My budding feminist

My 3 year old and her dad were in a parking lot where they found a butterfly which had met its demise. M wanted to pick it up and admire it, but as she held it, one of its wings broke. Her father looked down and saw the damaged wing saying, "Ohhh, poor little guy."

M lamented with him."Yeah, poor little guy...wait. Dad? Why does it have to be a guy? Can't it be a woman?"

I love my daughter.

Going Back

One day (soon I hope) I will write more fully about last fall's dramatic events which included the birth of my second daughter. But for now I will just say that since September, I have existed in another plane of existence. In some ways it was just a really fucked up babymoon. Instead of quiet, lazy days spent nursing my new born, cuddling and getting to know her, I went daily to visit her in the NICU and spent hours of my time not with her pumping milk. This was my experience with her for the first 7 weeks of her life.

And now she is home with us. She is well. She is beautiful. She is growing. She was a gift too easily given and I sometimes wait for the other shoe to drop. Because despite weighing less than 2 lbs at birth at 28 weeks, she has had zero complications. Her biggest hurdle has just been to GROW!! (This week we made it to 10lbs 6oz!)

I have now had lots of time (and then some) to be home with her (it's been nearly 4 months since she came home) but now the party's over. It's time to return to life as a working mama. Monday I go back to providing services to victims of sexual and physical assault, which is work I love. But the clinical hat feels a little clunky right now. My emotions over all that transpired are still a little raw at times and I hope I can get back to the part of me that remembers how to do basic crisis counseling (without also needing crisis counseling!)

I know life returning to "normal" after all we experienced is a good thing, but it feels a little shaky.

What I can't do

Sitting in the car with M the other day, we played with a "toy" she got from a Chick-fil-a. Their toys are almost annoyingly educational. Actually, I appreciate them for that, but it's hard not to laugh a little. This time, the prize was a plastic D ring with flippable cards for each of the presidents. Her set was somewhere between Woodrow Wilson and Harry Truman.

Watching her play with it I thought about my feminist ideals. I thought about how far we've not come though we pretend we have just because now it's cool for girls to play soccer. Her father and I can raise her to believe she can do and be whatever she wants, that there are no barriers in this world to achieving whatever kinds of greatness she can imagine. We can raise both of our girls as if sexism no longer exists. And while that's certainly not true, I guess some part of me wanted to ignore it as if it never existed. Because if girls never know we have been treated differently, there is no need to prove anything, no over compensating. There is just being a woman in a world where everyone has an equal shot.

And yet, when I looked at that group of men who've presided over this country I realized that there is nothing I can do to hide that from her. It's almost embarrassing to me when I imagine really teaching her our history. As if I hope she won't notice that women are conspicuously absent.

Baby's First Narrative

This week, in the car...
M [very seriously]: Mama, I have something I need to tell you.
Me: [turning off the radio]: Okay, M. What's up?
M: When you had a baby in your tummy, your belly was big. Then the baby came out of your tummy, then you were sick, then you were in the hospital, then the baby was in the hospital, then you came home, then daddy picked me up in the Orange Tigers classroom because I was three years old (a reference to moving to the next class up when she turned 3).

This all happened 5 months ago but it is the first time she has really brought it up since then. Suddenly, she needed to process that experience.

Racism is alive and kicking

...in Central Kentucky.

On Thursday I went to M's Valentine's Day party to join in the festivities. I sat down next to the only other visitor that day, a woman who appeared to be someone's grandma. I sat and chatted politely with her about nothing in particular, watching with masked anxiety as my child smeared cupcake icing all over herself. Then grandma proceeded to tell me that every time she comes to visit, her grandson is always sitting next to a "little (whispered) B-L-A-C-K girl."

I really didn't have words for this. "MMmmm" was about all I could muster.

Her explanation for such seemingly peculiar behavior was that as a baby her grandson was taken care of by a "very nice, old (again whispered, but not spelled out) black woman. That must be why he likes her so much. So cute."

But I didn't believe her. She didn't think it was cute at all. In fact, I'm pretty sure she was masking anxiety, too. Only it wasn't about the kind of mess you can clean up with soap and water.

[Best responses I could have had?
1. Oh, her? That's my daughter Zahara!
2. Well, I hope they never play doctor. You know she'd probably get pregnant even though she's only 5.
3. Wow - a real live racist! I've heard about you, but I really thought you were just a myth, like Santa Claus or the tooth fairy...only a really twisted tooth fairy who rips your teeth out in the middle of your sleep, leaving only a bloody hole and a wooden nickle.

Anyone else?]

Baby's First Simile

On the way to daycare yesterday, M looked out the car window and observed, "Mama, that pond is frozen like fish sticks."

(Incidentally, this makes something like the 12th mention of fish sticks in the last few days. It seems that since her tonsillectomy, the thing she misses most is her beloved cod.)

If I can remember how...

Maybe I'll try this again. Sort of got busy...buying a house, dealing with a unexplained medical condition, getting pregnant, almost dying and having my (2nd) child 3 months early.

So...now what?

The results are in...

You Are an Espresso

At your best, you are: straight shooting, ambitious, and energetic At your worst, you are: anxious and high strung You drink coffee when: anytime you're not sleeping Your caffeine addiction level: high

What Kind of Coffee Are You?

By the way, I don't entirely agree with this assessment since I don't drink coffee unless it's decaf. I'm disappointed this test didn't reveal that really I'm a Green Tea kinda girl.

No More Hives