The Young and the Restless
January 18, 2016
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I know my daughter will be a fighter. My son was active from sixteen weeks, but it wasn’t until the end of my pregnancy when I could occasionally feel his movement from the outside. The Warrior Queen is another matter. Certainly now at twenty-five weeks, but even earlier I could feel pronounced pokes and jabs with surprising frequency. Part of me loves this about her because she will need all the strength she can muster in a life as society’s lesser gender.
It pleases me greatly she is practicing her power in her small, growing ways. I don’t know if she will be a leader or willful, but I am offered some peace of mind that she has hope of continued tenacity through her life if I nurture it. But, while a deep place within me admires that her very nature is to be heard, my bladder wishes she’d take a day off now and again. Not only do I jump several times a day at repeated sharp kicks or punches to internal spaces I was not aware were sensitive, but my daughter pays specific preference to the same location on my bladder that will have me wetting myself in no more than a month’s time. I’ve been toying with the idea of buying adult diapers because that feels less embarrassing than waking my husband in the middle of the night to change the sheets or sporting an impressive urine spot on my pants that I can’t convincingly blame on a family pet. No matter how I spin it there seems to be no graceful way to execute something like that as though it were high culture.
It occurred to me today as I broke into a heart palpitating sweat attempting to change my son into pants this morning; strength and character is all well and good, but if my daughter ever decides similarly that she prefers to go without leg coverings, I’m in serious trouble.