The magic beam

I guess I'm pretty naive.

Somehow I assumed that once you got pregnant, you would KNOW. Like there would be this magical beam that would radiate from within you, indicating the life growing inside.

There's no beam.

I am in my third month of pregnancy now, and I still don't really FEEL pregnant. I mean, there are a couple of signs other than the obvious pregnancy tests taken at home and at the doctor. I am moody and irritable and emotional and driving Ivan crazy. I'm tired and my formerly slim feet and long toes look like pudgy sausages. I have to eat every four hours.

But that's about it. I haven't had any morning sickness, and that strangely seems to disappoint people who love to ask, "Are you puking your guts up?." I can't say that I am sorry that I have missed this rite-of-passage thus far.

Tonight, four year-old Darius and I were talking about the baby before he went to bed. A commercial came on where kids were talking about "Where do babies come from?" and I cringed. His father was in the other room, and I didn't want to be the one to make decisions about what he does or does not know about where babies come from. Of course, he immediately turned to me and asked the inevitable question after the commercial went off.

"They come out of their mamas' tummies," I said simply, praying he would leave it at that.

"Are you a mother?" he asked.

"Not yet," I replied. "But I will be soon."

He thought for a second and said, "But you have a baby in your tummy, so you ARE a mother."

I smiled. I guess I just hadn't thought about it that way.

The day only rain boots would do

I've always sort of had this thing for ugly rubber rain boots. It all started with a pair of red, rubber Mickey Mouse boots I had when I was a kid. I liked to weather them in all types of weather in all seasons, and preferred them with shorts. The rain boots and I were inseparable until one ill-fated day when I decided they were not only good for wearing, but also for transporting dirt. This had the unfortunately consequence of making my feet absolutely filthy any time I wore them from that point forward and--after days of muddy feet--my rain boots mysteriously disappeared. My mother denied any involvement, but even then I had my suspicions.

This love continued into adulthood, and for a few years I owned a hideous pair of green, lavender, and blue striped rain boots. For reasons I won't go into at this time, they are no longer in my possession. I have felt their absence for at least a year now.

I am having a difficult time at the moment, and in the last 24 hours I've had three panic attacks. Nothing can seem to alleviate my wild dread and anxiety. Today I sit in my office nearly immobilized. I cannot answer my emails. I cannot check my phone messages even though the little red light is blinking. I cannot seem to care about any of the things I have to do. When I went to the restroom, I seriously contemplated barricading myself in the bathroom and screaming, but decided against it. I don't really know what to do for myself right now, but while sitting at my desk the idea occurred to me. Rain boots.

It turns out Amazon.com has an amazing selection. I added several colorful pairs to my wish list and admired the many options until I found them. The perfect rain boots. MY rain boots.

So I ordered them.

Profit

Some of you are aware that--since moving to San Francisco--my feet have received a bizarre amount of attention. I have been approached by men on buses, including bus drivers, men on the street, and one guy who yelled at them for not having the right to look the way they did.

I wrote about one of these incidents here.

These stories became quite a joke among my friends and naturally everyone wanted to know what they looked like. We agreed that the flip-flop market seems to be an untapped land of opportunity for men with foot fetishes, because that's what I tend to wear. We joked about me starting a website.

Recently, my friend Bob took a folklore class at Berkeley and documented the stories about and pictures of my feet for the folklore archives at the school. Admittedly, this was kind of cool.

In the last few days I've been asked by two different men if they could worship my feet. It's hard to know how to feel about this. But the website idea has arisen again and a friend of mine who is pretty tech-savvy offered to help me set it up with a Paypal account. I'm supposed to brainstorm a good title.