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3 September 2015

September 3rd, 2015 § 0 comments

I love being pregnant because when it’s great it’s really really really great. I can feel the baby dance around to Squarepusher’s Papalon inside me, I have energy to work on the final edits of my dissertation proposal, and bury myself in the specificities of badass feminist art for the Feminist Perspectives on Culture course I will be teaching until my 36th week. It is also the time I am most in love with J and the most patient and understanding. After we first found out I was pregnant I was like this too—calm, loving, understanding. Consequently, we became happy and careful like when we first met because we didn’t know what was coming next and wanted to respect the encounter. We were also naive. In the equivalent of pregnancy time, this phase of love lasted the same amount of time as it did for us after we found out a baby was forming inside me. Long enough to keep us together but not long enough to keep bad habits from forming.

Sometime around 7-8 weeks until about 15 weeks, the inability to do or care about most things like getting out of bed or throwing out the take-out containers kicked in and I hated my life. Because the gross protestant ethic of ~work till you pass out~ is so internalized inside me, being unable to work was not only a foregrounded frustration, I was demoralized. All I had was tired excuses for everyone around me because telling people I was pregnant would mean letting people into me and I couldn’t. I was anxious to let anyone at work know I was pregnant until a few days ago because I was sure they would judge me, “how dare you do something to get in the way of your studies!”; “but you have your documentary to finish”; “don’t you have a career to build.” None of this has happened so far. My supervisor, overjoyed, gave me a high five: “With so many of you with babies and babies on the way I think I need to set up a daycare so us old folks can be part of it too.” My GPD told me he will support me in any way I need. What an idiot, Magda!  I work with feminists, but even that couldn’t convince me to think people would be happy for me and want to help. What enculturation.

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