Acquiring "Stuff"

Soon after we told my parents we were pregnant, I got a call from Pop.

"Your mom and I have a bet," he said.  "We want to know who's right.  Would you prefer to get new stuff or used stuff for the baby?"
"Used stuff," I answered without hesitation.  "Babies grow out of things pretty quickly and don't use things for very long.  And there are a ton of parents in the city who sell used stuff pretty cheaply." 
"Ah ha!" he said triumphantly.  "I was right!" 

He knows me well.  When we got pregnant, one of the first things I did was join a local neighborhood listserv, reputed for not only it's hilarious discussions between drama-oriented and overprotective yuppie parents, but also for it’s helpful reviews of local resources, and opportunities to get affordable used baby stuff.  Within the first few days of poring through an overwhelming number daily classified postings (up to 150/day), I was able to follow trends on the kind of gear local parents buy, recommend and sell. 

The first thing I learned about was an oft-used baby swing - cozy and cute for a newborn, and best of all, portable.  I wrote to a parent selling the swing for an affordable $15 and made arrangements to pick it up after work.  When I arrived, the parent had prepared it for me in a clear plastic garbage bag for easy transporting.  At this point, I was a mere seven weeks pregnant, not at all showing, and nowhere near sharing the news publicly.  As I hauled the swing uphill toward the nearest subway, I repeated to myself over and over again, "please don't let me run into someone I know.  Please don't let me run into someone I know."

And because life always gives us what we ask for, as soon as I descended the subway stairs, I ran into someone I know.  A coworker whom I never, ever see in the office.  Who was waiting for the same train, to get off at the same stop in my neighborhood.  She looked at the bag, and then at my belly.

"What did I miss?!" she said with raised eyebrows.
"Oh, nothing, this is for a friend," I said, vaguely.  We took the train together and I attempted to make small talk, panicking in my head all the way.  We finally arrived at our stop after an excruciating ten minutes.  And as we got off the train, because life has a sense of humor like that, we ran into ANOTHER coworker.  I tried to be nonchalant about the fact that I was carrying a giant baby swing with a bunch of cutesy animals all over it up the stairs.  "So... what's new with you?" I asked.

Needless to say, it's been much less stressful acquiring baby stuff at a point when I can share the news of our pregnancy.  To-date, I've done pretty well through the listserv.  I've scored a free baby tub, carrier, car seat and snap n' go, a cheap pack n' play, and our most momentous purchase, a crib... all without running into someone I know.  When a neighbor delivered the crib to us last weekend, S and I truly felt the excitement and anticipation of our little one's arrival.  Nothing says, "we're having a baby!" like having to rearrange all the furniture in our one-bedroom apartment to accommodate a bed for a new little person.

Yet, I'm trying to walk that fine line between acquiring just enough and not too much "stuff."  I'm of the belief that babies don't need much and most of what's out there is just part of a multi-billion dollar marketing effort to try to get us to buy buy buy more and more crap that just ends up in the landfill in the end.  Perhaps I'm naive, but I like to imagine us as parents who will take a pretty minimalist approach. 

Even then, I have to say of the stuff we have acquired.... it is mighty cute.

On gender and anatomy

Throughout our pregnancy, whenever anyone has asked me or S if we plan to find out the sex of our little one, we’ve answered with a resounding “yes.”  To me, it has seemed like the practical thing to do given that the technology is available, I’ll be uber-curious to know, and knowing may make choosing baby names a little easier.  While both S and I hold a critical lens around sex and gender and we want to raise our child with respect for his/her self-determination around his/her gender identity and expression, we’ve also discussed the fact that we live in a world where gender is presumed and norms are imposed at birth based on sex.  Pinks and blues are hard to avoid, especially when it's going to be quite some time before our child will be able to express his or her own desires around gender representation.... and when our little one already has many eager aunties, uncles, and grandparents already oohing and ahhing over the very pinks and blues of which we're so critical.  So for the past few months, we've figured, "why not find out?"

Last week, we were scheduled for a 17-week anatomy scan at the imaging clinic.  We anticipated we might have the option to learn the sex of the baby at this appointment, and two days before, it really hit me that we were at another major decision-making moment in our journey.  I approached S as we were getting ready for bed.

"So... do we really, truly want to find out the sex of the baby?"  I asked.

S turned to me with wide eyes. "I think so," he responded slowly.  "But I'm not sure.  What do you think?"

"I'm not sure either," I answered.  "I was pretty sure I did want to know... but now that we're actually in this moment, I'm thinking maybe we shouldn't."

"Maybe we shouldn't," he echoed.  "Let's think about it."

So we did.  We thought and talked and processed for the next 24 hours.  We came to the conclusion that even we, try as we might to be thoughtful, will inevitably impose gender assumptions and stereotypes on the fetus at as early as 17 weeks.  We'll think about the little one differently, based on whether it's a he or a she.  As will the well-meaning supporters in our lives.  Our parents will go out and buy "little princess" or "little slugger" onesies and our home will be filled with tangible markers of gender norms faster than we can say, "but pink is for boys, too!"

When we arrived at our appointment, we were finally clear that we want to fend off the gender boxes and straightjackets while our little one is still developing.  Before the ultrasound technician checked on the fetal genitalia, she turned off the monitor we were watching to respect our wishes to keep the information private.  S and I smiled at each other, knowing it was the right decision for us, one that is consistent with our worldviews and values.  

We want to challenge ourselves and our loved ones to honor that the little fetus is simply growing into a strong, healthy little baby.  And we can confidently say that's all we all really need to know for now.  

Belly button

When I graduated from college ten years ago, I struggled to find a job for a number of months.  I spent the summer temping at a police department and applying for jobs in the big city.  When I couldn't successfully land a permanent gig, I moved to the city anyway and temped for another few months.  I was thrilled to be living on my own in such a big, promising, exciting place, a home where I could be politically active, connect with other queer and brown folks, and build a life for myself based on my values and needs.  And at the same time, I was worried, stressed and feeling defeated about the fact that I hadn't yet found a stable place to work. 

The day I got the call offering me an entry-level job at a non-profit organization, I cried.  Partly, because it wasn't quite the job I wanted.  Partly, because after six months of desperately looking for a next step, I felt such relief. It wasn't perfect, but I was getting my foot in the door at an organization for which I had a lot of respect. 

My first day of work was November 10, 2002.  After I clocked out on November 11, I headed to the East Village and walked into the most punk, bad-ass tattoo parlor I could find.  And I got a belly button piercing.  Just like that.  It was the most celebratory, cathartic, semi-permanent thing I could think to do to honor the beginning of a new stage in my life.  As a typically a cautious, planning-oriented person, it was thrilling to do something that was so spontaneous and "unlike me."  I've worn the barbell piercing I got that day throughout my adulthood as a symbol, as a reminder that I am courageous and resilient, that I am living life differently than how it was expected I would, that I am willing to take risks to follow my dreams. 

Tonight, after ten solid years, I finally removed the barbell.  Over the past few days, my stretched-out belly has made the piercing site increasingly painful and irritated, and my OB told me the jewelry would eventually have to be removed for my own comfort.  I didn't think it would be a big deal.  But to be honest, the moment I held the small piece of metal in my hand, I was overcome with emotion.  It again felt like a symbolic gesture, this time, of an era of my life ending; not in a bad way, but in a significant one.

The belly is such a powerful emotional place in the human body, a place I've relied on to guide me through life's major decisions and transitions, a place from which I've taken many leaps of faith and found my grounding and trust in myself.  Tonight, I'm realizing  that our little one is now nesting in the very place where a little piece of metal once did.  And it will be in the process of raising and loving that little one that I will continue to have to find my courage and strength.    

16 Weeks and Feeling Good

At 16 weeks, I am solidly in the second trimester.  And I've been feeling great.  I have my energy back and am moving around more.  I'm able cook and eat healthier meals and experiencing less stress and anxiety about food.  There's still the occasional bout of nausea (note to self: seriously, don't try Thai food or pizza again for a while), but generally, I can understand why the second trimester is reported to be a much better experience than the first.  I feel like myself again!  Well, myself with a different body shape.

As of this week, I can't sleep on my stomach anymore.  And I actually think I've noticed my body feels a little off balance when I walk.  My stance is a bit wider as I try to accommodate my new weight.  A friend of mine tried not to laugh as she imagined me waddling around with a third trimester belly.  I won't say that I'm quite waddling yet... I'd say, "walking differently."

I still fit into most of my clothes... sort of.  While I can't really button any of my pants any longer, belly bands have been an awesome way to keep wearing them comfortably and to avoid buying new clothes for the time being.  I'm hoping to avoid doing so until the fall, but I'm not sure I'll make it.  I'm up a whole bra cup size... which might be exciting for some folks, but for me, it's a bit overwhelming given that I was already pretty well-endowed for a petite person.  I'm working on accepting my new chest and getting comfortable with serious cleavage.  

My belly is more visible but I don't yet look pregnant who folks who aren't in the know.  In fact, a coworker admitted she had been thinking I had put on some "post-wedding weight" before I shared the big news.  My personal test for "looking pregnant" will be when some New Yorker begrudgingly gives up their seat on the subway for me.  I'll let you know when that happens.

Choosing family

S and I both grew up in small, tightly knit families and, with our siblings, witnessed our parents facing their day-to-day struggles largely on their own, without the daily support of family - biological or chosen.  While the circumstances were different for each of us, neither had godparents, grandparents, aunts, cousins, or close family friends around to guide or teach us, to tell us that we were loved and supported by more than just our immediate bio family.  "We've only got each other," was a lesson we both learned from our parents early in life.  And while we've held on to that sense of loyalty and dedication to our families into adulthood, it's also something we've both worked to - and had to - unlearn, out of necessity and survival.

When I was coming out as queer over ten years ago, it wasn't my bio family that was there for me.  It was my chosen family - those wonderful, wise and loving friends with whom I came of age, found my political voice, and explored my identity in the world.  When the ties between me and my bio family were strained and unraveling, when I faced the threat of being disowned, my friends became the people who knew me best.  They held me through some of the toughest, scariest, most painful and most challenging moments of my early 20's, without judgment or criticism, without rejection or abandonment.  My chosen family made it truly easy for me to play with labels and gender expressions, to date women and men, and from them, I experienced only understanding and freedom.  And I have continued to build an amazing, supportive chosen family throughout my adulthood.  I've learned that it's not only by birth and blood that I can experience fierce, unconditional love and loyalty in my life.  That I have choices about with whom I can build a family, that I can surround myself with people who will be there for me and love me unconditionally.

During the past two weeks, S and I finally - finally! - shared the news of our pregnancy with  our chosen family.  The response has been sweet and overwhelmingly loving.  It has gotten me excited about the pregnancy all over again, but this time, in a way that fills up my heart with confidence and reassurance.  Any bit of doubt I've been carrying that our little one will have enough love, guidance and support to navigate this world and to know that he or she matters has evaporated with every excited text message, email, phone call and hug I received in this past week.  I am grateful to our chosen family for supporting our choices and our dreams, for being so ready to welcome our little one into the world.

Also in the past two weeks, this blog went "live" and is now open to friends known and unknown all over the world wide web.  Again, I want to say thank you to those who are reading about and supporting our journey toward parenthood.  While I think going public induced a bit of anxiety and writer's block for me (hence the week-long silence), I'm determined to keep on documenting and sharing our experience here.

Thanks for reminding us that we've got more than just each other.  We are not alone, and in fact, we are connected to and loved by gracious, generous people from all over the country.  Thanks for the encouragement and blessings.

Closets

This week, S and I have begun sharing the news that we're going to be parents with our colleagues.  For me, it has been an experience that again brings up the question of closets in my life as a cigender femme in a heteroqueer relationship.  The lines are blurred between keeping secrets and maintaining personal privacy, between being really, really out and hanging out passively in the closet.

I am out to the majority of my coworkers.  And then there are those with whom I have never worked very closely, and the opportunity to really discuss my identity and personal life haven't really come up - so I haven't pushed the envelope.  Even in a very queer-friendly workplace, I've often found it hard in a professional context, where I'm not a "gay for pay," to be explicit about the fact that I'm a queer woman.  That's partly because I'm an intensely private person - I don't really talk about my personal life at work.  And it's partly because I don't think I have the energy or courage to come out constantly in my life- over and over and over again.  It is exhausting, and painful, and hard.  At 32, I'm simply too cowardly to keep doing it.

I have many contradictions about this, and often think I'm simply too comfortable with the privilege of passing to do much to challenge the assumptions folks make about me.  Because of how I represent myself, I have the choice to come out or not in every context of my life.  I'm working on examining this, especially now that I'm becoming more visibly pregnant and thinking constantly about how I want to represent myself as a queer mama. 

Colleagues have reacted to the news that I'm pregnant in very generous and positive ways.  Folks have asked when we're due, if we're planning to stay in our apartment (such a New York-type question), and if we know the sex of the baby yet.  And many have asked - much to my surprise - how long we've "known" we're pregnant.  Even the folks who know I'm queer and S is trans.  As if it could have been a surprise.

I wasn't really expecting the question, so I've reacted by saying, "oh, we knew right away, it was a very planned process."  Vague enough not to disclose that we used donor sperm/IUIs to get pregnant, to maintain for me, what feels like a necessary amount of privacy about our process.  After all, straight folks don't often have to talk about the steps and emotional process involved in getting pregnant.  But it always leaves me feeling really unsettled to not have folks understand our experience.  There again is a layer of painful invisibility around my queerness.  To alleviate that invisibility, I need to speak up and say instead, "well, since we're a queer couple, we planned every step of the process and went through a timed insemination using donor sperm."  Is that okay to say to a colleague?  Is it necessary for my own wellness? 

I'm not ashamed to be queer.  It is a core part of my identity.  And yet, I can't decide at this juncture how I'll reconcile all these feelings I've been having about how I live in the world, represent myself in the world, and talk in the world.  I feel discomfort in my chest. But I'm not yet ready to make a change.