Snippet of my pregnancy series...

Week 20- I can't see my vagina!!! She and I have always been able to look at each other just to let each other know we're alright and I can't see her anymore. We are so far away. :-( 

I guess that's God's way of deterring me from seeing what really happens down there when I'm pushing. I trust He knows best on that one.

 Let's see...my stomach is extremely round but still a petite basketball size, it's cute. My appetite has picked up and it is regular again. I'm at my normal level of mass consumption, yay! When my food is compromised, I'm not happy. The only thing I haven't really grown to accept about this stage in my pregnancy is these dang leg cramps. Sciatica is what my doc said. It's literally the pain in my butt. To get even more literal, it will get worse as the baby grows because the weight of the baby will press more on my sciatic nerve so my baby will continuously get on my nerves. Ha! 

I feel flutters. She favors my left side and let's me know when she hears a sound she doesn't like.

 Oh yeah...we found out we're having a girl. I could've sworn it was a boy. I'm not quite sure why but it was just a feeling. A wrong one. My instinct failed me. Oops. So I said I would be satisfied either way as long as the baby was healthy and I am. I would be lying though if I said that I wasn't the slightest bit disappointed. 

I've always been so good with boys. I've grown up with them, practically grown up as one via tomboy. I wanted my first born to be the boy. The one to protect his younger siblings, to be the head of my offspring and mirror his dad as head of the house. I know there's a 50/50 chance of having a girl so I shouldn't really be surprised. If she has my tenacity and Bill's demeanor, we should be fine. She would be a good protector, regardless of gender.

 I'm just not ready to deal with periods and heartache my first go round. I was looking more for permanently lifted toilet seats and mud collected in places the washcloth can't reach. A good ol' All-American boy but I will shift my expectations to raise a lady. I don't mind a girl.

 I always shunned girly things because I wasn't familiar with them. I fear that I'll have trouble being a lady trying to teach a girl what a lady should be. I didn't get bit with the femininity bug until I got married and that was four years ago. I have twenty-three years of catching up before I meet her in four months. Ugh I hate math and I hate dresses!!!! 

I will learn to like them. If not for me, for her. I have to be the woman I'd want her to end up as and the woman that any man would love to have so she can marry a guy like her dad. 

You know, that subconscious drive woman carry that makes us more prone to hooking up with guys that make us feel protected like daddy? In some way or another we all want to be Daddy's Little Girl. We either go looking for him or in some cases especially in our extremely liberal world, we end up trying to be him JUST to prove we did need him. 

Girls...oh boy. 

We shall see how this works. I just hope I don't fail my little princess by clouding her head with sports stats and showing proper uppercut technique. Maybe she'll be a Laila Ali, minus that freakishly deep voice. 

Why be a LeBron?

A few months back I had the pleasure of sitting in and observing one of my dear friends in her element. Ms. Jackson is a middle school teacher for one of the local county schools. She is a young professional who seeks to be in school administration after her Master’s degree is complete. She has the patience of Job, the body of a video vixen and quick wit that couldn’t be matched by a Jeopardy champion. Yes, it is true…these women STILL exist and I so happen to be friends with one. The total package if I’ve ever seen it. Growing up with her, in our high school years, she always had a certain appeal to her to make any man turn their head. I must admit I was extremely curious to see how her male students would react to her in the classroom, for that very reason. There was even one student who kept finding an excuse to touch her arm and she made sure she put him in line, reminding him that she had a MAN at home (LOL). Though easy on the eyes, she did not make anything easy to come by in terms of work ethic.

Her students were a mix of different ethnic groups and different developmental levels; some a bit ahead of the curve and others just scratching the surface. However, she treated them all the same in terms of fairness but did not baby those who just "couldn't get the answer”. Couldn’t was the operative word (or non-operative in this case), Ms. Jackson eliminated that quicker than you could type a solution on a calculator. Math is her teaching specialty and most people can attest that math was not a highlight of their middle school tenure yet, she takes a difficult subject and relates it to the easiest concepts in life. Concepts that the students would be able to attain at even such ripe ages. I can’t lie, I sat there a few times with a blank stare going “did we learn this growing up?!” These math concepts seem to get more complex as the times get harder and days get shorter but Ms. Jackson always had a situation that correlated to the current math issue at hand. From track relay time trials to grocery store trips, she made it all fit. There was a little something for everyone to relate to. I found myself applauding in my mind because I was so impressed with how swift she was in quieting any students doubt about whether the content was relevant to real life. On the low, I took a few notes. I didn’t want to sit under all that good teaching and not walk away knowing something!

It seemed as though my presence didn't waiver the realness of her approach, like she would've been just as bold had I not been there. For example, there was a point the students in her second period class became quite talkative and after giving them multiple chances to get quiet, she finally halted their audacity with a hard-hitting but relevant shift of perspective. "Most of you play a sport right?", she says. That got their attention. The majority of the class raised their hand. She followed and said "Yeah, that’s right…most of you play basketball. I know y'all like LeBron". The class confirmed with head nods and slight cheer. Then Ms. Jackson makes a turn that I didn't expect, "Well let's be honest some of you may be really good but you will never be a LeBron”. I remember my face dropping as she declared this. She went on. “How will you be able to handle millions?! Most of you will have a regular job but will still need math. Quite a bit of you have D’s in this class and your parents call up here asking why their child is failing. When I tell them it was because their child couldn't keep quiet during my class and missed information, what will you say?? Now pay attention!" Mind you, I've been out of middle school for quite some time but that indictment even registered with me. I felt her honesty and her frustration but all mixed in with tough love. That tough love that has died with the generations. That’s the love I remember back in elementary school when teachers would jack you up by your collar if it meant effective installation of fear of authority now to prevent avoidable hardships later.

Once Ms. Jackson reset the attention span of the class they looked apprehensive about having side convos during her lecture. I even put my phone away to prevent texting because I didn’t want to get in trouble either (hehe). I was proud of her.

I see so many teachers that will let students run all over them to avoid hurting feelings and will just talk in a surface way about the curriculum verbatim to steer clear of any tension from administration. No. Not Ms. Jackson. She gave life stories and quotes galore. The fact that she wasn’t afraid to share her experiences made the students more interested in everything else she had to say from that point on. Such a poignant teaching tool. She spoke with a mother’s tone but it had a familiarity where the children had no inhibitions sharing their part with her, like a big sister. They saw what I see in her. An adult, but a human, a friend and even when needed an authority figure. I think students tend to forget that teachers are human and can have different roles depending upon what the occasion calls for. They treat them as these robots and sometimes punching bags, expecting them to take all their emotion in between and just deal with it. Not the case with Ms. Jackson’s class. Her students saw her as a person and treated her as such and she didn’t mind reciprocity. About ten years ago she and I had lockers on the same hallway talking about how our teachers and coaches used to get on our nerves and now she was teaching children. It brought it full circle for me. Everything she had been through, everything she had acquired along the way wasn’t just for her use but she neatly tucked it away in her personal locker to be taken out and passed to the next student when needed. Kinda like that student that was willing to give you a number two pencil for your exam because you forgot yours. Ahhh, memories.

I guess it’s more than fitting that this scholastic observation reminds me of a book from one of my favorite rappers, Common. He hails from Chicago, as does Ms. Jackson. He wrote a memoir called “One Day It’ll All Make Sense” and sitting in that classroom, having been able to share in it and observe her life from high school ‘til now, I truly saw how life was prepping her for today. Life's lessons made her the educator that we so desperately need. The ones that our children may only see in a museum.

 

To the Ms. Jacksons in the world, thank you.

...and to anyone who ever taught me in my academic career, my bad I didn't know any better but thank you too. 0;-)

 

-Cam