things (and I've been doing that a lot), he tells me that I look beautiful when I am huffing around in the morning because I can't get my pants to button, and is constantly asking about me and the baby. On a side note, he got so excited about being a dad when he saw our first trick-or-treaters on Monday- a 2 1/2 year old Red Riding Hood and a 1 year old Supergirl, who could barely stand on the stoop on her own (don't worry, her dad was right behind her). We began imagining the end of our Halloween afternoons at home and envisioning the trek around the neighborhood collecting candy and we both got very excited (and not just for the candy!). Anyway, I have to tell you these lovely things about him, because what I'm about to tell you will make you want to punch him in the face. Or maybe that's just me.
A couple of Sunday nights ago, I made an astounding discovery: at the bottom of our freezer in a Tupperware container was a large hunk of ice cream cake left over from Ivan's birthday party a week or so prior. My sole thought was, "Score!" and I took that sucker out to defrost. Well, when Ivan saw this, he started to laugh and he asked me, "Do you have a button?" "A button? What do you mean?" I replied. He said, "A button, you know, a switch." And with that he walked over to the switch for our garbage disposal and turned it on. Are you catching his meaning? That's right- he was comparing my eating habits as of late to those of a GARBAGE DISPOSAL. With fire in my eyes, I began screaming that he had no right and how dare he and the screams were accompanied by punches, which he did his best to deflect while in hysterics. He thought he was so funny and kept trying to redeem himself by saying, "No, it's just cute! I've never seen you this way" (which is a blatant lie, let me tell you). I took my ice cream cake upstairs to eat in bed, thank you very much. Men.
So that's my husband. Now let's move on to my band. So, as you know, my blog title is Rock Star Mommy 2B, not just because I'm really hoping to rock as a mom, but because I sing in a rock cover band, which makes me feel like a rock star, even though I'm really more of a rock piece of glitter or something else much smaller than a star. I'm the only lady in the group and I truly love my band mates (especially that rhythm guitar player/keyboardist!)
Well, last Thursday night our band played a gig- a few hours at a local casino night for charity. During one of our set breaks, I sat down with the bassist, drummer, and lead guitarist (Ivan was off schmoozing, as he is so good at it). The bassist, an almost dead ringer for Andre the Giant, asked how I've been feeling. Now, first understand that he is one of my favorite people in the world. He is this big, tough looking guy (when my dad first saw him, he felt much better about our band playing out late- he knew no one was going to mess with me when this guy had my back!) and every other word out of his mouth begins with "f," but deep down he is a family guy at heart. He would do anything for his wife and kids and he's a real teddy bear. So when he asked how I was feeling, I replied, "I'm feeling really good! Just tired, I could sleep all day!" The rest of our conversation went something like this:
Bassist: Yeah, that'll happen. Are you gonna breastfeed?
Me: (turning completely red) Yeah, that's the plan.
Bassist: That's good, it's the best thing for the baby. They're gonna get bigger, you know. Ivan's gonna love it.
Me: (turning maroon) That's what I hear...
Bassist: I tasted it once, it's really sweet.
At this point, bassist and drummer get into a detailed conversation about the intricacies of their wives breastfeeding experiences and I crawled under the table and died. Well, I wanted to. In actuality, I sat there, purple at this point, taking it all in and sharing bemused glances with the lead guitarist, who is a shy, extremely soft-spoken gentleman (who happens to be able to SHRED on solos) who finds the bassist hysterical, but would never join in this type of exchange. I've never been so excited for a set break to be over.
Here's me with the guys- bassist far left, guitarist behind me. Thinking of changing the band name to Lactation Specialists.
By the way, I should mention that at this exact gig last year, I received two very different, very flattering compliments from two different men. A young guy (maybe 19 or 20) who worked at the restaurant told me, "The guy who's wichu is mad lucky," and a much older gentleman (70's?) told me that I was "a rare petunia in an onion patch." No such compliments this year. Just sayin'.
So the last member of the male species that I'd like to discuss today is a former student of mine. I received a text from him congratulating me on the pregnancy. The exchange went something like this:
Student: Ms. J! I head that you're gonna have your baby soon! Congratulations!
Me: Not until April, but thanks!
Student: Oh nice! April is a good month- that's when my birthday is. You should try to conceive him or her on the 10th.
Me: Okay :)
I mean, that is not a correction you can make to a 15 year old boy. It's a conversation you just don't need to get into, but I must say it has provided me with tons of chuckles as I've thought about it over the past couple of weeks!
Oh boys, boys, boys. So strange. But the big question is, ladies: Could I be carrying one of these gross creatures inside of me right now? It seems like some of the old wives tales are pointing in that direction. The lack of morning sickness, the broken-out skin (because the testosterone of a boy would cause it), even the time of my cycle during which we conceived lends itself more towards a boy. I don't have a strong feeling one way or another about the gender of the baby- some days I am sure it is one or the other. The thing is, though, I'm such a girly-girl that I wouldn't have the first idea of what to do with a boy. So, if that's what God has in mind for us, just be ready for another virtual call for help! Actually, no matter what gender child I have, it wouldn't be a bad idea to have your spandex super-suits at the ready! :)
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