- Remembering why I ride
- On buses and boundaries
- Art + buses + community = life (part II)
- Respect to those who came before, part V (Or, Why we need Indigenous People’s Day)
- On cars and community
- Buses are for everyone, part IV
- Multimodal Monday: Greenway riders
- Power to the people
- Art + buses + community = life
- A beautiful, brief ride
In the Bus Bag
Spiritual Ecology: The Cry of the Earth, edited by Llewellyn Vaughn-Lee
Tag Archives: busing while pregnant
This morning, at about 9:30, I hopped on the 4, headed to my bazillionth obstetrician appointment. (Due date was Sunday and BB2B, who is apparently taking after Big Sister, does not seem eager to make an appearance.) It started out as an uneventful ride–a crowded and quiet (wrapped) trolley inching its way west on Jefferson toward downtown–until we pulled up to the stop at 12th.
When I was pregnant with Chicklet, folks I met on buses and at stops regularly inquired about the gender of my bus-bundle-to-be. Some of them (almost always middle-aged to older women) were sure they already knew. “It’s a girl,” they announced confidently, almost to a woman. “I can tell because of the way you’re carrying/how tired you look/the curl in your hair.” (OK, they didn’t mention my hair, but I’m pretty sure my fingernails came up a time or two.) Back then, …
Folks, I wrote about this phenomenon in ’07 and am still struggling to understand.
If you were looking forward to several months free of Howyoudoin?s, Whatsyourname?s, and Youmarried?s, prepare to be disappointed. You will, in fact, continue to be propositioned — both by members of that group of discerning gentlemen who don’t bother to look at the women they’re chatting up, and by an even more disturbing group: men who are actually attracted to pregnant women. Listen, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Bus Baby has arrived!
First name: Rosa, after Original Bus Chick
Middle name: Caroline, after my mom
Nickname: Bus Chicklet (thanks to the reader who suggested it last spring)
Birth date: 11/1/07
Birth time: 7:33 AM
Weight: 8 pounds, 7 ounces
We had planned a cab to the hospital, which is only a couple of miles from our house, and had also enlisted family …
I’m waiting patiently for Bus Baby to make an appearance (hey, I thought I signed up for 40 weeks–not 41), frightening my fellow passengers, who, it seems, are desperately hoping my water doesn’t break while we’re sharing a seat.
There are several items I failed to report while I was busy attempting to will myself into labor, but I only have the energy to tell you about two of them.
First, the not-so-good news:
Only a few short weeks (fingers crossed) until Bus Baby arrives. In honor of our nine-month adventure together, last week’s Real Change column:
Great Expectations, Part II
More joys of busing while pregnant
1. If you think being a bus chick requires “restroom radar,” try being a bus chick with a five-pound weight resting on your bladder. To ward off disaster, keep a list of available restrooms near your regular stops–along with relevant codes and key locations–in your bus chick bag. Also, don’t …
This evening, as I got off the 27, the driver kneeled the bus for me. (Yes, in Bus Chick’s world, “kneel” is a transitive verb, and inanimate objects without actual knees can be “knelt.”) I’m not sure if it was because of my enormous belly or the enormous bag (full of recently purchased pillows) I was carrying, but Bus Nerd says it counts.
I really can’t explain why I’m so happy to have reached this milestone. There’s just something about the lowering of the …
On the 48 this morning, I sat behind a father who was taking his preschool-age son on the bus for the first time. The two of them seemed to be having a great time: the son, excited about the bell, the big seats, the beeping of bus passes as they slid through the reader; the father, happy to answer his son’s questions about what was what and why, chuckling at the boy’s occasional outbursts (That’s a big truck!/Did a bad guy mess up that building?/Three blue cars!). It was a beautiful father-son bonding experience–that is, until, about three stops from …
As I board, I greet one of my regular drivers.
Driver (grinning): “Hey, you’ve got priority, right?”
Me (grinning harder): “You noticed.”
No one’s offered me a seat yet, but these days (second trimester and feelin’ fine), I don’t really need one.
I look forward to the day when I’m big enough for a driver to make the bus kneel for me.