The first is election drama.
In the months leading up to November 8th, I (along with the rest of the world) was getting bombarded with a blizzard of election coverage. And not just regular, political white noise that runs loudly in the background of our consciousness like an overtaxed space heater that is about to explode. No, all of this peppering my every waking moment was more of a furious nature, something dripping with vitriol and the scorched earth of razed relationships. I, like so many Americans, can boast friends and family in every political camp and got a front row seat to the carnage--isn't democracy fun?
Early on, I decided that I was going to limit my political discourse to a select few--not those that agreed with my own assertions, necessarily, but those with whom I knew I could maintain a respectful disagreement. My sister is a good example of this, and my brother, too. Though we don't usually see precisely eye-to-eye on every matter, they are able to almost surgically remove their emotions from the equation in an enviable manner of sheer logic. I don't know many people that have that particular unique talent, and I know that their estimation of me does not rise or fall in regards to where our discussion leads us. Michael, too, is knowledgeable and rational, but we had to limit the sheer volume of how much we would allot for politics because we didn't want our days bogged down by excess.
It feels like we have lost the ability as a society or as a species to debate differing views productively. So often, there is anger. It isn't enough that we disagree with them; their viewpoint has to be idiotic, ill-thought-out, evil or corrupt. I think the logic there is that it would bolster our argument to moral superiority, intelligent, well-reasoned, just. The voice has been silenced that says the people we know (statistically speaking, at least some of them) are capable of assessing ideas and coming to their own conclusions based on experience, information we don't have, or their own mores and values. And yet, we engage in these fruitless, unproductive conversations that at best end in wounded feelings and at worst, in burned bridges. Why do we believe that we can just -reason- our way through to them, say that magical something that will sway them to our way of thinking as though theirs is any less valid than our own? I have chosen to engage as little as possible, and let those that wish to hurl themselves in the foray.
I would like to think this wise or mature, this selective mindset. Some days it feels that way. Most others, it feels more like cowardice.
Every time I sat down read the latest on the Clinton-Trump race though, I could physically feel the cortisol surging through my body, tensing my muscles, tightening my chest, and blasting my itty-bitty little fetus with an unhealthy wave of stress.
That is my second excuse for my absence. I am, as of this post, 19 weeks and 1 day pregnant.
To say it came as a surprise is an understatement. When that positive little "+" appeared...goodness, about 13 weeks ago (part of a monthly "better check, just in case" routine I have had for quite some time), I was stunned, and the intervening three months have done little to temper the news.
This was not precisely according to plan, you see.
As this blog will attest, I don't pregnant well. Never have, for indeterminate reasons, and I suffer from a laundry list of conditions that make the experience an ordeal for both me and the fetus I carry (not to mention Mike. Poor Mike.). After the delivery of my Benjamin, the doctor went so far as to say I needed to stop, if not permanently than for a minimum of five or ten years.
But, as sexual education teachers across the country will preach, no method of birth control is 100% effective except abstinence, so. Here I am. 19 weeks (and one day) closer to having a bouncy baby girl.
The news was far from unwelcome, though. I am in good health now, and Michael is beside himself with joy at the thought of another baby, particularly a baby girl. He has always been such a softy for the girls. And as this comes on the heels of both Amber and Julia (sister and sister-in-law, respectively) having their own little girls, I should not need for overmuch, I think. The worried stage has not really sunken in yet; still wallowing in the sheer surprise of it all.
That teeny gummy bear, the sweet flutters and kicks I am just beginning to feel, is the reason I have actively tried to avoid the great hideous political debacle. Excess stress does neither of us any good at all. Besides, at least September and the first few weeks of October, I had my mind rather occupied with other things. Specifically, laying in the grass of the backyard focusing very hard on keeping my minuscule meals down.
This one had a good idea of what I could and could not eat. Mostly the "could not"--anything served hot, or fragrant. Garlic was, in particular, offensive. Nothing with grease or oil, including peanut butter. My diet kind of devolved into swigs of pickle juice from the jar and sour patch kids. Sour things were generally alright, and I kept slices of lemon to smell in my purse to ward off the worst of the nausea.
The fog of hormonal rush coupled with poor sleep and little to eat has finally dissipated enough for me to write, and to (somewhat) assess what has been going on in my absence.
