How Not To Entertain Yourself While Pregnant

Whatever you do while pregnant, don’t:

1. Google anything and everything about your pregnancy and/or newborns.

A personal low? I Googled “can my baby kick too much” because I was convinced I could diagnose ADD/ADHD in the womb.

2. Wander the aisles of Babies R Us or Buy Buy Baby wondering what you’ve gotten yourself into. It's a very costly place to worry, and buying more wash clothes isn't going to do much.

Hint: You’ll be there daily in the first few weeks anyway, so you might want to wait.

3. Try on those tiny bikinis you see the sorority girls picking up thinking you will look OK (or even like a celebrity) because you’re “all belly.”

If you are super tiny, this might work. I don't wear a bikini when I'm not pregnant, so God only knows why I thought this was a good idea. When I put on that Target brand swimsuit one fateful March day, I did not look like a celebrity rocking her baby bump on the beach, and it still frightens me to remember how my ass looked in so little Spandex.

The Misanthropic Parent

Most likely, one day, my son will discover that I don’t really like people.

Of course, I like my family and my friends and most people depicted on ABC Family shows.

My problem is with other “people.” (And, just to be clear, I’m not talking about “you people” in some thinly-veiled racist way. However, racists are part of the “people” I don’t like.) I’m talking about “people,” like the guy that jumps in line when we’re all waiting for the next available cashier in an orderly fashion. (No, you are not the genius who figured out the line with no wait while the rest of us poor saps stood around like sheep waiting on Tanya on register eight.) It’s the unsolicited-advice-givers and I-don’t-know-what-to-order-at-the-top-of-the-line-during-rush–hour types that make me a tad crazy – and dark.

Where do I think my son is most likely to learn that I don’t like people?

The Zoo.

Like many families, we love an outing to the zoo. There’s fresh air, and cute animals, and walking. And on nice days, there’s also every other family within a 15-mile radius.

On our first trip to the zoo, I was enjoying the otter exhibit when a barefoot woman emerged from the lily pond to talk to me. (I have issues with feet and bacteria. We were already off to a bad start.)

“Have you seen the otters?” she said.

“Not yet,” I said. Then I proceeded to tend to my son – you know, the one in the stroller that I came to the zoo to spend time with. I was doing my best to mind my own business when I heard a kind of squealing noise.

“I found them!”

I did not acknowledge. I know myself.

“Do you want to see?”

“I’m OK,” I said.

“No, come see,” she said. Then, said stranger proceeded to grab my arm (I also don’t like to be touched) and pull me over towards the corner of the giant tank where the otters live. “Do you see them?”

“They’re all sleeping on top of each other,” she said. “It’s a pile-up.”

Friends, it was a pile-up alright. It was a pile of rocks.

But, I don’t like to engage with strangers, let alone argue with them, so instead, I stood there while a stranger held onto my arm and pretended to marvel at the rocks/otters.

“Neato.”

Later, when we went inside the monkey house (which I’m sure has a more scientific name, but I just learned the difference between tortoises and turtles, so clearly I’m behind on all matters animal kingdom), I encountered a middle-aged couple pawing each other in front of the lemurs. While myself and the children – please don’t forget about the children – watched those delightful little imps run around and swing from ropes, Ronnie, as I’m calling her, grabbed Ron’s crotch and whispered things in his ear more appropriate for HBO late night than daytime at the zoo.

(I’m guessing that they really wanted to do it like they do it on the Discovery Channel. Also, in honor of Ronnie and Ron, I will no longer say “go at it like bunnies,” but instead refer to those that want to get it on like visitors to the monkey house. Clearly, I’m not getting as much from primates as some people do.)

Then there are the unaccompanied minors. Please don’t get me started on the unaccompanied minors. I know it makes me sound old, but on this particular day, their clothes were so tight and their comments were so dumb.

I believe it was while four such youngsters were attempting to trap a peacock that I said, “We must move on now, and to somewhere they won’t follow.”

While I’d like to be my best self for my kid, and I’d like to think that motherhood has reorganized my priorities, helped me let go of the small stuff, show more compassion and on and on and on, it seems I’m still me – petty complaints and misanthropic tendencies and all. Is it better to just own it or try and be better? I’d like to say I’ll try and be better, but then someone steals a parking space I’d clearly stalked and claimed with my blinker, and well, we’re right back where we started.

I think I’d rather admit to most of my 20s than see that sweet face fall the first time he hears me yell at an aggressive telemarketer.

Because right now, my son looks at me like I’m awesome, and I don’t ever want it to be any other way. He thinks my singing, dancing, tickling ways are delightful. He has no idea that I’m tone deaf – let alone the rest of it.

When he looks at me with so much love, well, I, too, which I wasn’t the person who complained about “That Guy” at the pharmacy who always says that it will be 10-15 more minutes no matter how many hours in advance I called.

I wish I could stare at a pile of rocks with genuine wonder. It seems like more fun than cynicism. 

Maybe it’s enough to try. Let’s hope so, because that’s all I’ve got.

* Photo of actual otter, not rock. Photo by hotblack.

On My Son And Dating

Note to you, dear reader: While I wrote this awhile ago, I never posted it, and I wanted to revisit the subject in light of Ohio State’s new sexual consent policy and Rush Limbaugh’s comments.

Seeing as my son is only fifteen-months-old, the SO and I haven’t exactly had a lot of conversations about how we’ll handle all of those important coming of age discussions – the birds and the bees, puberty, at what age it’s OK to date, etc. However, not surprisingly, I already have a lot of opinions on the subject.

About seven years ago when I was working in Nashville, a press release for the Date Safe Project arrived at my desk. Since I was the Lifestyles editor, this info fell under my Relationships sub-category, and was just one promotional material I received in a slew of weekly notices. (Previously, my submissions pile had included tips for online dating, how widowers could “get back out there” and one particularly uncomfortable piece on controlling rage within marriage.)

All I saw was, “Can I kiss you?” and I quickly dismissed the release. (And probably thought “tool” while I was at it.)

Then, as I am prone to do, I got bored. I was tired of writing Top 7 lists, and the Date Safe Project DVD was still on the corner of my desk. Figuring that I could at least kill an hour watching a video and call it “work,” I popped the disk in.

It was a pretty uncomplicated video that featured Date Safe Project founder Mike Domitrz talking to a group of school kids and their parents. Domitrz’s basic premise is that either partner should ask for permission before engaging in any sexual activity.

And he means any sexual activity, including kissing.

For some reason, I again thought this idea was kind of ludicrous. I don’t know if it was the effort – like taking an hour to get dressed for a party was worth my time, but talking about sex wasn’t – or the simple fact that I’d never thought about it, but I couldn’t really get on board.

Then Domitrz made one of his key points: If you don’t ask to kiss a female, she has one of two options – accept the kiss or push her date away. Either way, a female’s only options are physical.

That’s when I started thinking. Why do we expect women to have to push men away as part of our “normal”? Is that really the best way?

Buoyed on by the DVD, I called the number on the press release and arranged an interview with Domitrz.

We talked about dating. We talked about getting physical. We talked about what to do when you’re the parent setting the standard for your kids. (Yes, he recommends that you ask to kiss your spouse even if you’ve never done it before.)

One of my favorite comments from Domitrz is in the video. It’s something along the lines of, “People want to know, ‘do I have to ask right one and or left one’? It doesn’t have to be that particular. It’s about asking your date if she or he is comfortable going to the next level. “ For Domitrz, it’s about making sure everyone is on the same page.

So, regardless of what you might think about the Date Safe Project – or my recollections of it seven years later – here’s what I got from all this: explicit consent should be part of any romantic relationship from the get-go. Women (and men) have a voice that should be respected. Boundaries need to be clear. And if someone is too drunk to verbally consent, it’s a no-brainer that fooling around doesn’t even begin.

At this point, when I talk about my dating theories, I usually get one of two reactions from my friends:

1. “Asking for a kiss? What happens to being spontaneous?”

Now, I don’t know about you, but I haven’t had too many spontaneous kisses in my life. Usually a lot of talking, making sure we were at the same party and hair flipping has gone into my makeout sessions.

I forget who says that fooling around happens when you run out of things to say to one another, but there’s a lot of that, too. Sometimes, I just couldn’t come up with one more comment on politics or The Challenge.

If the kisses were spontaneous, it often involved a lot of alcohol or wasn’t something I was prepared for. (With this latter point, therein lies the problem. Why should I have to shove someone off of me to avoid a kiss? And conversely, why should a nice guy have to get shoved just because he read the signals wrong?)

I have most always known when someone was going to kiss me, and it never took away from the moment.

2. “That kills all the romance!”

All I know is that if I want someone to kiss me – and I’ve put in the witty remarks, accidental brush-ups and mascara to make it happen – nothing can ruin that moment. The sudden act of asking about a kiss would not be a mood-killer for me. Bad breath? Slobbering? Slipping in a homophobic joke before making a move? These would ruin the romance. A simple question? No.

It’s fascinating to me that in an age when we talk about rape culture, gray rape, Stubenville and the like, we’re pretty quick to dismiss garnering consent as “unromantic” and even “unnecessary.”

I don’t think a little more communication hurt anyone, especially with the variables of libido, alcohol and still-developing brains in the mix. 

So, it’s entirely possible that I’ll be the weird mom who suggests her kid ask before he kisses someone. And asks before he goes to second base. And checks in again before considering any of those other bases, etc.

I know one thing: I would much rather be the weird mom who talks to her kid about asking for kisses than the one explaining why it’s not OK to post half-naked pictures of drunk classmates on Facebook. 

I also know there's a high probability that he won't follow my advice, what with being an adolescent male and all, but I think I'm OK with that, too. Because maybe, just maybe, if I make a big enough deal about consent, I'll at least have gotten most of the point across. 

What do you think? What do you plan to tell your kids about dating?

Image courtesy of Marzie. 

On Organic Baby Food

Me: The baby just threw up.

The SO: Do you think he’s sick?

Me: No, I think he didn’t like his dinner. There was lots of gagging before he threw up.

The SO: Really? What did you give him?

Me: Sweet potato, mango and millet.

The SO: So the baby doesn’t like millet? I’m shocked.