The Rise and Fall of Preggo Stardust

This morning I arose at the crack of 8:45 to catch a 9:30 On the Ball Conditioning class at MamasMove, the pregnancy/new mom-centered hub for fitness and baby education classes. It's where I'll be taking my HypnoBirthing classes in a couple weeks. I walked in, grabbed a yoga ball, and waited for class to start. I was expecting hardly anyone to be there, but apparently these women do not work on Tuesday mornings (who am I to talk?). It was packed! I plopped down on the ball and couldn't help but notice the conversations which buzzed around me: naptimes, hyper kids, more naptimes. I swear the naptime conversation went on for 10 minutes, and then continued when class ended. They were all in their mid-30s, or at least looked it; I felt a little out of place.

Class was an hour long, but it could have been two. It kicked my ass! Eight months of no aerobic activity has really done a number on me. I've been keeping up with my 15 minutes of daily gentle yoga and Pilates, but that's really chicken shit compared to all the hip raises and ball lifting and Tae Bo inspired sequences we did. My months with Billy Blanks might as well have never happened. About halfway through I no longer recognized myself as the dancer I once was, and I became a total tard--a red-faced, shaking, unbalanced tard. The instructor gave modifications, but in some cases they were more challenging than the original movements, just directed away from the abs. When it was over though, I felt great. Slightly weak in the thighs, but with a sense of physical accomplishment I haven't felt at all since I've been pregnant!

In fact my endorphins were pumping so copiously that I called my mom at work on the way home to tell her fighting is painful, and she not only 100% agreed but said she'd been thinking of me right as I called. For the next few minutes we eerily finished each other's sentences, as we were thinking the exact same thoughts, and agreed to talk civilly tonight. I don't know what happened between us, but hopefully it can be put away for a good long while.

So life was great until I went to the grocery store! I brought a WIC check, thinking this will be a piece of cake. I've been wary because lately every time I've used a WIC check, at least one item gets rejected. But I've gotten all of this cereal, bread, and peanut butter before, they can't possibly turn it away. They all fall under the guidelines of acceptable items. Wrong! It gets stricter every fucking time I use a check! I got two boxes of Honey Bunches of Oats cereal, which is fine, but not the 'Pecan Bunches.' So I switched it with almonds. Whatever. I couldn't get the bread, Arnold 100% Whole Wheat with Ancient Grains, because there are too many whole grains! Are they kidding me?! Not only is the brand acceptable, but it clearly says 100% Whole Wheat on the front. I thought that was the only guideline. But no. It is so particular, there can be no other grains mixed in with the wheat. As if wheat is even good for you! It's not! I had to get a different brand that's purely Whole Wheat (and sugar, and brown sugar, and maltodextrin, and gluten, and lecithin...), with nothing of any real value like quinoa, barley, millet, and flax (she offered me Wonder Bread--now are you really kidding me??!). And last but not least, I couldn't get the peanut butter I usually get, All Natural with Flaxseed, because it has flaxseeds. Too fucking healthy for WIC. I told the cashier and manager that I was told explicitly there are no restrictions on peanut butter--I could even get "all natural"-- as long as it's not organic (which itself is shitty, but I understand it's political bigotry hard at work). The manager tried to tell me all natural means organic, and I crisply informed her otherwise. All natural is a marketing ploy, not a scientific fact. The flaxseeds though, Jesus Christ. Flaxseeds are one of the richest sources of omega-3 fatty acids, which are detrimental to healthy fetal brain development among many things, and how many Americans really get their daily dose of this invaluable nutrient? A sad, sad percentage I'm sure. I am so frustrated with the WIC program, it's like I dread going to the store and using it because I am not only forced to get food that is significantly less nutritious than what I want, but it's humiliating to hold up the line over a loaf of bread. If their aim is to provide pregnant women with nutrition, then they should take a goddamn nutrition class and learn what it is. You won't find it in Wonder Bread and Vanilla Bunches.

Everywhere I look I see illusion and complacent, backwards faces.

Hyped About Hypnobirthing!

I'm whittling away the time until I really have to get back to work. The project I'm currently working on involves writing descriptions of literally thousands of Italian tourist attractions. Do you know how many churches there are in Italy?? It's insane, but it keeps me busy and I am so grateful for the abundance of purpose, knowledge, and money I get out of it! No doubt I know more useless Italian trivia than you do. Go ahead. Challenge me.

Other than that, since breakfast I've been cleaning, arranging, basically controlling every little thing I can until whoever-the-hell-is-painting-the-nursery gets it done so I can start doing really productive things. I desperately want to work on the nursery, but I have to wait while Peter takes his sweet time deciding to paint. He primed the woodwork over a week ago. Hello, nesting here, kind of anxious and obnoxiously energetic. On a cheerier note, Mike just cleaned the toilet! Woo-hoo! He's such a good daddy.

It was strongly suggested to me at my last prenatal appointment to sign up for childbirth education classes. This reminded me that I'd like to try Hypnobirthing, the method of deep relaxation, breathing and meditation techniques designed to release all fear associated with childbirth. This often ensures an easier, sometimes painless birth experience. It involves a sort of self-hypnosis, but that just means a state of intense focus and awareness. I looked up local Hypnobirthing classes, but they are hella expensive, so I ordered a book off eBay for $7. I don't necessarily want to go to a regular childbirth class and be told what's going to happen. I want to experience what happens and respond instinctively and consciously in the moment. The main point is that I'm not scared of birth at all; I understand that this is one of the most natural things to happen to me, and my body will take care of it. On the other hand, the one fear that pops up when I say that is that I'm completely wrong and it will be a disaster. But then I remind myself that if that possibility should transpire, I will not be disappointed in myself for not having the "perfect birth." I will not fear what Mike or my mom or my midwife think if everything doesn't go according to "plan." My birth will happen however it is going to happen, and I will be eternally grateful for it. I repeat that to myself, and there is absolutely no more fear. Guidance is helpful, but I don't need to spend over $200 to be inundated with someone else's idea of my birth. I'm into preparing with meditation and visualization techniques that simply help me remain calm and let go.

What else, what else...oh, I'm trying out coconut oil as deodorant. I don't know if it was a coincidence, but yesterday as I was slathering myself post-shower I got some oil in the ol' pits, and I didn't stink the rest of the day or even this morning. So I slathered a bit more on today after my shower, and I'm excited to see how the experiment goes. I know virgin coco oil is antibacterial, so why wouldn't it work? Also, it's soothing to those freshly-shaved pits as opposed to harsh deodorants and antiperspirants. I am so glad to have unrefined coconut oil back in my life after living a futile existence with refined oil for a couple weeks. Now I use what's left of the refined to cook with and the virgin stuff on my skin and hair. I'll let you know how the deodorant test turns out!

Peace out and in.

Dennis Caves!

Maybe Dennis Rodman is an alcoholic. Rather, maybe he has in the past exhibited excessive behavior, and he acquiesced on tonight's episode of "Celebrity Rehab" simply to get everyone off his back about "admitting" his addiction. Or, maybe he declared his addiction to fit in with everybody. Despite his uncommunicative attitude, I see him as a very social guy who genuinely likes most everyone at the Pasadena Recovery Center. Either way, for one reason or another Dennis Rodman has officially labeled himself an alcoholic.

What bothered me about tonight's storyline with Dennis was the immense pressure that was being put on him to admit he has an addiction. Several times the cameras artfully singled him out, during Morning Meditation and the "alumni visit," to dramatize the fact that he was the only one who had yet to label himself for life. Shelly always begins their Morning Meditations by starting the round: "Hi, I'm Shelly, I'm an alcoholic." Next? Mike: addict, Whoever-that-muscly-guy-is: addict, Heidi: sucking the teat of addiction dry, and Dennis? Still "just Dennis." Frustrated, both Dr. Drew and Shelly express concern that Dennis does not open up to them or anyone else about his drug and alcohol use, and without transparency, how can the good doctor help him overcome the demons? Despite being left in the dark about the nature of his "disease," they continue to push him to admit he has the addiction. But why? How could they know he has an addiction if he doesn't give them that information? Simply because he is in the recovery center? And why is he there? Because the court sent him there. If we all took on the identities that the justice system gave us, we'd all really be those no-good, fucked up tumors on society they seem to think we are.

Dr. Drew mentioned in tonight's episode, during their group meeting, that addiction is the only disease that people need to be "convinced" of having. Yes, that's what we should be doing, pushing disease and disorder on people. I'm understanding that the whole point of admitting addiction in counseling is to recognize the personal struggle and consciously work toward overcoming it. I'll reiterate what I talked about in my last CR review, and that is that even though someone may exhibit undesired and destructive behavior, identifying with the undesirable behavior merely reinforces and empowers it. I don't believe it's "denial" to refuse to call yourself an addict if you don't always want to be an addict. Calling myself a bitch even though I really don't want to keep acting like a bitch is only going to allow the part of me that identifies with a bitch to continue to manifest.

This is why I was slightly disappointed when Dennis, at the end of the episode, staked out his spot in the sand of addiction. Everyone was happy for him. Immediately after my feeling of disappointment I wondered if maybe it is good for him. Maybe he does see himself that way and wanted to fit in with the fellow patients. Maybe it was a breakthrough for him to recognize this weakness that he had never seen before. Or maybe he was just seduced by the ease of giving in. Who knows? He didn't open up to Dr. Drew, he certainly hasn't opened up to me. But considering Dr. Drew's statement that people must be thwarted into seeing the so-called "reality" of their addiction, I wouldn't be surprised if rehab really creates more addicts than it checks in.

Experiencing the Outdoors With Jack Without Going Anywhere

Jack, our golden boy, sits regally in the outdoors
listening to a snowstorm brew;
we reflect the silence.
He looks like a senator,
maybe pigeon-toed,
paying me no attention
because I will not throw the ball.
His molasses eyes shift
from the wind on the fence
to the salt shaker sound
of premature snowflakes dusting themselves
over the dead, hollow leaves.
His snout drags staccato puffs of air,
his mouth intermittently,
like tasting the flavor
of a fine tobacco pipe.

Making Progress

Now I'm not one to endorse companies, as I distrust most corporations and perceive them as callous, corruptible soulsuckers, but my experience with Progressive has inspired me to pass along a little good advice. I never personally bought or dealt with a car insurance policy until these past few months (haven't had a car since I was 19), so all the commercials and rate-of-quote talk has always soared over my head. I assumed they were all out to get my money and screw me, like any good corporate clan. But since I assumed responsibility for my dad's old car (subsequently my sister's old car) this past fall, I've been doing the responsible thing and insuring it. Imagine that. Totally all up on this grid. Without giving it much thought I just went with Progressive because that's what Allison had used for her previous policy, and $150 for six months seemed like a good deal. I'm so glad I did! The monthly rate is delightfully low (though it is a few bucks cheaper to pay the 6-month fee in full), and best of all, the customer service representatives are genuinely warm and extremely helpful.

You know when you call a company and you're on the line for 10 minutes just trying to get to a real person? Of course you do. This is America. But in the end you wind up speaking with someone named "Dave" who has a curious Bengali accent. Sometimes Dave is helpful, sometimes he's not. Or better yet, you end up with Tracy who obviously hates her job, her life, her ex-husband, and her chain-smoking boss for not letting her take two breaks per shift so she can have any hope of losing those 20 pounds she gained birthing that ungrateful sonofabitch's two bastards. Progressive's customer service reps are neither of those things. Whether they hate their lives or not is irrelevant because they have a sense of professionalism that transcends that wah-wah bullshit. They understand that when a customer calls their insurance company, it's not for their health or leisure, so being as friendly as possible (not quite Paxil-happy) can only help. And it does. I don't dread calling my insurance company because I know whatever problem I have can either be quickly worked out over the phone or even online.

I've been dealing with a lot of customer service reps lately amidst all my important-paper-phone-calls, improving my PR skills, and Progressive is by far my favorite company to speak with. They are obviously committed to quality service. If it's because they're well-paid and well-trained, then holla! We need more jobs with money to shell out and a solid business ethic to pass on.

I recommend Progressive to anyone looking for a change in their insurance. Watch out for me on the road--I'm insured and not afraid to use it!

And the fet(us) goes on...

So I'm getting into the home stretch here of my gestational period, and I figured you might be interested in what's going on!

I'll be 31 weeks on Monday, and I'm feeling pretty great. I've had an incredible amount of energy lately, my eating habits are surprisingly under control, and I'm getting surreal twinges of superexcitement at the thought of our little one's arrival. It seems like I've been pregnant forever, and it's hard to even imagine him actually being here, outside of me. I've had a couple disturbing dreams about him being born with acne and this really gross yarny-wire-curl across his forehead, oh and in one I gave birth to puppies, but other than that fear doesn't ever really pop up. I'm delightfully present.

As far as food goes, I have yet to have any "weird" cravings you always hear about. Maybe that comes later? Whatever I must have in any given moment is either fruit or vegetable: I've been purchasing cantaloupes for the last couple weeks--I never bought cantaloupe in my life! I never even liked it much! I've been blessed to have picked flawlessly ripe ones at the store though. Yay. If you're wondering how to pick a ripe cantaloupe (cuz I didn't), feel ones that are slightly soft and have a bit of a melon smell. It doesn't matter that the rind is still green, apparently. I made the wonderful decision to get hummus the other day too, which I've been practically drinking the last two days. I'd been wanting a pita roll with hummus and kalamata olives (à la Angeli's in New Orleans), but since I didn't want to buy pita and olives, I went with just the hummus. Joseph's Red Pepper hummus. Party size. Holla. Last night I threw down five huge romaine lettuce leaves, ripped into small pieces, and rolled em up with the hummus, a slice of celery, and sometimes a square of Monterey Jack cheese. OMG worthy. I'd finished off the last few bites of a slice of some crazy flavor cheesecake Allison had brought home for me the other night, but I was feeling kinda icky after it, and the fresh veggie snack alleviated the quease of the sugar and dairy immediately.

I have pretty much the same breakfast every morning (or afternoon): scrambled eggs w/ black pepper and Cajun seasoning on whole grain toast, spread with a layer of peanut butter, sour cream, salsa, and then topped with the eggs. Sometimes a leaf of lettuce. Mike thinks the peanut butter with all that is disgusting, but it's fucking delicious, and I get extra protein and omega-3s (my peanut butter has flaxseeds in it). I might eat a snack a couple hours later, but sometimes I have no appetite again until dinner. When that happens I tend to overdo it at dinner, and I easily get too full which has more severe consequences in pregnancy than it does normally. Now that my uterus is so far up in my belly, if my stomach expands too much it all squeezes together and presses on my lungs and my ribs, which is quite uncomfortable. It's difficult to sit down unless my back is totally straight because there's just no room for everything! And my breathing becomes impaired for an hour or so, which sucks. Overeating is more than just gas and underwear cutting off your circulation when you're pregnant!

But on another note, there's been absolutely no swelling, and really no apparent weight gain in any other part of my body but my belly! To me it's kind of weird looking, like I'm actually holding a basketball under my shirt. But for that I am thankful it will probably be rather easy to get the baby weight off when the time comes. Buuut, I do have two months left to go, and it's around this time that I should be gaining something like a pound a week. Fun.

And then there's the skin and hair. I slather myself with coconut oil every day after my shower, and it's effectively kept my skin from ripping (much). I have a couple unfortunate pink spots, but I am certain those showed up when I ran out of coconut oil for a week and had to use cocoa butter. They say cocoa butter is the anti-stretch mark savior, but I think it just totally screwed me. My hair feels great though! They say prenatal vitamins make your hair and nails really nice, but I wasn't noticing a damn difference until I started doing coconut oil treatments every other day. I comb a big dollop of coco oil into my hair and leave it in for an hour or so. Then I shampoo it out, no conditioner, and voilà, beautiful shiny hair. I've been doing it for about three weeks, and I'm noticing a vast improvement in the quality and texture. My hair was so damaged from way too much Hawaiian sun and generally not caring about it because I thought it was a lost cause. But I have a renewed sense of hope that I can not only have softer hair than ever before, but I can grow more of it too.

I've been keeping up with my exercises a few times a week. I sit typing over the computer all day with my writing, and it fucking kills my back. I desperately need a good professional massage, but until I can afford that, I just stretch it out. I still do Pilates leg exercises and a bit of gentle yoga to get things moving, not to mention all the neverending housework! Other than that I'm not hitting the gym or even powerwalking, but what I do feels good enough. No need to overdo it.

So I guess that's it for now. I'll give you more juicy details as things get more juicy. Love.

The Rebirth of Haiti?

It's quite clear that Haiti has a lot of healing to do. Once it becomes stable after last month's horrific earthquake, the crumbling nation's situation still faces the Haitian people. It's not going away when CNN stops covering it.

It's popular to wonder what will become of Haiti? What will they do? The situation is currently pretty grim--the nerve center of the already devastated country has been paralyzed--it is basically without infrastructure, government, and not to mention a huge chunk of its population. People are asking where the relief efforts are centered and where is all that money we donated going? I can't say for sure the answers to those questions, but I can pose a fairly common sense theory on how to start the country out on the right foot, perhaps in a way it hasn't known in a very long time.

I look at this country as a beautiful opportunity to start over. With a lot of help, these people can start over. First of all we must ask ourselves what does Haiti need above all else? Relief efforts aside, the country is in dire need of food, even the hospitals haven't had clean water in years, and the atrocious standard of poverty they live in requires jobs and a way to keep the economy flowing. Am I mistaken or is Haiti not a tropical island? If you approach it as the building of any new community, one of the first things you do is plant seeds that will provide a bounty later. For a tropical nation Haiti is obscenely barren, and that has its reasons, but it doesn't need to go on forever. I understand that Haiti's history is extremely political and rife with pain due to multiple colonizations by France, Spain, and America. A large part of the landscape has been stripped of its resources, and geographically, Haiti's rainfall is largely redirected to its infinitely more successful counterpart, the Dominican Republic. But truthfully, everyone needs to start healing from the past and look forward, look to the present, to make smart decisions about how to start succeeding. Why don't we start by planting trees? The lack of trees in Haiti is a huge part of what makes life so difficult. Their indigenous woods have been plundered, leaving the construction of homes and buildings up to concrete, which we all know is not very durable in an earthquake. With trees the severity of hurricanes and earthquakes would diminish and rainfall would increase. This all without mentioning the amount of food that can be produced. Tropical trees are a glorious way to start feeding Haitian people again without relying on any imports, aside from the trees themselves. Every family should have a dozen avocados, coconuts, bananas, papayas, and mangos. Trees are the lifeblood of humanity--they're not just for treehuggers! I'm aware that there already is a tree-planting organization, Christian of course (they seem to be the only ones to really get organized!), called Fast Growing Trees (www.fast-growing-trees.com). This gives me hope; we need a lot more like them.

I've seen conflicting records of Haiti's rainfall, but it appears to be enough to catch, however much it is. The state of Haiti's water supply is hugely responsible for its alarming average life expectancy of just 49 years. More infants and mothers die during childbirth than in any other country. More children die before the age of 5 than any other country. Humans cannot exist without clean water. But where does water come from? Certainly not the faucet. It comes from the sky. They need a sophisticated water catchment system. All it takes is a huge container, some pipes, and some prayers for rain. Hippie communities in Hawaii can figure this out--can the rest of the world? It would take a small system of organization to get water catchments built all over the country, if not in everyone's backyard.

Like I said, these ideas are fairly common sense, but the bigger question may be "who's going to be in charge of it?" Haiti's government has a long history of corruption, as most colonized nations do. The UN is almost completely useless, and a few too many industrialized nations have had their grubby paws in this not-so-much-honey pot for far too long. Instead, a collective of organizations who care need to step up, a communal and effective system. It's going to take money and resources, but not that much. President Obama just released his plan for this year's budget of $3.8 trillion. Do we all realize how much a trillion dollars is? Not to mention three of them? There is clearly more than enough money on this planet to attract to the cause. In just a couple weeks' time the American people raised millions of dollars just in relief aid alone. If it were all planned out, I would be very interested to know how much it would cost to start a consistent system of transporting seeds, trees, building resources, and educators to Haiti to successfully start this project.

If Haiti cannot stand on its own, others must stand up for support. That's just the way it is. Imagine the livelihoods and sense of purpose that could be created by doling out daily jobs to Haiti's people. Educate the masses in sustainable development, and I have no doubt they would be infinitely grateful for the opportunity. Once they all know how to plant and maintain the vegetation, assign them sections of town. Get them connected and working their land again. There is the speculation that the resentment Haiti feels after hundreds of years of slavery and exploitation will be a deterrent in getting these people to "do what we say," but that bullshit needs to go once and for all. I couldn't agree more, the industrialized world is a corrupt, sinister, robotic corporation that has done a lot of evil. But organizations and individuals that care are not their megalomaniac governments. People do not get anywhere or grow by harboring hostility and resentment. It is our responsibility to remind Haiti of what it is, who they are, and what they are truly capable of. No golf courses or resorts for rich white people involved!

Unfortunately Untitled Poem

I was surprised
at all the things that
did not surprise me
in Hawaii.

The mountains,
so obviously wise
usher valley streams,
cold and pure,
into the ocean.
Yes, yes.
The fact that there are fruits borne of aliens,
rollenia
soursop
jackfruit,
sticky swollen mangos littering the June streets,
wet and muddy pig trails drawing treasure maps
to waterfalls--

It’s like I’d seen them all before.

But I had never seen anything
like Belly Acres,
land with leaves bigger than children,
happy people
working the dirt
living in wooden cabins
painted reds and oily blues only an artist can find,
chipped white murals yellowed
from admiring stares over 30 years.
At sunset shiny people
gather in the communal kitchen
sweaty and hungry,
skin hot and ripened brown,
and lazily offer
scoops of power food,
prepared with the secret of how to cook it.
I was jealous I was not a very good cook.
A true fairy, younger than me
led us around by her chocolate chip
hair and carried a blue
bottle of water,
purified with Love.

This was like a dream I’d forgotten.

Then at Cinderland,
20 people who did not work
but sang songs, read books,
dreamed about when the world will
turn inside out,
and shared everything.
Who did not mind the cold water
or having nowhere to go
but the kitchen, thankful
and quiet
against the roar of the rain,
the air thick and sleepy.
And who hovered,
no matter how sunny outside,
like flies around the fire pit
hungry for each other,
rolling endless American Spirit cigarettes from
red packages, blue packages, one time black.
Who reflectively drummed the heavy rhythms
of the kids’ feet
and drank wine in warm pools
at midnight.
Who met God
amongst waves,
and lovers
around flames.
Who chanted, danced, cooked--
set the table--
planted, picked, prayed.
Sometimes the garden gave way
Sometimes it did not.
Sometimes there were cherry tomatoes
and green leaves for lunch,
but always too many hot peppers,
thick bushes of fire red, orange, and yellow.
Always morning papaya,
for they fruit young
and often.
Bananas, avocados, and coconuts
were gathered on Fridays,
for they were work.
Who, naughty and laughing,
hunted private lands
for vibrant fruits to feed the family.