It's Not a Contest.

Mama D's Mom is a formidable woman.  She became a Ph.D.-holding scientist at a time (the 1970s) when women were still rejected from medical school because "married women couldn't possibly be serious about becoming doctors" (true story).  She dragged her new husband (Mama D's Dad) to Peace Corps after they graduated from college.  She copes with the chronic illnesses she and family members face with grace and great empathy.  She is Mama D's role model for feminism.

She also has some strange ideas about what being feminist means.  Especially as it relates to pregnancy.

Mama D mentioned that it was becoming more difficult to bend over in the third trimester.

"In my day," Mom says, "We were too busy proving we could do it all to complain about pregnancy.  We didn't want to be weak.  We went out and worked in the fields all day and came home at night to clean and cook and never once complained!  We were just as strong and capable as men."

"Um... you worked in the fields?  Are you sure you aren't mixing yourself up with someone... say Harriet Tubman?"

"Well, we worked.  And we never complained.  You're such a wimp."

"I work.  And being unable to bend over well is not a complaint.  It's a fact."

Mom just shakes her head like Mama D was a 16 year old whippersnapper who knew nothing about nothing.

***

"Jeez, being pregnant can be annoying," Mama D says as she tries three times to squeeze her belly tetris-style through some small gap between furniture that a few months ago would not have posed a problem.

"I loved being pregnant," says Mom.

Mama D looks at Mom as if she's just said she loved something similarly obnoxious, like Justin Bieber.  "Really?"

"Oh yes!  I mean, the pain was annoying and there were a lot of things that were not pleasant, but the result was so worth it!"

"Labor?"

"No, silly.  A Baby."  She says the word baby as if it was capitalized.  And had at least four syllables.  Something like Baaa-aaah-beee-eee.

***

Today, Mom has dental surgery.  Before leaving, she declares, "You don't get the sympathy today, Pregnant Lady!"

"What sympathy?"

"All the pity everyone in this family has for you."

"I thought you'd made it pretty clear to everyone I don't deserve sympathy."

"Well, you don't get it all today, so there."

"It's not a contest, Mom."

Again with the head shaking, as if she understands some great life mystery of which Mama D is incapable of comprehending.  Is she going to the dentist or to decipher the pyramids in Egypt?  Only time will reveal the truth.

But in the meantime, send Mom your sympathy today.

No, That Wasn't A Panic Attack

So… Future Mama D and Papa M had given up for a bit on this whole pregnancy thing because Mama D’s job, which provides the Challenged Family with their lovely health insurance benefits, turned out to suck big time. While she was searching for another, they thought they’d put the family planning on hold.

Mama D turned 30 yesterday. She’s been increasingly frustrated with the situation at work. She’s slipped into a deep depression and been waking in a malaise, unable to cope with the never-ending fights and belittling disrespect as she attempts to force feed a bunch of 15 year olds with the collective reading abilities of a third grader the information and skills they are convinced they do not need (yes, she is a High School English Teacher). The last two days, she’s been especially emotional and touchy, so she stayed home to rest and scheduled a counseling appointment for fear she might go off the deep end.

This morning, she awoke determined to bitterly fight through the anger and hatred and fear and go teach those darn kids something. She made it to the bathroom with a coughing fit. She felt flush and like something was twisting her stomach into impressive nautical-style knots. Still–she must persevere! She drove to school, made it all the way to her classroom before the nausea hit. She defiled the porcelain throne and returned to arrange her sub plans, nearly passing out from dizziness.

Given the emotional crap, she figured she’d just snapped. Here was the panic attack that had been building.

She got out and headed to the doctor, who she was sure would try to convince her to check in to a mental hospital post-haste. After running all kinds of Scary Tests, the doctor came in and announced that Future Mama D would lose the Future within this year.

In other words, kids, we’re pregnant.

Now would be the proper time to panic…