This is not okay.

So. Where to begin. Last night, I decided to walk from our apartment to Mother Fool's--a fifteen minute stroll down Paterson and Willy Street--to get some work done.

This was an exciting prospect. I love coffee shops. And especially, with Baby all comfy inside me, coffee shops that offer decaf espresso.

But as I approached Mother Fool's, I saw a middle-aged man at the corner, sitting on a ledge on my side of the street, just . . . staring. Of course, I tried to act like I hadn't noticed. The whole thing felt very icky, very uncomfortable, but it would've been too obvious to cross to the other side of the street to avoid him. Especially since my destination was on this side of the block, literally twenty feet past the staring creeper.

I thanked God for my sunglasses, so he couldn't see where I was looking. I prayed, or maybe just chanted to myself: please just don't say anything. Please leave me alone. Please surprise me.

But as I drew closer, he leered at me--an ugly, rude sort of leer--and flashed a big thumbs up. "I'm giving you one of these," he said, still with an open and hungry-looking stare. "Yeah. You earned it."

I mumbled something stupid and kept walking. I felt disgusted, embarrassed, threatened.

But not surprised.

And before anyone starts asking, well, what were you wearing . . .

YES. I was wearing a sundress. It was bright and feminine, with a swishy skirt. It wasn't high necked, or formless and baggy.

But it doesn't matter.

I am tired (read: exhausted) of things like this happening. Just drained, saddened, wiped out.

And I am sick to death of some Christians pointing out that, well, if you don't dress modestly, what can you expect?

I try to dress modestly. I care about finding clothes that fit my style and make me feel fun, colorful, and comfortable without showing too much. But in situations like the above, it's deeply irrelevant. I've been hit on while wearing jeans and a T-shirt, a cute high-necked dress, a cute scoop-necked dress, a baggy jacket, shorts and a plain tank top, whatever. It doesn't matter.

I truly believe that blaming a man's rude, harassing behavior (or other, much worse things) on a woman's appearance is just silly and ignorant.

If a man (or any person) got their Corvette stolen, would the police file a report and look for the thief? Or would they say, "Well, why the heck did you buy such a nice car? What were you thinking, going out in something so flashy? Shouldn't you have realized that someone would want to steal it? If you didn't want this to happen, shouldn't you have just kept your Corvette locked up in the garage, where it belongs?"

That is victim-blaming, and to be perfectly honest, it makes me really sad.

So please, please, stop it.

I believe that modesty is beautiful. And my attempts to dress appropriately--which, for me, means the fingertip rule for skirts, the ol' lean-over-and-check-out-the-view test for tops, and not wearing a bikini around anyone except my hubby--are largely out of respect for guys.

Boyfriends, husbands, or just guys in general.

Because I'll admit it--it can make me a little unhappy when we're walking downtown and I notice a girl whose teeny-tiny outfit leaves nothing to the imagination. I don't have anything against that girl; I don't feel anger toward her, or jealousy. But if I couldn't help but notice, of course my hubby would notice. Of course other men would notice, too.

I attempt to dress modestly because I don't want to be that temptation to other guys, and that source of discomfort for other women.

HOWEVER.

Guys noticing a woman and guys harassing/catcalling/hitting on a woman is 100% different.

Noticing a woman is natural.

Harassing her is not natural. It shows a lack of respect, a lack of self-control, a lack of human decency. It's just not okay.

I guess it's tricky, because not all guys have bad intentions. And even though I don't really want any of it, not all flirting is created equal.

A guy at the grocery store once said, "Damn . . . your smile is gorgeous." He gave me a sort of embarrassed grin, and then walked away and didn't bother me again. If I'm totally honest, I didn't mind that one too much. It didn't feel dangerous or creepy.

But there are times when I feel unsafe, angry, or violated. Sometimes a combination of the three.

So what can we do about this? I suppose my impending pregnant belly might deter some of the attacks. :) But still, after years of dealing with the weird misogyny that all other women deal with, too, I haven't figured out a way to respond that leaves me feeling strong and not disgusted/embarrassed/icky.

For now, obnoxious guys of the world (none of whom, I'm pretty sure, will ever read this blog), here's a deal:

I'll dress modestly, because I respect you.

I'll try to give men the benefit of the doubt, because there are some truly amazing, humble, strong, and kind-hearted men out there. My hubby is one of them. I'm blessed to be friends with so, so many of them.

But no matter what I wear, completely regardless of my choices, you don't get to leer at me or shout profanity in the middle of the mall or cackle rudely when I tell you I'm married.

And you don't get to blame my clothes for how other people treat me.

Whew. /rant. Luckily I've got a hubby to walk places with me and offer (jokingly, for the most part) to throw rocks at obnoxious harassers.

There's always a silver lining.

December Baby

It's almost summer, which means it's time to come out of hibernation!

And also, time to redecorate my little corner of the internet. This is definitely a season for wild unabashed color, and cute little birdhouses, and fancy fonts that may or may not be destined to go the way of Comic Sans.

Because WE ARE PREGNANT.

My soul is in full-on joyful, singing, splashing-through-puddles mode.

At our latest ultrasound, the sweet pea was 13 weeks old--so not really a pea anymore. Closer to a peach, or a kiwi. (Babycenter says pea pod, so maybe the sweet pea analogy still works!) It had outgrown the adorable "melted gummy bear" stage (thanks, Davy, for that one) and moved on to the snuggly miniature baby stage. Oh, so stunning.

We'd come for the first trimester screening--an ultrasound to measure the fluid that forms naturally behind the baby's neck. And the tech was really struggling to find it.

"Your baby likes to be tucked up," she kept saying, almost indignant. "It's all curled up in a ball."

The other ultrasound tech, after trying for what felt like hours (but was probably only ten minutes), said the same thing: "Your baby's a snuggler."

It was true, and so delightful. Sweet pea looked perfect, all curled up and cozy. And when he or she started to move, I couldn't keep from laughing--which, of course, messed up the ultrasound picture. Out of kindness for the poor techs, who were gently coaxing our baby to roll over, I tried to keep a straight face. But seeing the sweet pea move for the first time, and knowing those movements were happening right inside of me, was so crazy and beautiful that I just wanted to laugh and laugh.

"Roll this way, baby!" the techs kept saying.

While they tried various approaches (drink 24 ounces of water! roll back and forth! try coughing a few times!), Phil and I kept watching. Those long, graceful stretches--those hopping hiccups--and always returning to a cozy little ball. We were transfixed.

After the appointment, Phil pointed out: this was the first time we got to see a glimpse of our sweet pea's personality.

And later, when I told my mom, she seemed amazed. Apparently, when she was pregnant with me, I was the same way: always resting and curled up.

Congratulations, our sweet little snuggler. You're being born into the right family!!