"...Texas, do you want me to have an abortion? Your stores are full of wire hangers, and none of them are holding up clothes that I can wear....."
Empress Has No Clothes, July 4, 2006
I asked salesclerks at Dillards, Nordstroms, Foleys and Neiman Marcus in various malls in San Antonio, Texas where their maternity sections were.
"We don't have one...there isn't one in the entire mall...why don't you just go up a size or two?"
How is it that a red state full of evangelical Christians won't help a pregnant woman get dressed? Texas, do you
want me to have an abortion? Your stores are full of wire hangers, and none of them are holding up clothes that I can wear. Is that some kind of dare?
You can't have it both ways. You can't sell the slutty clothes that helped me get pregnant and then abandon me when your evil plan works. Dress me or drain me, Texas.
KilFetus is humming along, reaching the ripe old gestational age of 23 weeks on July 1. When he's active, my stomach looks like an ocean, with waves and pops disturbing its pasty, placid exterior. It's surreal. That's a person in there, not gas. A person who might drop out of school, squander a thousand opportunities and then sell all my possessions for two vials of crack.
Or not.
I've been watching the coming attractions of my life all week, hanging out with El Babydaddy's four year old son. Boys have lots of energy. They jump and they're stronger than they realize and they like to run toy cars up my arm and make butts from playdough.
They cry when they miss their moms. (So do I, of course.)
My boy has a huge fucking head. His father has a huge head, and so does mine. From both sides of the family, there's no escaping those big, round Charlie Brown heads. His seventeen week ultrasound pictures made me cross my legs. That head of his is going to rip my carefully preserved lady area to shreds.
Why has evolution not altered reproduction? We humans traverse from hunter/gatherer to farmer, we move from caves to cities, we send shuttles full of smart people hurtling into space and then blow them up with foam... And yet it still takes nine months to cook up a baby? It's barbaric. I have to sit around all summer, getting fat and vulnerable while some fish gets to drop a couple hundred eggs in a stream and swim away?
It's unfair.
