It's All Fun and Games, Until Someone's Head is Poking Out Your Uterus

(writen 2009)

when someone goes into labor on tv, it's normally a big comedic performance, you know... oh, you know how it's all funny on the tv shows! and someone's all, "get the baby bag! do we have the overnight bag?!?" and the expectant mother is doing breathing exercising, waddling down the front steps. and the cabbie is waiting, and everyone's panicking, but still lighthearted. and it's cute, and endearing, and tender...

yeah. in real life? it's nothing like that. as a matter of fact, it's not funny at all when your friend is ripping the passenger side headrest of your car off, with tears in her eyes screaming, "WE JUST HAVE TO GO SOMEWHERE NOOWWWWAAAAAOOOOOWWWW AH AHHHHHHH!"

and it isn't that funny when she gets out the car and leans over your trunk , threatening to push a baby out in a parking lot in virginia.

and it's soooo not funny when her contractions are 2 minutes apart and the ambulance driver announces that we're going to a hospital, which is 25 minutes away (if you push 90mph) up 95 north.

and the TRULY "un-funny" part of all this, is how it was supposed to be a joke. cause at tina's impromptu baby shower, her and some of the girls decided, let's play a little jokey joke on bonita! they know how skeved out pregnancy makes me. it makes my list of the top 4 things that skeeve me out, including vomit, scary movies, and public speaking engagements. so imagine my face when tina starts kneeling over the ottoman, saying her back is cramping. oh we all laughed, tina included. and i told my other friend to go boil some hot water...


only when i had returned from the bathroom, the story was more, "oh bonita! we were going to play this big joke on you and tina was going to fake her labor!... but um...see, she says she's not really joking anymore. and she really is having contractions."


and i'm all, "... is this part of the joke?"

and they're all, "...no."


and then tina's laughing and joking turns into awkward faces and heavy breathing. and jey's timing them, and they are consistently 10 minutes apart. and after my minor crisis at the idea of taking her to the hospital in DC from VIRGINIA, ALONE, we decide to drop my friend's daughter off at the sitters next building over, and all take her.

only by the time we drop the baby off,in a span of 15 minutes, tina isn't really talking to us much anymore. it's more like, agonizing yelps and a lot of headrest/hand gripping and lots of WE HAVE TO GO NOW's...

and her contractions are 5 minutes apart.

so i used my critical thinking to deduce the following:

*taking tina home and having her go into labor on the couch with her twins watching = disaster.

*leaving tina here and having her deliver on our friend's couch with yours truly in the background with a pot of boiling water = disaster.

*taking her in my car and having her deliver in my car. ALONE WITH ME, IN MY CAR = the world slipping off it's axis, careening towards the sun where we all die a fiery death.


dear god, i'm a good girl right? i go to church at least once a month? i gave up fast food for Lent last year? why are you doing this to ME? i'm ill equipped to handle a woman having a baby in my car! it still has the stain on the backseat from where i spilled baked beans 3 summers ago. it's an awful unsanitary birthing center.


so i decide to call 911 and minutes later they are loading her into the ambulance with one of the girls, and the ret of us following in our cars.


i'll leave out the bit about us following an ambulance up 495 at upwards of 90 miles per hour and the semi bitch fight we got into with a particularly gay male nurse.


suffice to say, no more than 5 minutes after we got to tina's room, she had delivered an 8lb, 15ounce baby girl with big lungs and pouty lips. and we couldn't be happier.

happy birthday laila.

What you won't do for Love...

When I made the decision to cut off my relaxed hair, I was in a relationship; a faltering, hanging on by a thread relationship, but a relationship all the same. And when I told my dude, what I was thinking, he didn’t give a strong reaction of disdain. But he also didn’t give an indifferent shrug that would have appeased my sense of trepidation. And he most CERTAINLY did not express excitement or agreement with my decision. What he DID do, was ask all sorts of questions with a slightly quizzical brow like,
“…So what does that mean?” And, “Aren’t you already natural because you don’t wear weaves? So you mean like, no perm type…afro type ‘natural’?”

And after I calmly and rationally answered all his questions, he said, “… I mean, it’s your hair. It’s not like I’m going to say I don’t want to date you anymore because you stopped getting perms…That would be kind of shallow.”

But my dude, was a smart man. He knew better than to form his lips to say that he would not want to date me with natural hair. Even if he thought it, he wouldn’t say it. Not with me behind the wheel and him in the passenger seat of my car least ways... But I can’t say that his lukewarm reaction did not have my decision making skills in a tizzy. We were already barely hanging on, if you remember, and I didn’t want to add one-more-thing to the growing list of things pointing to an immanent break up. For all intents and purposes, I loved that man. And as much as I would have stood defiant in my stance on my hair, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried that his attraction to me would wane after such a drastic change. I have to admit that I AM one of those people who care what other people think of them, specifically my significant other.

As fate would have it, we broke up before I did my big chop; a week before my big chop to be exact. And that break up helped me get over teetering on that “to big chip, or not to big chop” fence. And immediately after my at-home, bathroom BC, I was in love with the mini curls sprouting from my closely sheared head. (NOTE: the panic, confusion, and stress came a little later in my journey, but that’s a different story, for a different day…) I saw my former lover, not long after I big chopped, as we still had pretty close contact, even after our break up, and he made some offhand remark about me trying to be African. Maybe he didn’t say it that way. It was over two years ago so I can barely remember what exactly he said, but it definitely included the word Africa somewhere in there. And I thought to myself, one: what does that mean, and two: I’m not trying to be anything besides what I am, which yes, includes characteristics distinctly African…. AND!?!

He made some other smart-alecky remark about my hair to his brother, and I let it roll of my shoulders…well, I sort of let it roll off my shoulders. On the outside I appeared coolly detached from his comments and gave him my best Kanye shrug. And to a certain extent, it didn’t matter. What did I care? He wasn’t my boyfriend. He didn’t have to like my hair, as far as I was concerned. But deep down, there was a part of me that wanted him to like it; a part of me that wanted him to be as excited as I was to see the texture of my God given coils, and roll his hands over my slightly above average sized head. But that’s not what I got. I got “jokes” about ethnicity issues and then he pretty much ignored my new hair for the rest of the visit.

The comment, however “innocent” he intended it to be, was in bad taste. But a funny thing happened then. A few weeks later, as we were on my couch in one of our many on-again phases, I felt him rolling his fingers over my coils, pulling each one taught, and letting it spring back to my head. He did this, without taking his eyes off of the television, almost unconscious like. And later, that evening, as we lie in bed, me reading aloud from the book, "Stuff White People Like: A Definitive Guide to the Unique Taste of Millions", which is completely awesome and spot on, he did it again. Never commenting on my hair; just playing in it. And I thought to myself, “Yeah…you LOVE my distinctly African hair, don’t you…”

We’ve ended up back and forth, off and on since then. And I can only really recall the topic of my hair coming up one time since. He was looking at an ID badge of mine, from when I had blond streaked, relaxed hair and he said, “I like your hair like this…like how it is in this photo.” To which I replied, “So you’d like it if I got a perm?” And he turns to me and says, “Huh? No! I wouldn’t want you to change your hair because…that would…go against what you believe in now?” Just like that; opened ended question mark on the end of his sentence and all… Bless his heart. He was doing his best not to offend me. At the end of the day, as much as he may love me as a person, he prefers my relaxed hair. And that’s okay. I prefer men with full beards who are over 6 feet tall. He doesn’t meet that criteria, but it was never a requirement for our continued relationship status that he meet it either.

But I had to wonder, if me and this man were more serious than boyfriend and girlfriend, and he expressed a specific disdain for how I wore my hair, and actually put an ultimatum in the air in regards to it, would I change it? Because as much as my feelings would be hurt, at my core, I WANT my mate to like how I look. Who wouldn’t? But how much of me, will have to be to your liking, before I can feel comfortable that you won’t leave me for appearances sake? And does that even make sense? What if everything about my appearance has been changed or modified, and now you want me to be bubblier? Or more reserved? Or more aggressive? Or a geisha in the sack? Where do you draw the line on changing things about yourself in the name of compromise? And what is the difference between compromise in a relationship, and doing something above and beyond what I’m comfortable with, for the sake of not losing something sacred to me? And is it as sacred to you if you would be willing to lose me from your life forever, over a technicality? I wrote this because the post on We will not lose our love, our marriage, OVER HAIR over at Curly Nikki, struck a chord with me. It easy for the reader to say what they would have done, had they been her. But I must remember that when it was me, faced with a decision of “to change or not to change” due to my partners preferences, that I grappled with my decision. I didn’t neck roll or finger wag my way into a defiant, STRONG BLACK WOMAN, stereotypical response. I really sat and thought about it. And the answer was not clear cut. I only got the courage to do what I wanted to do AFTER he was out of the picture. I’m not sure what I would have done, had we not broken up. I’d like to say that I would have done what I felt was best for me. And I’d like to think that he would be supportive of it, and try his best to get past his feelings about my hair. But I don’t know what would have happened, because that’s not how my back-to-nap story played out.

I’m 2 years and 3 months in, and I still struggle with whether or not I am completely happy with what sprouts from my head some days. But it’s what I have, and ultimately, right now, it’s what I want. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. And the dude? He’s still around…off and on. And guess what: he still plays with my fro.

sometimes, it pays to have a one night stand.

So as I’m watching Prime Suspect on DVR last night and the guy who was previously a pedophile had an alibi, the thought occurred to me that I am almost always in the house, alone. Sure I have company some evenings, or go out other evenings. But these days, very rarely am I with one person, all through the entire night. So if I ever needed an alibi, what would I say?

I was in the house baking muffins, watching Prime Suspect?

I was googling videos of Jared Allen?

I was adding more glitter to my inspiration board (that I have not started by the way)?

I mean, for real, I lead a quiet life most days and nights. And to say I was more of a loner would not be stretching it. But that is so not helping my cause.

If I’m ever a person of interest that needs an alibi, I’m going to jail like a muther…

If you would like to know who I am at my core, this will explain it all…

This morning, when I went to brush my teeth, I noticed that I was using the last little bit of toothpaste from the…toothpaste holder, jar, thingy…or “toothpaste” as is more accurate. I also noticed that the deodorant had popped from the tube because I was at the end of that as well. So I thought,
“Don’t forget, you need to buy toothpaste and deodorant from the store today. DON’T FORGET!”

I even wrote myself a note.

I even sent an email to my blackberry with the subject “toothpaste and deodorant”.

And when I came out of the drugstore an hour ago? My bag contained powdered donuts, a kabuki makeup brush for the makeup that I don’t wear, a Lipton iced tea, and salt water taffies.

And I got back to my desk thinking,


“wasn’t I supposed to get something…else?”

And that story pretty much sums up the type of person I am.




easily distracted by colorful objects and food.

Oh Baby!

So my dermatologist just scared the bejesus out of me. I came in for my yearly check up and to re-up on my prescription meds for my adult acne; the old middle finger from the universe. Who every thought I’d have clear, baby smooth skin at 12, and the skin of a hormonal 12-year-old at 31?

At any rate, she looks over my skin and marvels at how clear it is (note: It’s not really that clear... It’s just very clear for someone who needs prescription meds i guess). Then suddenly, as she looks at my two prescriptions, the room goes dark, distant winds start to blow, and as an ominous glow lights her face from below she says,

“You absolutely CAN NOT get pregnant on this medication.”

And then the lights come back to their normal luminosity and she continues to flit away about the weather as she scribbles notes on my sheet, like nothing just happened.

So I say with some trepidation,

“Oh, I can’t?”

Doctor death: Oh heavens no! You’re on the strongest dose of tazorac there is. That is REALLY bad for pregnancies…actually, your benzefoam is bad for it too. So yeeeeeeeeeeaaaaah…... No. Are you married or do you plan on having children soon?”

Me: No?

Doctor death: Great! Then you’ll have beautiful skin for a little while longer!

Jesus, lady. What a way to put it. And I have no intentions of getting pregnant soon…at least not on purpose. I haven’t even been getting a lot of “boo-ed up action," or "fornicating in sin," as my mother likes to call it. But shit, that’s enough to scare the prude in me to stay away from penises for a good long while, since she made it seem as though getting pregnant on MY medication meant birthing a firebaby.



Le sigh*... Choices.

Winners and Losers: Earthquake Edition!

Photo Credit: http://www.businessinsider.com/earthquake-tweets-2011-8

The following individuals were/are officially "screwed" after the 5.8 earthquake in the DC metro area:

1. People who catch commuter buses to far out suburbs; your bus isn't coming.
2. People in slug lines headed toward southern Virginia, aka the epicenter
3. The lady who thought i was going to come fix her cable tv at work and sent a nasty e-mailing complaining about it; one, i had mentally checked out before you hit send on that message and two, kill yourself.
4. Anyone planning a Nick Ashford tribute concert tonight.
5. People with no emergency sneakers at work.
6. Anyone in a taxi cab right now.

People Currently "Winning" after the 5.8 quake:
1. DC food cart vendors.
2. People who like to exercise; you get to walk home today.
3. End of Days Enthusiast.
4. That's it.

you suck, blogger!

blogger won't let me comment on anyone else's blogs. and now, it won't even let me comment on my own blog! and my blogger has been messed up like this for AWHILE now. the message boards say they are fixing it, but that was back in like june. it's bumming me out! might be time to move blogs...