The Maguindinao Massacre

Deeply reflecting on this and too entrenched in my thoughts to write.

Why Zeba Khan Can

be my next great pundit.

Not only is this her short bio:

I am a social media consultant for nonprofits. I have researched women and minority issues in the Muslim World, Islam in America and counterterrorism finance with the U.S. Treasury Department.

but for the love of God - SHE'S FROM TOLEDO, OHIO!

::gratitude and pride oozing from the northeast Buckeyes::

CLEVELAND SAYS: VOTE KHAN!

(Her Ohio-ness is a creamy icing on the cake...she's also an original and intelligent writer who focuses much of brilliance on Detroit. What's not to love?)

The Frontlines of Motherhood

A first time pregnancy is fraught with fears and questions. Existence, as I have known it, changed the moment I realized my life had reproduced another. A raw wonderment framed these fears and questions as the human body illuminated itself with miracle after miracle of unfolding life.

Beyond scientific reasoning, the body simply knows its duties, its problems, and negotiations. It produces milk and ajusts its supply according to demand. The body releases hormones that strengthens hair, nails, and bones while moving emotions around in preparation for a new life.

There are things in pregnancy that simply happen, almost like instructions were written in our bones and our bodies just obey. Decisions around birthing, terminating, breastfeeding, daycare, and health are uniquely assigned to each mother, like DNA. No fingerprints are alike. No pregnancy experience is mimicked or identical.

My own pregnancy, mostly, has been joyous, comfortable, awesome, and reflective. The most difficult terrain to hike has been balancing the identity of a working mother to be and making decisions to work post partum. An almost mother is asked to project. Predict. Assume. Have an answer based on the factors around you.

To be honest, that expectation - the expectation to know what my life will look like, what I will look like in a new role - feels ridiculous. Absurd, even.

It occured to me as more questions about WORK came up in conversation that we really don't allow parents the privilege of adjustment. We give parents the decision making power, the expectations, the information. We give parents enough advice to get through anything. What we as a society DON'T do is give a reasonable amount of time to transition ourselves into our new role as life and caretakers. Supposedly that is what the 9 months of gestation are about. However, the expectation of WORK is to continue along as if we are NOT pregnant, as if we are NOT expecting. The expectation is that we arrive at the places and appointments just as we always had been, regardless of what it took to get there. Even if you had to pull over to vomit, even if you had to stop and eat because your stomach felt like it was concaving, even if you dragged your body out of bed and it felt like it had been drugged with sleeping pills - you still show up and work. Never mind the growing globe underneath your shirt, work is WORK.

Work - our societal structures of financially compensated labor - dictates that we make projections to the best of our ability on what we will do once we birth. We run with the leashes around our neck that dictate much time and space we are able to take, or "be off work," when, ironically, this time will likely be the most difficult, painful, work-filled time ever known.

I have yet to find someone with a story whose work, company, organization, or agency truly and humbly honors that transition.

When we ask for family leave or maternity leave, what are we asking for? Are we asking for time to adjust? Or are we asking for a period of self and familial transformation? Every parent I have ever known has communicated in one way or another that life, as you know it without children, changes from top to bottom. Every layer, every facet of decision making and lifestyle is altered to make room for another person.

Now, I'm not advocating that new parents get an unlimited amount of time and money because of a decision to start a family. Understandably, businesses need to continue. Tasks need attention. Labor needs call. But, in the twisting definition of modern families, how we care for new life is just as important as how we care for new parents. How satisfied and/or stressed new parents are directly impacts the quality of work they produce and the quality of love they can share with their children.

So, when people ask me what I am doing after the baby is born, I answer with the most honest answer I have: I don't know.

I don't know. There is no reference I can pull or a map I've created.

But, decisions have to be made.

Who will take care of the child?

And I also wonder

Who will take care of me as a new parent? Who can I turn to in times of emotional flux? Who will answer at 3am when the whole street has dark houses and mine is only one lit up? Where do I go in my journey to be a good, decent parent?

Despite a floundering job market where feeling anything but gratitude for even having a job is not permissible; flexiblity, understanding, and basic employee trust would be revolutionary these days. We're not robots. There's no formula to know exactly what I'll be ready for and how I'm going to balance that. But the system we've designed, the main street sidewalks we've paved all point to schedules, numbers, and dates. There's no room for adjusting, really adjusting to life's milestones. We're given handfuls of weeks, sometimes even less than that to rearrange our lives. There's no space to truly embrace the beautiful unpredictability of life. There's no space to laugh at ourselves, or our mistakes.

Sometimes I feel like when I am most honest, I am labeled naive and irresponsible. No, I have no plan yet. Yes, the baby is coming next month. No, I don't know about daycare. Yes, I do want to breastfeed, I think. I don't know. Maybe.

Why is it that when I say, "I just want to see how I adapt to being parent," the persons listening hears that I'm not ready? That I'm not thinking things through?

And then there's my partner...he has even less options than I do in his "family leave" options. Since he technically did not "birth" anything out of his body, he should be able to jump right back into the swing of things after a few weeks.

The war zone in frontlines of motherhood are dry and worn and dirty. Even in the best of circumstances where we welcome and love the changes to our bodies, minds, and memories, we are expected to keep those changes OUT of our workforce lives. The productivity, the race toward an arbitrary goal, the endless monotony and routine must continue as if nothing but pleasantries occured. Never mind if you're stitched up in the center of your body or your chest is aching with battle scars. There's no time to waste explaining how sleep deprived you are - just GET TO WORK.

Unapologetically Me

SO - my new website is underway and I am feel like a kid peering into a toy store that hasn't opened yet. I'm fascinated by any and all glimpses of what could be inside.

I have to say that this experience - co-creating a website with a webmaster - has brought me to a high level of admiration for artists, creators, designers who truly LISTEN to clients, who genuinely desire to incorporate feedback and thoughts into the final project.

My webmaster is this kind of brilliant, listening soul. I absolutlely cannot wait to unveil her work.

Even more, I am excited by how excited I am by her work. Isn't that the synergy of artists and creators? I am inspired by HER work and that makes ME a better writer.

There have been a few delays due to my pregnancy and catching a bug a few weeks ago, but we're back on it and as the time draws closer to its launch, the more eagerness, inspiration, and fear eat at my toes and fingers.

I am going to be writing from the place where I feel most comfortable, the place where I feel most passion, the place I reference as the Unapologetically Me space. It's a place that I was hoping to arrive at as a writer - the place where you know exactly what your voice is and how you want to use it.

My new website will be a place for ALL my readers and audiences to find me. And, unapologetically so, will have to get used to all the facets of my writing that I am experimenting. Family and friends, strangers and critics, bloggers and readers - all will find me at this ONE place. To centralize myself, to stabilize my writing - Unapologetically - has been a long time coming.

It's with blissful uncertainty that I begin a new website and attach a this blog as a cargo behind it.

And, thanks to the many readers and emailers who encouraged me to take the high road, the answer is YES - I will be staying with Ecdysis as its title.

The evolution was A Womyn's Ecdysis, My Ecdysis, and now Ecdysis.

You don't want to miss the molting I have in store for you.

Letter #12

Dear Isaiah,

Sometimes I still wonder what our pregnancy would have been like had you turned out to be a girl. I wonder if you'd have received more letters from me. Frankly, the idea of raising a son is a new unchartered territory - even in my mind!

The closer we come, though, to receiving you in this world, outside my body, the more unspeakably excited and tender-hearted I become. You are going to make me a mama.

We've made it to 32 weeks (and counting), although the doctor says you're looking three weeks ahead of schedule. I marvel at the slow journey of pregnancy, yet, when we reach weekly milestones, I feel like its sped by and hardly feel prepared.

Last night, your father put together a crib for you and I watched him. Sitting on the floor, looking up at him struggle over nuts, bolts, and frames of wood, I laughed and giggled over his frustration. You're so small and the crib seems so much bigger than what you will need. But, your dad shows his love and eagerness for you in so many ways (other than crib assembly) and it has been moving to watch him grow through this experience as well.

Thanks to the advice of so many sage women in my life, I have come to know you as my unborn child, not just a gendered being in my body. I have come to accept that I will make so many mistakes - more than I will care to count - and as long as I try my best and keep fighting, you will learn the things that I most desperately want to teach you: love, faith, justice, empathy, resiliency, and humility.

I hope you to be a prophet. An activist. A person who seeks less to matter in the world as much as realizing how much people in the world matter. I hope you to be a lover of gentleness and truth, unafraid to walk alone on our front lawn, during recess, down the street, across a barrio, with another soul, with a unknown Entity.

I have come to accept how much of my life, henceforth, is out of my control. You will learn to first depend then interdepend, then exist independent of me and your father. Those transitions will be painful for all of us, I'm sure, but the strength of my hope and belief that we can do this together is stronger than those impending fears and inevitable struggles.

I am ready to be your mama and that readiness is beautiful to feel.

Love,
Mom

The Revolution Will Be Blogged!

If you want to know the difference between the feminist blogosphere and radical womyn of color, read this beautiful article by Lex. Not many can say it better than Alexis Pauline Gumbs:

The energy transmitted through the radical women of color blogosphere (a.k.a. those of us who are seeking to build community and create transformation across space and time, bringing ancestors and babies every step of the way) is a life-giving force. This magic, this potential is also why we are punished for loving each other. This is not the glorification of a scene, this is a distinction between scene and community, a reminder of what is at stake.