Doing the deed, planting that seed

Saturday, October 11, 2008

The economy is in the shitter, we just had our bought-used-less-than-half-a-year-ago car fixed to the tune of all that we had in our pocket + lint, and now it has come to light that the boiler in the basement, the one that makes sure we don’t turn into icicles in the winter, is leaking badly and may have been leaking badly for years - that, at least, would explain a whole lot about the porch which crumbled this summer and certain walls with cracks that looks like they have blood poisoned veins running through them.

And we are currently waiting for one of my eggs to ripen so we can fertilize it.

As difficult a situation it was to have to choose between keeping the pregnancy with Carlita or terminating it (and dude, it was fucking hard) it was also a little easier than the situation I find myself in currently (although if you were to go back in time and tell me that when I was still holding that positive test in my hand I would probably have laughed hard and then punched you in the face.) She was there, already growing in my belly and when we did decide to keep her it was easier to see what we needed to do to accommodate our new “situation”.

Now, planning - it’s not as easy as it looks. I feel slightly crazy for wanting another baby/child/sibling for Carlita in times like these, and yet I have that ever burning desire. I’m also starting to see just how much of ME has been eaten up by the day to day upkeep of the household* and caring for Carlita, and how little parts of ME are being found again every time Carlita gains pieces of her own independence. I’ve been so wrapped up in being the mother to a baby for the past two years that I forgot that I am a person too, and just as I’m starting to remember things that I enjoy doing for my own sake we decide to have another child.

*Which, yes, I only started doing regularly recently - but trust me, it has always, ALWAYS been a subject of great agony to me, whether I actually did it or not. Probably more when I didn’t keep it up than now when I pick up everyone’s mess.

I am crazy, aren’t I?

But this time it IS a decision from start to finish. I really DO want another baby, and Jelly Man says that his general feelings on babies and family is “let them grow like weeds” which sounds vulgar but is Jelly Man’s way of saying; “Dude! I’ll have as many babies with you as it takes!“ So as far as hard decisions go, this is one of the easier ones.

So yes, maybe “planning” means “looking at the facts and deciding to have a baby anyway”, which in my opinion makes planning totally overrated.

Fat

Sunday, September 14, 2008

When I started on my quest a couple of years ago to accept the fact that I have incurable hair loss because of my trichotillomania, I didn’t know it would lead me down a different, yet so very similar, path of fat acceptance, via the rocky road that is body acceptance.

My body, it is fat. I accept that. Now.

For as long as I can remember diets and dieting have been present in my day to day life. My mother is diabetic, so her need to watch her eating could not be avoided, but it was less about the superficial and more about health*. My grandmother, on the other hand, has always been dieting, and she is no closer to reaching her goal weight today than she was twenty years ago. Sure, she has dropped in weight from time to time, but what good it has done her I’m not really sure, as she is still, to this day, body-fat obsessed and more or less just as plump as I remember her being most of my life. Yo-yo dieting, ahoy!

*She was also not fat by any means when she was diagnosed, some year or so after my birth.

I think I was 13 when my mum took me to the school nurse to discuss my possible weight problem. It was humiliating, most of all, but also gleeful because the nurse measured my height and put me on the scale and made no big fuss about the results. Heavy boned, I think was the term she used to describe me. My mum, however, was not convinced. “She said that just to be nice, you know“, she told me in an agitated voice once we left the office.

The mixed messages did absolutely nothing for my 13 year old self esteem. But nor did it result in the body I have today - which is to say - the fat body I have today. I’m sure feeling worth less than my thinner peers and my mother’s concern (be it for my health or my appearance - both are probably true) could have made my transition from regular teenage chunky to nearly 30-year-old obese that much faster, but overall the damage done was not physical nor visible.

My first boyfriend was very body conscious and the three years I spent with him were years of frustration at failed diets and fitness craze. At 19 I was bicycling everywhere, watching what I was eating (albeit having regular pitfalls, because when you tell me I can not have something, of course I MUST. HAVE. IT!) When nothing worked, indeed when things just seemed to get “worse” and I kept putting on the kilos, I went to a test trial for a new diet pill in a last ditch effort to lose weight, but was turned down because my blood pressure and blood sugar was normal and so I didn’t qualify for the study, which was to help pre-diabetics to lose weight and gain control of their illness.

Seven years of self loathing took seven years of unconditional love (in terms of outer appearance, not in the way I treat the people I come into regular contact with) to get back to a place where I can now separate the person I am from the body I inhabit. My body, it is lumpy. And my hair, it is patchy. Me? I am so much more than the sum of my parts - and they are not small parts to begin with. There is the option of weight loss surgery, and I won’t minimize the grounds on which people choose to have these surgeries, but I know it’s not for me. I am also not willing to starve my body of necessary calories just to conform to some kind of standard - and more likely than not gain back the weight I might have spent many grueling months or years to lose. Now that I am past the hurdle that is self acceptance, I see what I need to do to live my life to the fullest.

Be healthy. Screw the rest. And I guess that is where we have to start separating health and fat - not because we need to separate ourselves from the fat, but because we need to see the difference between being unhealthy and being fat.

I’ve started taking interest in my appearance again. I’ve begun wearing jewelry just for the fun of it. I should definitely exercise more, but it’s no longer for a purpose that cannot be fulfilled. Instead it’s to achieve something I never considered before - to live healthily in a fat body. To love myself just the way I am, even if what I am is also fat (among so many other things.)

There is so much more to say about fat. The disposition to be fat vs. being fat because of how much you eat (exercise and keeping an eye on my diet did absolutely nothing for my weight, while someone naturally skinny might eat whatever they wish without gaining weight - it works both ways), and that is absolutely what I needed to start my self-acceptance journey - but I needed to tell this part first. Of how I got back the courage to love myself. And to give thanks.

Thank you, Jelly Man, for showing me the way.

When it becomes obvious

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

I guess you could say we had a shotgun wedding, even if it was an extremely well planned shotgun wedding - as far as shotgun weddings go, anyway. We sent in our “we aren’t mutants and we aren’t married to other people, so can we please marry each other, thankyouverymuch?!“ obligatory papers on April 20th, or at least we signed them then (LOL, 4/20!) and then didn’t hear anything back all summer. I wasn’t too worried, thinking maybe the government people were on vacation, like, a really LONG vacation. In any case, I haven’t ever actually expected to be a married woman - not in the daydreaming of white dresses, trails and multilayered cakes kind of way - not that I didn’t ever want to be married, but not hearing anything back kinda solidified it in my mind that being married was for other people, not me.

Jelly Man came home last Friday and told me he had talked to his boss about not going to work on Monday, because the car needed fixing and he wouldn’t be able to get to work until it was finished - and also not going to work on Tuesday, but not telling me why he wouldn’t go to work then, being really coy about it. I just kind of let it slide, having stuff on my mind such as Mum flying up and occupying our private space for a week and a half. When Saturday rolled around my curiosity peaked and with a little probing I got him cornered.

“Do you want to marry me on Tuesday?“ he asked.

Silly man.

Signing papers was, to me, just a formality - for all intents and purposes we have been married for a while already, the line between being boy/girlfriend and husband/wife being more of a process than a day to day transformation, and the rings that we put on each others fingers yesterday are rings that we’ve been wearing for god knows how long already. Of course I would marry him. Of course.

I didn’t expect it to actually feel so final as it did when we stood at that secular altar in the municipal office, which is located in the same building as the police station (good riddance!) and I can’t quite explain how standing in front of a stranger could make our union feel more real than when we had Carlita, but somehow it did. Maybe it’s because we are each connected to Carlita in our own way, as her mother and her father, separately, and even if we were to walk our separate ways we would always be her parents. This time, however, it was just about the two of us, despite Carlita - if that makes any sense whatsoever.

Maybe one day I will look back and feel sad that we didn’t have a grand wedding, but in many ways this ceremony was an accurate representation of us - not quite planned, but not quite accidental either, not extraordinary but special enough to bother - special to us.

And now I get the connection. And it was indeed staring me straight in the face the whole time.

Formality of forever

Tuesday, September 09, 2008

This is the woman who married us today. She looked awfully formal - so totally unlike me.

Living happily ever after, thank you very much!