While I am someone who is all about special treatment especially in the form of gifts like freebies, swag bags and bonuses. I've never been someone who gets them by playing on someone else's guilt. Even when it might be appropriate to do so. I've also never in my life played "the race card" or the "woman card". Sure racism and sexism exist, but my theory is that if I don't set myself up to be a victim of that BS then that greatly minimizes the chances of it happening to me. Not saying that hasn't happened to me, and when it has in the infinite wisdom and profoundness of In Living Color's Homey D. Clown, "Homey don't play that!"
But at 33 weeks pregnant with sore swollen feet the size of Andre the Giant's I don't give a damn about making someone be nice to me or give me something to remedy my discomfort.
Sometimes, like when I'm in the subway I subtly start to rub my belly. Which because I'm still not that big has prompted more than one person to ask me if I had a stomach ache. (Please see my blog entry: I'm Not Fat I'm Pregnant!". I then say politely, "No, I'm not sick, I'm 7 months pregnant." They usually react with surprise and then say something along the lines of "Wow- you look really good for being pregnant." While my outside voice smiles and says in the innocent Southern drawl I can pull up instantaneously "Oh, thank you. That's so sweet!" My inner voice, the New Yorker of the past 15 years says, "Yeah, yeah yeah! Now will you please get your fat ass up and give me your seat- in fact I could use the entire row so that I can put my Fred Flintstone looking feet up."
What I used to think of as cheating, like going to the front of the line, is now more acceptable to me now that I'm in this "more fragile" state. And if I was back in SoCal right now and I had a handicapped sign to hang from my rear view mirror I WOULD! Without ANY guilt if it meant I was closer to my destination. I don't feel this makes me a bad person. Just a person who for the first time in her life is putting her and her baby's needs before those of others. I've never done that before.
So what I'm really saying ladies- is that you're only pregnant for 9 months. And while it is an awesome incredible miraculous time in your like it can also be miserable on several levels so you milk that special treatment for all you can Girlfriend! 'Cause before you know it it's gonna be over!
A few nights ago (really more like 3am) I was trying to wax poetic about my insomnia; so for my Facebook status I posted. "O' sleep where art thou?" as I was clearly lacking in it. Now, as if you couldn't tell from my headline- I'm over trying to be quaint and I'm just down right pissy. I understand that this is Mother Nature's way of preparing me for when Baby Bean arrives and I get sleep maybe in 2 hour intervals after feedings. But can't Mother Nature wait just a few more weeks?! I mean good Lord I've still got 8 weeks to go. Can't this madness start in another 4 -5 weeks. What's the rush MN?
I really don't think I'm asking for that much. I'm someone can do wonders with five even four hours of sleep. I've never been a BIG sleeper as it is- even in childhood. Do you remember the good old days in preschool when after playtime and snacks you'd grab your totally uncomfortable macrame- like mat and lay on it for a quick 20- 30 minute nap?
I could NEVER get into that. In fact it was so bad that my mom just had to write a note to the powers that be on my behalf saying that it was fine to let me stay up. All they had to do was stick me in a corner and give me a book and I was good to go. Now looking back I'm like what the hell was wrong with me? 'Cause as this point in my life I would pay somebody to make me take a nap in the middle of the day. But I guess I'm 30 + years late and a dollar short on that one.
What gets me now about this insomnia BS is that it's not like I'm not exhausted. Running around New York City, having shows, going on auditions etc., meeting up with friends for lunch or dinner, walking to the subway, trudging up and down the stairs in the ridiculous August heat with super swollen legs and feet (trust me I could put Hilary Clinton's cankles to shame) all I want to do when I get home is conk out. But I can't.
I can't relax. I can't quiet my brain. I can't get comfortable. Well, that's not entirely true, I can do those things just not all three at once. And on the super rare chance that I do get the magic mojo for sleep working in my favor that's just when Baby Bean thinks it's time for a Zumba class to take place in my womb. I can't tell y'all how many times I've been kicked in the ribs at 6am- just when I'm starting to doze off.
I know I can't take anything- nor do I want to medicate myself. But I am open to any and all natural methodologies. If you told me I had to stand on my head for 5 minutes with an ice pack on my vagina and that would give me a good solid 6 hours of sleep I'd be willing to try it. I am seriously that desperate.
Nothing is as precious or valuable as real estate in Manhattan- whether you live in New York City or not there's no denying that. However, when thinking of prime real estate most of us tend to think: Park Avenue, Central Park South or West, Gramercy Park...in a nutshell almost everything with a "Park" in it and anything that has exposed brick or a gorgeous view of a skyline- any skyline is valuable. The expression- "Location. Location. Location." came from somewhere.
What I'm talking about though is a different kind of real estate- one that's almost as precious as being in prized possession of a Gramercy Park private park key. That's right girls and boys I'm talking about the coveted seat on the New York City Subway basically anytime, but especially during rush hour. Every New Yorker knows it's value- but no one fights harder for it than old people. I have personally witness several octogenarian Asian women who in a heartbeat will not hesitate to trip, push or hip check you to get to a free seat on the subway car. I used to think: HOW RUDE! But at this point and time in my life/pregnancy I get it! I TOTALLY get it. Although I am no where near showing, every time I step foot onto the subway I make a B-line to a seat like my name is Ming Lee. Because of my constant morning sickness what used be a bit of a jostling ride has now turned into the Six Flags "thrilling ride" Dare Devil Dive- sans the all the excitement, joy and funnel cakes.
