Ah. Thanksgiving. It coincided delightfully with my abrupt, violent increase in appetite. It also appears that everything I'm eating is going directly to my boobs. Or so you'd think, given their rapid rate of growth. At first, I was delighted to regain my pre-first-baby boob size, but things have gotten out of hand and they're continuing to grow. I'm feeling rather like Violet Beauregarde in the fun-bags region specifically, which would be cool if they weren't also a bit sore, so when I bump them into things because I'm unaccustomed to their sheer size I let out a yelp.
Anyway, gargantuan breasts aside, I'm having a nice little break from work and am enjoying time with my little one. I took her to the museum on my first day off and was horrified to see how most people's offspring are being raised. It started off in the parking lot... As I was merrily walking towards the building with my little midget scuttling alongside me excitedly, we could hear the far off cry of a protesting little boy being carried back to the car by his father. The museum had only been open for 20 minutes, so my guess was that their visit was cut short... Anyway, the father shouted quite violently at his son to "shut up, just shut up".
Now, I'm ashamed to admit that I have sometimes lost my temper with my beautiful little girl because, quite frankly, I had given every last ounce of my patience away at work dealing with other people's brats and stupid adults, so coming home to a tantrum might not always result in my following Parenting magazine's advice on how to best deal with the situation calmly. But I know that I have never intentionally hurt my daughter or made her fear me by my actions or shouting, so two thoughts flitted through my head. The father was stressed with the upcoming holiday, or he was an emotionally and/or physically abusive man.
I glanced over to make sure the kid appeared okay, then kept walking with my head down. I suddenly felt so ashamed at my interpretation of the situation as being his business and not my own, because how many times might a child have been saved from years of abuse if only someone else had spoken up? My shame didn't last long as I saw another concerned parent staring fixedly back at the screaming child and his father. He stood his ground and told his own family to keep walking towards the museum and he would catch up once he was certain the kid was okay.
I guess I learned my lesson a few years ago back home when I rushed to the aid of a housemaid being held against her will by her employer. She was wailing and crying on the sandy threshold of the house and in the man I saw all that I hated about my countrymen: The racist, the sexist, the abusive, the sense of entitlement, the arrogance, the ability to get away with crime because of one's status or family name... He let the woman go to appease me, but was firm in his stance that she was a trouble-maker and her running away would place all responsibility on him and his wife. I refused to budge until he gave her the passport she was begging for. He may have been honest about her being a trouble-maker, but I was sick and tired of seeing "my people" holding the passports of poor migrant workers like some sort of sick game of "hostage travel documents for crappy pay", and definitely not cool with seeing a man holding on to a woman who was screaming and crying on the floor. The employer invited us in to meet his white wife to prove he couldn't possibly be an abusive man because what white woman would put up with an abusive foreign husband? I wasn't impressed, not even when she appeared with the hijab on. My mother was there and made hasty apologies on behalf of her half-crazed daughter who had developed an unhealthy fear and loathing for men given years and years of abuse and gropings from strange men she didn't know. Whatever. I got him to let go, didn't I? If she had committed a crime serious enough to warrant being held against her will, then the cops should have been called. Otherwise it's just yet another example of violence towards migrant housemaids, and God knows I'm sick of those vile news stories.
Anyway, back to the museum. Once we got inside, my daughter rushed to all of her favorite parts of the children's section of the museum, only to be shoved aside by other kids, have toys snatched away from her, and be forced to avoid bigger boisterous boys whose behavior was left unchecked by whatever adult who was supposed to be keeping their darn brats on a leash. You could tell which kids had parents who cared about their behavior because they would quietly suggest to their kids to share, take turns, or give the little girl a helping hand and the kids made great attempts to fight their natural instincts to be possessive and selfish in the hopes of pleasing the mother or father they respected and loved. The problem was, I only came across three kids with parents like that in the whole damn place and had to spend most of my time trying to help my poor daughter have a semi-good time given all the little shits who were trying to ruin it for her. It was just depressing. I half expected to see Piggy around the next corner, bound and being tormented by a horde of toddlers pushing a boulder towards their victim below. I did what I could for my little peanut to have a good time, but I spent most of that outing trying not to lose faith in humanity entirely.
So now that I've let loose some inner demons, I'll focus on the positive. Boy, am I thankful for the family I grew up with who taught me right from wrong and how to treat others with respect. Heavens, am I grateful for the patient husband I found by chance who is willing to put up with my less than stable moments and share everything I love with me and show me how much more love I'm capable of giving. I'm especially grateful for the fact that the more time I get to spend with him, the more time I yearn to spend with him. I'm grateful for my step-son, who patiently waited for the moment that he would realize I wasn't the bad guy he was worried I would be and is doing all that he can to be the best step-son he can possibly be. I'm thankful for my beautiful daughter, who makes me smile every single day and whose future is undoubtedly bright simply for her being in it. I'm not so thankful for my pets who keep pissing/puking/pooping on things, but hey, they make me laugh, so what the hey. I'm grateful for the little baby who is currently NOT sitting on my bladder, thank you very much, and will show my heart how to grow even bigger. I'm grateful to have had the luck of living in relative safety when there are many in this world who don't know if they'll live from one day to the next and I'm grateful for the lucky circumstances which allow me to help them out in the small ways that I do. I'm grateful for these big bazookas which make my low cut tops look even better, until your eyes travel down to my pregnant gut and ever widening butt in the back. I'm ever so grateful for my lovely in-laws, whose response to my "sorry the sweet/russet potato mash is a little lumpy" was "oh, we LIKE it lumpy!" and not in a sarcastic way, either.
Life is good, despite some shitty people who try to ruin it for the rest of us. I hope you all have a lot to be thankful for, big boobs or not.