The combination of being pregnant and growing older makes me more attached to being at home. More and more, I take restorative comfort in the familiar couch, the wooden frames of our dining room threshold, the little nooks and crannies that make home HOME.
No matter how exciting the roadtrip, no matter how great the people we are venturing off to see, no matter how climactic the event we attend, these days, the thought of leaving home means two things: it's going to be a long trip because we have to stop all the time for me to stretch or use the loo, and, if we're staying overnight, I will lose sleep and be even more tired the next day.
So, you can imagine how excited I was to get through this past weekend which marked the absolute last planned roadtrip for me. On Saturday, I headed to Columbus for a conference I was to present at and have been preparing for diligently for weeks (hence the few blog posts in October).
My plan was to head to the heart of the heartland on Friday when I get an odd text from my buddy Christy whose house I was to be staying at Friday night. In the text she informs me she is sick but I am still welcome to stay.
Clearly, she has not been informed that I am the lead consumer of Purell's hand sanitizer and the most informed citizen reading the CDC's website. (Center for Disease Control)
Sick?
How sick, I ask?
"...well, it's knocked me off my feet this week."
Christy, my childhood friend who was the first person I met when I moved to Ohio when I was 8 years old, was the lead point guard on our basketball teams. She was an athletic volleyball player and is a general knows no sickness kind of gal. For her to say she was knocked off her feet means for a pregnant, low immunity system waddler like myself these days, there was a 35% of my collapsing Saturday morning from her bug and a 100% chance of my getting SOME sort of viral infection.
It was a no brainer.
So, I had no place to stay in Columbus Friday night and ended up getting up at 5:15am Saturday morning (OOOOUUUUUCCCCCCCHHHHHH) and driving to Buckeyeland for the conference that started at 8am with registration. My presentation wasn't until 9:40am, but I wanted to get there early and test out my AV equipment and relax.
At 5:15am, I expected to crawl like a cavewoman out of bed, dreading the cold, and trying to leave Nick undisturbed. To my sweet surprise, Nick, the loyal cheerleader he is for all things I try to achieve, pops out of bed when the alarm sounds, turns on all the lights, and starts fist pumping. I was putting on my jewelry and make-up with the speed of a tortoise when he begins blasting Kanye West's, "Stronger," (my favorite pump me up song) and starts clapping like it's game day. I smile.
I make it to Columbus without any problems and my presentation on feminism, race, and politics in the Midwest goes beautifully. I receive countless compliments from professors from all over the country and even an invitation to submit my work into an academic journal. The raving strokes my very tired and dusty ego which hasn't been activated in a long time. Around 2pm, I duck out when I feel Isaiah happily kicking his excitement and my already low bank of energy begin to go into the red.
I head home to Cleveland.
Nick and I celebrate Saturday night with a dinner date at Anatolia Cafe, a mediterranean restaurant not far from our house and beam like stars at our table. It was wonderful but I was glad that the traveling piece was over. That night, I nearly drowned taking a extra bubbly bubble bath to relax because I nearly fell asleep in the warmth of our new tub. (I guess I'm not used to such luxuries.)
And so, here we are, approaching week 30 of pregnancy, and continuing our efforts to make room for Isaiah and prepare the nursery. As he gains momentum, weight, and strength with each passing week, my appetite and fatigue are skyrocketing. I believe I slept 11 hours straight Saturday night and still felt like I could use a nap in the afternoon. Knowing, though, that I have no plans for the rest of the pregnancy relaxes my body and mind.
Nick I agreed last night that each week of pregnancy feels like you're counting upward toward 40 weeks. 5 weeks. 10 weeks. 20 weeks. But once you hit 30 weeks, it suddenly feels like you're counting down. Very similar to New Year's Eve, we're just anxiously waiting for the Big Apple (Big Baby) to slowly drop and make his way into the world.
Showing posts with label Culture and Race. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Culture and Race. Show all posts
Monday, October 19, 2009
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Alligator Skin
I realized last night as I tried to muffle Nick's snoring that I haven't written much about culture lately. It's a topic that surfaces in our household, mhm, twice a day or so. There are usually a lot of questions that rise between Nick and I - how to negotiate certain problems, differences, etc - as they do in all marriages. One of the things that I've found quite interesting in our marriage is how the topic of interracial marriage is raised - or not raised - by our peers.
Nick and I trade stories about race, ethnicity, and upbringing all the time. At our core, I think we're quite similar in values (I mean, I wouldn't have married someone who believes in porn and killing off polar bears), but our personalities couldn't be more different. Among those differences is, obviously, race.
If you haven't noticed, I'm Brown and Nick is White. We celebrate different parts of our identity, sometimes more mine because it is much more difficult to feel a sense of belonging when most pop culture, education, history, media - everything - is not reflective of my identity and sense of self. But we're learning how to find balance in that as well. It most often comes up when we talk about having children.
One of the most odd and hilarious things that I get when we talk about having a family someday is when folks says, "I can't wait to see what your kids look like." Well, I hope they're dead gorgeous, but I hope they're a lot of other things first. We know the comments are just taglines to note an interest in bi/multiracial children, but it's not like we're a scientific experiment or something. I'm pretty hopeful the kid's gonna come out with four limbs, a brain, and a soul.
In these current times when race seems to be the hottest button in conversation - from church homilies to CNN - I try to remind folks that understanding difference is a process, one that you should be intentional about pursuing. It is my personal belief that, yes, eventually, "what are you?" is going to be a question of the past and racial features that distinguish cultures and ancestry will be dusty artifacts that only historic pictures will reflect.
As for Nick and I, while we remain supremely confident in the good looks of our future children, we do make it a priority that s/he will understand the Filipino flag as much as the American flag. They'll eat rice with Philippine cuisine, as they'll hear stories about small town Russia and their dad being the valedictorian and prom king. Our kids will hear stories about the racism their mom and maternal grandparents endured and how immigration was a messy topic once upon a time. They'll learn how to build faith in life, as well as death, and learn that kindness and grace begins in the family at home. They'll be mixed, yes, but they'll learn it's a blessing and privilege, not a confusing misfortune that resulted when two Xavier students fell in love in Cincinnati.
So, to answer a question that came up in the car from a good friend, "So, does, like race come up for you guys, since, you know, you're in, like, an interracial relationship?"
Simply stated, yes.
Nick and I trade stories about race, ethnicity, and upbringing all the time. At our core, I think we're quite similar in values (I mean, I wouldn't have married someone who believes in porn and killing off polar bears), but our personalities couldn't be more different. Among those differences is, obviously, race.
If you haven't noticed, I'm Brown and Nick is White. We celebrate different parts of our identity, sometimes more mine because it is much more difficult to feel a sense of belonging when most pop culture, education, history, media - everything - is not reflective of my identity and sense of self. But we're learning how to find balance in that as well. It most often comes up when we talk about having children.
One of the most odd and hilarious things that I get when we talk about having a family someday is when folks says, "I can't wait to see what your kids look like." Well, I hope they're dead gorgeous, but I hope they're a lot of other things first. We know the comments are just taglines to note an interest in bi/multiracial children, but it's not like we're a scientific experiment or something. I'm pretty hopeful the kid's gonna come out with four limbs, a brain, and a soul.
In these current times when race seems to be the hottest button in conversation - from church homilies to CNN - I try to remind folks that understanding difference is a process, one that you should be intentional about pursuing. It is my personal belief that, yes, eventually, "what are you?" is going to be a question of the past and racial features that distinguish cultures and ancestry will be dusty artifacts that only historic pictures will reflect.
As for Nick and I, while we remain supremely confident in the good looks of our future children, we do make it a priority that s/he will understand the Filipino flag as much as the American flag. They'll eat rice with Philippine cuisine, as they'll hear stories about small town Russia and their dad being the valedictorian and prom king. Our kids will hear stories about the racism their mom and maternal grandparents endured and how immigration was a messy topic once upon a time. They'll learn how to build faith in life, as well as death, and learn that kindness and grace begins in the family at home. They'll be mixed, yes, but they'll learn it's a blessing and privilege, not a confusing misfortune that resulted when two Xavier students fell in love in Cincinnati.
So, to answer a question that came up in the car from a good friend, "So, does, like race come up for you guys, since, you know, you're in, like, an interracial relationship?"
Simply stated, yes.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Celebrating the Irish/Filipino Parts of Us
HAPPY ST. PATTY'S DAY!
Over the weekend, Nick and I had an even distribution of ethnic eating. To celebrate his part Irish, we went to a friend's place for dinner to celebrate St. Patty's day. It was the first time that I have ever eaten corned beef cooked with potatoes, carrots, and cabbage. Very tasty.
To celebrate my Filipino side, we went to a Filipino mass on Sunday that is celebrated in English, but a few songs are sung in Tagalog, the primary dialect of the Philippines. I'm not fluent, but the language is quite familiar to me, since my parents speak it to one another. Afterward, there was a reception with Filipino food, YUM.
We also saw the movie, No Country For Old Men. I think it should be called No Movie for Young Children. We both gave it two thumbs up, but the violence and blood is wayyyy too much for younger kids. So, if you can stand the drama, we give it a high recommendation. Just leave the kiddies at home.
Over the weekend, Nick and I had an even distribution of ethnic eating. To celebrate his part Irish, we went to a friend's place for dinner to celebrate St. Patty's day. It was the first time that I have ever eaten corned beef cooked with potatoes, carrots, and cabbage. Very tasty.
To celebrate my Filipino side, we went to a Filipino mass on Sunday that is celebrated in English, but a few songs are sung in Tagalog, the primary dialect of the Philippines. I'm not fluent, but the language is quite familiar to me, since my parents speak it to one another. Afterward, there was a reception with Filipino food, YUM.
We also saw the movie, No Country For Old Men. I think it should be called No Movie for Young Children. We both gave it two thumbs up, but the violence and blood is wayyyy too much for younger kids. So, if you can stand the drama, we give it a high recommendation. Just leave the kiddies at home.
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