mantras, zen breathing, and how the us gov't can create world peace.

There seems to be a process to how pregnancy works. I am just learning it. And I really think if I could just get it down to a science, I would--much like a dog or a cat--start to be able to sense when a storm was coming, and I would know when and where to hide until the storm cell passed.
Also:

1. This seems to be the outline of this pregnancy:

first trimester: sad hormones, lots of crying.

second trimester: happy hormones, lots of nesting.

third trimester: psychotic hormones, lots of sarcastic rage.

2. And when I become psycho, I've learned: eat ice cream; go to bed early; take deep breaths of Zen.

3. I did that last night. I woke up in a much, much better mood today. Geek issues all resolved and gone, judgments laid aside, a reminder to re-read Rachel Naomi Remen's MY GRANDFATHER'S BLESSINGS to help me remember what actually matters (for the record, Rachel says it is to remember to say "God willing" at the end of each idea you expect to complete in the future, because none of us can outwit God...though, most of us do spend our lives trying to) (which always makes me think of God as like the kid in the commercial who tells the rabbit: "Silly rabbit! Trix are for KIDS!").

4. Also, I had a counselor appointment today. And we talked about some things. I shared how I do worry about some of my choices over the last few weeks. And she asked me what I thought I could do to get to a point where I could let go of some things and just forgive myself; move forward. Stuff like that. "Because," she said sagely and very wise womanly, "It's about progress, Amy. Not perfection."

And so I said I thought that how I'd move forward and be more gentle with myself, and therefore maybe with other people too, would be by making my mantra: It's about progress, Amy. Not perfection.

5. And then? Then I went shopping. Shopping for classroom supplies. Because school starts for teachers on Monday. Which is no fun. But the shopping part is! Plus, Georgia's governor gives us $100 gift cards each year to get whateeeeever we want. Except, no personal massages or liquor. Those are not approved. And we can only go shopping today through Sunday and next weekend, because those are the Georgia Tax Free Shopping Holidays--no taxes allowed. Except on massages and liquor.

6. So I went to The School Box first. Because I knew: That place was going to be INSANE, with all 500,000,000,000,000+ teachers in my area descending upon it with their gift cards. I drove over, doing my deep Zen breathing, putting on my happy face, and channeling my center of calm. We would all get through this, and no one would get hurt. I even did not get pissy when I saw two--TWO!-- gas guzzling SUV's had taken up 4 parking spaces, by parking in 2 spaces each. Though I do hope they don't do that in their school parking lots; they may come out one day to find their car doors have been scratched up. Not that *I* would ever do something like that; I'm hormonal, not a vandal. But I've WORKED with people who would.

So The School Box. It was crazy. Crazy like a fox. But everybody else had been channeling their Zen centers of calm too, and so even though our carts bumped into each other and the cashier line was 8 miles long, we all laughed and said, "Thank god for Gov. Sonny Perdue and his gift card idea! Maybe next year he'll make it $200!" (did you know teachers are big dreamers?)

Also, the lady who was my cashier was very concerned about how long I'd been on my feet and reminded me to be gentle with myself. And I do get kind of excited now, in a very George W. Bush goober-kind of way (you know how he does it) when strangers recognize I'm pregnant and not just overly bloated.

7. And then? Then I went to Staples for my glue, my crayons, my other perishable office items. I could have gone to Wal-Mart for these; it would have been cheaper. But Wal-Mart raises my blood pressure in ways that are simply not healthy for people entering their 28th week of pregnancy: their aisles are 2 inches wide, with 400 million people in them who are oblivious to the fact they are not the only people in the world buying school supplies that day. Also, every freaking time I've gone to Wal-Mart for my school supplies, some nut steals my buggy. Why would someone steal a buggy with mountains of unpaid-for school supplies in it? School supplies that may or may not pertain to them? I mean, you're grabbing a buggy with things in it like: 45 pocket folders; 12 bottles of glue; 5 packs of pencils; 6 boxes of dry erase markers. And an electric pencil sharpener. Will your kindergartener actually use those things? I think not.

So I went to Staples instead. I got my stuff. I'd been on my feet for 5 hours. I got in line with my heavy basket of school supplies. I saw a Coke machine. I stepped over to the side and grabbed a Sprite. And some woman with 10 small items in her hands cut in line in front me.

No problem! Because you know what? I've been doing my Zen breathing techniques. And she has less stuff than me, so whatever. But then? Then a cashier in the lane next to me looked directly at me and said, "I'm open; do you want to come over here?" Hell yes, abso-friggin-lutely. I have a small person's elbow or some other hard body part sticking in my side and my feet hurt, which always means they're swelling to the size of large cantaloupes that very moment.

And then that woman who cut in line in front of me gets in line behind me and starts putting her stuff on the counter like SHE'S getting waited on, not me. I gave her a "What the fuck??" kind of look and just went right ahead and pushed her stuff back to make room for my stuff on the counter. And then that woman started huffing and puffing, because I had so much stuff, and she was just clearly, CLEARLY, a very important person in a Really Big Hurry. And then that woman loudly said, "Is there ANOTHER open line I could use? How about the customer service people up there? This is just RIDICULOUS." And she stomped off.

8. Dagnabit! Now she'd gone and ruined my Zen Day. Because, in addition to pregnancy hormones, I've also learned I'm an absorber of other people's energies. And if you have bitchy energies, then jesus god. You're just going to ruin my damn day. Damn it. And so I stared long and hard at her as she stomped off. She wouldn't meet my eyes...that's right. She knew she was being a bitch.

So here's what I think, and I'm not going to be apologetic about this conclusion at all. Maybe I'll feel differently about it a year from now. But today, tomorrow, and 3 months from now? This is what I think: Pregnant people get to be bitches. They don't get to be bitches whenever they want, and in whatever situation they find themselves in. Pregnant people should do as much Zen breathing as they possibly can. And they should avoid placing themselves amongst people and in the midst of situations that will send their Zen breaths flying right out the window. But if someone--friend or foe--around them is acting like a complete shithead, for no apparent reason except that they just feel very uber important that day, and like they have a super human right to treat everyone in the world like shit that day? Then the pregnant person totally gets to go straight into Seething Bitch Mode (SBM, I shall call it from now on).

The United States could rectify this by creating more parking spaces up front for pregnant people. And they also could change the part of the Family Medical Leave Act that goes: 12 weeks UNPAID leave into 12 weeks PAID leave. I mean, I'm not asking for a full salary or extra benefits or a special invitation to dine at the White House...maybe 3/4 my salary for the 12 weeks, and the recognition that sending a 6 week old baby into Daycare may be a bit hasty.

There'd be world peace if they did this. Because people would feel nurtured, and so nobody in the USA would be in favor of bombing anyone ever again, even if we get bombed. Except maybe people like the bitchy Staples lady; I bet she's totally okay with bombing people in other countries. She may even be in her basement this very minute drawing up plans to do this.

I'm going to write to Barack or John--whoever gets elected--and let them know this, that what this country needs right now is more nurturing and gentleness. John McC in particular should be sympathetic to this...as a former POW and someone who can't raise his arms higher than his chest so he looks sort of like a sawdust teddy bear when he reaches out his arms to make a gesture/point? He's officially anti-torture, so I bet he'll agree with me. Barack is married to Michelle, a strong woman, so he'll agree with me too.

Where was I? Oh yes. So now I'm back at home now, away from the crazy Staples customers and drivers who just...STOP...in fast moving traffic for no dang reason (yes, this happened AGAIN today, and I had to slam on my brakes. Fortunately, no tow trucks barreling behind me this time). I am free. Free at last, free at last, thank god almighty, I am free at last.

I will return to my Zen breathing now: in with the good, out with the bad.