Bear With Me
Toronto comedy writer/performer Diane Flacks has written a frank and funny account of her pregnancy and the first months with her newborn. In the twenty-first century, it is hard to imagine that having a baby is still shrouded in secrecy and mythology. And yet many women go through their pregnancy with a sense of isolation and without an outlet to …
Once I was showing, I suddenly noticed that pregnant women were everywhere: on the bus, in Swiss Chalet, at traffic court. Janis pointed out that they were always there, we just never gave a crap.
I recently had lunch with a woman who was coming out of her first trimester. She looked at me conspiratorially, “You know what they don’t tell you?”
“What?” I whispered back equally furtively over a stack of creamers that my eighteenmonth-old had erected and was in the process of destroying.
“Pregnancy is so much fun!” she hooted. My son bellowed, “Okay!” and a creamer exploded in his mouth.
While I wholeheartedly agree that being pregnant is one of the most joy-filled, aweinspiring things a body can do, “fun” wasn’t where I was at by week sixteen.
My lunchmate was aware of this and said, “You’re sort of my benchmark. Nothing in my first trimester was as bad as yours, so I figured I was doing okay.”
Glad I could help.
THE LIGHT
By week sixteen of my pregnancy, I had begun to chart days: barf (b), not barf (nb), partial barf (pb). I meticulously measured and recorded these details in a futile effort to weave order and control into the unpredictable tapestry that was my stomach.
Then, slowly, through a cluttered tunnel of charts and graphs, I realized that I was starting to see some light.
It began the day I took a ride on my bike to the corner store. While I had to lower the gears to “Grandma with a bad hip” levels, and I had to grunt and heave and sweat my way up my street (which was on a slight, but definite incline, something I was determined to complain to the city about) I made it to the store.
The only thing I can compare it to is when you have one of those long, ugly winter flus. You start to feel like you’ll never have energy again, and you regret that you didn’t really enjoy your life before. An endless wasteland of sick stretches before you. Until one day, you get a little pep back. Three days later, you forget what the flu was like.
Yet, I wanted to hold on to my experience of the first trimester. I was thrilled that I might get my personality back, but I didn’t want to forget the magnitude of the change that had occurred in and to me.
I needn’t have worried. The changes continued.
Who's Your Daddy?
The essays and interviews in Who's Your Daddy? give new meaning to our understanding of queer parenting. Contributors bring into sharp focus the multiple and meaningful ways that LGBTQ people are choosing to become parents and raise children. This is without a doubt a timely and important.
