Motorcycle = 95 decibels. Baby’s cry = 115 decibels

38 weeks and 4 days pregnant. Baby Bop seems very comfortable hanging out with my intestines. I told her there’s better scenery to be had, but so far no interest.

The number of activities I’m interested in doing is declining. Will there be a bathroom? A place to sit where I can man-spread? A place to stand? A place to lie down? Food? Air conditioning? Did I mention a bathroom? If I can check most of these off, I may go.

At my Little Sister’s junior high graduation the other day a mom of her friend tells me,

“You’re brave.”


“To be out and about when you’re due so soon.”

I’m in Somerville. The hospital is almost as close as if I were in Boston. The only brave thing about me being here is I don’t know where the bathroom is. Yet.

Captain mentions the monthly neighborhood meeting coming up: Free food, free drinks, which are irrelevant, but still sound great, and on the roof top of a neighboring condo building. Did I mention I have a weakness for roof-top decks? I’m on board for the meeting.

My expectations are low. The massive Indie car race that was coming to our neighborhood was canceled. Captain may be the only resident who is disappointed. Without the race to complain about, people are going to have to stretch for things. I shouldn’t have doubted them.

The police always open the monthly meeting with a recital of the recent criminal activity in the area. This time there are 4 officers, including the police chief. I have a hard time because these guys are from the district that arrested my dog 3 years ago. His record has been cleared.

One officer tells us,

“I really had to search for something this time, but someone broke into a locker at a gym and stole an iPhone.”

That was not worth however much tax money is paying 4 police officers to tell us this. The officer adds,

“Any questions?”

A woman almost jumps off her seat,

“I’ve noticed an increase in deafening motorcycles.”

The officers stare at her and adopt their impression of a sympathetic expression. She continues,

“Have you noticed that?”

Is this the same lady who complained about the increase in airplanes? She should be counting her blessings that hundreds of race cars aren’t descending upon her. An officer asks her,

“Is it more than usual?”

“Oh yes, they’re deafening and especially at night.”

I’m baffled by the noise complaints from people who have chosen to live downtown in a major city. Never mind that there’s a proposal for a public helipad to go in a few streets away. Sound-wise that should drown out the motorcycles.

And while we’re complaining, I’d like to report an increase in obnoxious comments to very pregnant women.* One guy yelled across the street at me, it was loud.

*I cannot take credit for that joke. Thank you to a recently pregnant friend.

So if anyone hears a screaming pregnant lady, followed by the deafening roar of a Toyota Highlander, we’ll soon be back with a screaming baby. You’re welcome.

Version 2

I have no reasonable explanation for this photo. I wanted photos to document my belly. After numerous generic poses, I asked Captain, “Are there any poses you’d like me to do?” He gets a big smile on his face and declares, “A Captain pose!” Then he demonstrates. So here it is.



Race cars, porta potties and angry white people

This post is not about pregnancy, but I was there with my fetus.

My fetus is the ultimate tag along. Just when I think I’m going to have some alone time, I become desperate for the bathroom and realize that a 5 inch tall person is standing on my bladder.

The other night Fort Point had a second January neighborhood meeting. When a second monthly meeting is called for, that’s when you know people are angry. Really angry. The normal turnout is about 20 people. This meeting had at least 60 people and local television crews.

Boston is poised to host a three day indy car race, the Boston Grand Prix, this Labor Day weekend for the next 5 Labor Day weekends. The race will attract 200,000 fans. People are upset. Some of the concerns are reasonable:

“Where will all the porta potties be?”

Meaning, you better not put those porta potties under my condo window or I’m really going to freak out.

It’s a guarantee that people are going to be worked up. This is the same neighborhood that is worried about the increase in the flight pattern. Never mind that the airport was here first.

The cars are going to be loud, 110 decibels. The race organizers try to reassure the crowd,

“You will be able to purchase noise cancelling headphones and ear plugs.”

People are unimpressed. Captain whispers to me,

“That angry guy from the last meeting is behind us.”

I look back. I see a lot of angry guys.

One woman is frantic to speak. The neighborhood association leader hands her the microphone. She starts speaking everywhere but into the microphone. She’s waving it around like it’s a wand. No one can hear her, but she looks like she might cry. She says,

“At first I thought this was a one time event, but now I’m hearing that I’m condemned to endure this for the next five years maybe longer?”

The race organizer replies,

“I would argue that you’re not condemned.”

I would argue that these angry white people who can afford to live in Fort Point don’t usually stay in Boston for Labor Day weekend.

The almost crying lady continues,

“And what’s the carbon footprint? Have you considered using solar powered cars?”

Out of curiosity I did some solar powered car research. The fastest recorded speed of a solar powered car is 55MPH. While that’s 25MPH over the current speed limit of the roads the race is on, it’s 120MPH short of being exciting. And what does a pit stop consist of? All the cars sunbathing for the rest of the day?

Captain is waiting for news of his discounted ticket. Meanwhile they should set up the porta potties immediately. I could use a toilet for every block I walk.

porta potty race