grrrl power

I'm a part time insomniac.

Part of the night I sleep and part I just lay there.
~or~
Part of the month I sleep all night and part I don't sleep at all.

If I'm alone in bed I get up, if I'm not I stay there and think.
Last night I thought.

I thought about what might have the power to influence Jacob when he is a teenager and what he will do with that influence.
I went to high school in the early 1990s. That meant I hid in my flannel&jeans&eyeliner and my room for four years and listened to Riot Grrrl musicians and speakers on the college stations during the day and Canadian stations at night.
Canadian radio is better than American radio at night.
I listened and listened and read and read and wrote and wrote and tried to make sense out of what was happening in the underground.
I loved the idea that I could allow myself to be angry about things that I felt were unfair and there is a possibility that a pacific approach could be taken to raise awareness and stop injustice and create equality. I hated that I was afraid to speak up, speak out, just speak.
I tried to tell myself I was just as good and strong as the boys. My muscles were weaker but my heart and my voice could be more powerful.
Bitch was something I could aspire to be.
I was in awe of what women could accomplish if we banded together, horrified that we could never get the tits enough to do so.

Then I went to college. Then grad school. Then work. Then home. Somewhere along the way I lost that fervor but I'm having a terrific time finding it again.
It's probably better that I waited until I was older to be a proverbial Riot Grrrl. My mouth is (and fingers are) insanely faster than my brain, but I'm learning. I can get more done if I speak slowly and hide my big stick behind my back until I really need it.

Something else I like to do when I can't sleep is think about the potential that Jake has. That every baby has. I love to look at babies (look at, not touch. I hate touching babies. And smelling them. They smell like poop and sour milk. Or poop and sour milk and Baby Magic. I love the smell of puppies.) and wonder what they will be good at, what opportunities they will miss, which ones they will take. What if Beethoven never touched a piano? How am I ruining my child by not exposing him to something he would naturally take to? How am I ruining him by exposing him to things that he can't take to? What can I do to find the balance? What can I do to stop feeling like I'm pushing and pulling at the same time? What can I do to just go the eff to sleep?

I also like to look at my own body the way I look at Jake's. I've been working on this for almost a full year and I think I'm getting good at it, comfortable with it. It's awkward at first, and I feel a little squirmy telling you about it, but I'll do it anyway. Briefly. This is kinda my private thing I do and I don't want you all the way in on it. I will tell you that it's easier to do in the dark while you are lying down. Don't try it in the mirror unless you are really in love with yourself.

I like to think of the places my feet and legs can take me. I have the freedom and ability to go where ever I need, want, chose to go.

My hips carry what is left of the fat my body used to make the milk that kept my baby alive. I feel better about it because the chub had a purpose.

My belly holds everything I need to process stuff I put in there so that my life may go on as I work hard to live it.

Underneath my belly lies the hole that my baby came out of. It's a very faintly pink reminder that I endured childbirth. My brain has forgotten but my body has not. You can hardly see it there, but it... OH MY GOD! I had a C-section. Stop thinking about my chassis, you sickfolks. The hole that my baby came out of is MAN-MADE.

I have a vagina that is capable of a whole lot of good and amazing things.
It proved to me that my body and my spirit is stronger than mutant cells and cancerous lumps and lesions.
Go vagina.

My hands can soothe. They can hold. They can fight. They can create. They can destroy. They are so much more than they appear to be.

My arms can carry many things. My heart can carry the things my arms cannot.

My head is doing quite well for itself. My hair kind of sucks right now, but I could shave it off completely and it would not change the way my eyes are able to see the terrifying beauty in the world. My nose breathes. My breath makes me alive. My mouth is small but big things come out of it. Too often and too loud, sometimes.

What amazes you about you?

“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.” – e.e. Cummings