For instance, the “clueless male” stereotype.
Last night, Sean told the boys that he would try to take them swimming at the YMCA today. For the record, we have never done this. Sean told them they would go “if he could work it out.”
I should have been concerned right then.
This morning, N~ was talking again about swimming. Sean again stated the “work it out” stipulation. After N~ walked away, he asked me, “What would you think of taking the kids swimming on one end of the pool while I do the water aerobics class this evening?”
Honestly, I thought he was kidding.
Honestly, he was not.
I resisted the urge to ask him under what circumstance he would think that a woman, bloated with 8+ months of developing child, would be even mildly interested in squeezing her expanding bottom into a bathing suit so that she could go swimming (in public!) with two preschoolers and a toddler on her own so that he could do water aerobics with overweight women with AARP memberships (OK, maybe not all of them but, again, some stereotypes exist for a reason). Instead, I just informed him that, while I may be willing to sacrifice my dignity enough to help HIM take the kids swimming, I sure as heck would not be dealing with all three on my own.
By this afternoon, he didn’t really feel like splashing around in the pool either. Especially since he had hoped his brother would come with his daughters (again, thinking he could do the class if said brother was there to “help” me), but the daughters didn’t bring their bathing suits to his house.
New plan–I get to convince my children that going to McD’s play land with their cousins would be more fun than swimming. Yeah, right. Sure. W~ was buying it, to some extent, but N~ wasn’t going to be convinced. Sean’s brilliant idea? Just tell N~ that he (Sean) will be taking the other boys to the play land with their cousins, and I can take him to the Y to go swimming. Yeah, ’cause that will persuade him he doesn’t want to go swimming enough to miss out on McD’s. As I expected, N~ thought this was a great solution. The only thing able to get me out of it was that W~ then was sure that he wanted to go swimming with me, too.
So, it’s back on Sean to be the bad guy. As I told him, I’m not going to be responsible for carrying out his idea. Not this time. Not when it involves exposing an extra 30 pounds of flesh. No ,thank you.
I had another appointment on Tuesday. From here on out, I am now on the once-a-week schedule. I also got the handy little “What to do if you go into labor” sheet. Yay! There is something wonderful about being far enough along to get that little slip of paper. I am, quite honestly, ready to be done with this.
When I was going through all of my fertility stuff, I really hated it when pregnant women complained about being pregnant. All I could think was, “Be grateful for the experience!” I would have given anything for the puking, aches, pains, and other socially-unacceptable aspects of carrying a child. And I still hate it when women whine incessantly about the normal aspects of pregnancy. But, sometimes, well…
I really think I would be fine if not for the fact that I have been sick for almost three weeks now. Really, the bad stuff has been gone for about a week, but I’m still coughing. Imagine doing a backbend so that your stomach muscles are stretched as tight as they possibly can go. Then hack, consistently, for the next three weeks.
I have a spot on the left side of my stomach that pretty much feels like it is going to rip open every time I cough. I can’t help but imagine the scene from Aliens where the alien comes crawling out of the guy’s stomach, except I’m the host organism.
Yes, I’m grateful for the chance to be pregnant. However, I will also be grateful for the chance to STOP being pregnant.
Not Everyone Deserves to be a Parent
I have, once or twice before, mentioned the ex-lesbian-in-law and her stellar parenting skills. Well, she’s hit a new low. The other day, my 14-year-old niece told my brother that, in addition to cigarettes, her mother (and mom’s girlfriend) smoke something else that smells “kinda sweet, and old.” And, apparently, their smoking paraphernalia was getting a bit rank, so she decided to have my niece, her 14-year-old daughter, wash it out for her. The niece described it as looking something like what the caterpillar was using in Alice in Wonderland. Imagine being a responsible parent, and having to explain that to your child.
He’s contacted his lawyer. He’s trying to set up an appointment with the mediator. He’s hoping for mandatory drug testing to prove what she’s doing.
I’d be contacting Children’s Services and creating one hell of a paper trail for the custody hearing.
But that’s me.