My New Blog about the Joy of Pregnancy

Hey, I started a new blog. Check it out: http://manihatebeingpregnant.blogspot.com/

Because There Are Apparently Only Little Boys in the World

It doesn't help that I'm pregnant, but still, I'm officially pissed off. Occasionally, I do Google searches to see where I am in my pregnancy, what I can expect, how the baby is developing, etc ...

And here's an interesting, unforgivable, egregious, not to mention INFURIATING position every damn website I have gone to has taken. Every time the baby is mentioned, the pronoun used is "he" or "him" or some other masculine attributive tag. Seriously, I'm pissed. Who the hell do they think their readership is at www.similac.com or www.motheringmagazine.com? How many men do they think are out there looking for cures for the heartburn and indigestion that accompanies the six month of pregnancy?

It's all a conspiracy. This whole damn pregnancy thing is a conspiracy. I hate it and I hate the writers of all those damn websites who are abusing gender-specific pronouns at the expense of the actual gender who is doing all the damn work.

Screw you, Similac and all your female-hating cohorts. You and all your "he" and "his" and "him" can go suck it.

Addendum: After reading my sister-in-law's note about the changing of gender pronouns used on a day-by-day basis, I looked again at Similac's site today to see if the world was full of little girls for the day. Alas, this is not the case. The world still belongs to "he" and "him" and "his." I nearly sent a scathing e-mail to Similac and similar sites, but then I thought why bother? My energies are probably better spent elsewhere. Like, you know, eating the leftover pizza in the fridge and trying not to barf. Ah, pregnancy. Such, such were the joys.

Running Hot and Cold

In Michigan, you can count on a couple of things: in September, apple season will begin and there will be lots of pie and cider and hayrides through orchards to make one feel like the season is new and different from the one before it that was all lakes and bathing suits and the smell of sunblock. Another thing you can count on is that come October, early November, there will be snow and it will stay through March and really, often through April. It will stay cold, rarely reaching beyond the height of the 50s over this period of time. (Okay, sure, there's an occasional 60 degree day, but this wildly rare and confusing.)

Which brings me to Tennessee where hot and cold days switch faster than my shower faucets are capable of. Tuesday, March 10, it was upwards of 80 degrees here. I liked it. I wore shorts and sandals and opened up the few windows I do not have weather-stripped. It felt good to be alive again and I started to think about all the lovely things our lives would become once this baby gets here. Warm weather, walks, picnics, evenings around the fire pit.

And then today happens, which at this point should not be a terrible surprise to me. We woke to 40 degree weather, which is how it will remain for the weekend before it moves back up to the 70s next week. There's a lot of this here: little pockets of cold days, or little pockets of hot days, depending on which season is the frame of reference point. When I first starting teacher here and "winter" came along, I could not understand why my students stubbornly wore their sandals all through December and January. Now I have come to believe that this weather makes them optimists who trust the warm to return any day now, because it does even though it leaves again quickly.

In Michigan, despite a steadfast cycle of cold winter, hot summer, cold winter, hot summer, it's hard to trust that return. We know Spring will come again, but at some point, the cold and snow become unreasonable and mean, even uncharitable. I know it is that time of the year for my Northern friends. They are cursing the snow and the gray, cursing the climate that forces them into a crankiness they would like to throw off into a bright summer sky. It will come. The hot and cold may be farther apart than it is in the spotty Tennessee climate, but it will come.

Photo Essay for a 65 Degree Day

Birds on a wire at the end of my street. Can you see their pretty, red-painted throats?
This is what we call a Tennessee yard dog. Sure, she looks sweet, but she's protective as hell. I have jumped many a time when passing by her.
This is no joke. A Tennessee yard dog is not something you want to mess with. Believe you me.
The street where I live.
Seriously, I can't get enough of these doves.

 

These pretty yellow flowers are in my backyard. I daresay they are crocuses, though I am not certain of this. Isn't it weird how sometimes we think we know the names of things, though we are not sure why?

 

This is the infrequently blooming bloom from the pond lilies my Aunt Sharon bought for me many, many years ago. I just keep cutting them over and over again and they grow like crazy. I love them.

 

Ain't this an ugly bush? My landlord encourages me to kill it by any means necessary. Any suggestions?

 

I would like to know the name of this tree. My students cannot tell me which I think makes them very poor Tennesseeans.