I'm Really Freakin Pregnant

Its funny how in the beginning, I could deal with my little pooch. I've certainly hosted different variants of tummies along the way. It first appeared on my then-120lb frame when I moved to Ireland. Surrounded by butter, Guinness and cheese, and not a lot of money, I found myself going for the good stuff when I could. Since then, in lieu of actually working out or giving up booze, most of my clothes were purchased and designed to hide a small to medium sized (depending on the debaucheries of the weekend) beer belly. I had plenty of empire waist tops, dresses, cozy jean shorts, the first trimester was so easy to hide. Second trimester I did have to bust out a few new items, but it still seemed like a little bloated beer-and-sausage-wasn't-that-a-great-weekend-in-Wisconsin belly.

I came home last night and changed clothes in front of the mirror and shocked myself thoroughly. There is no way this is a beer belly anymore. I'm about twice the width in the middle if I look at myself sideways. I am definitely a very pregnant person. This both horrified and delighted me. Its funny that I even got to this age without experiencing this. My god how the body changes! All my guts are squished up against my bra-line and apparently this baby is living in a house the size of a soccer ball. Soccer balls are pretty big. And I can tell because my hip bones ache, my pelvis feels like its realigning itself, its takes all my energy to go up the stairs. I still feel pretty good considering, but I think I'm finally entering the part of pregnancy that I won't respond to as well. It's like I need to move around more, but I'm too tired to do it.

What good timing getting married at five and a half months. Everyone should do that (if they're going to do that pregnant, I mean). Also, how come no one told me about bra extenders? Bra extenders are the BEST. Since now I'm a 38B and there is no brassiere in that size.

So here's to the holiday road trip in the van, with the dog, my husband (!) and a clever device I bought off the internet that will help us make less pit stops. Even the owners of the gadget want me to report back on how it goes. Anything to keep us moving, says I. Me and my burgeoning vanful of mischief makers. Including the one I'm smuggling.

E

I'm a Missus?

We set out to have a small party, no big deal, something nice for our close friends and immediate family only. We had a month to plan - perfect amount of time. No overplanning, no going over budget, just a simple DIY ceremony and a nice meal.

But something happens when a girl puts on a white dress and a boy dons a suit. When mothers come in and affix boutineers and trim strings from the back of jackets. When the cupcakes are lined up just so on a tier. And the water is reflecting in the harbor, the twinkle lights are on, the room is set with white tablecloths, the heat is on just right in the little boathouse, and the guests all arrive wearing their very best, beaming with excitement. We had a really good fucking wedding.

And I guess I was surprised by how much weddings can teach the actual bride. I braced for anything, having my family meet his family. It all went well. Except I can sort of see in stark contrast why I struggle so much with family, and reassurance, and identifying with them. I took quite a few opportunities to look out upon our gathering during the ceremony. My friends, his friends, all grinning ear to ear and snapping photos like crazy people. His parents also just completely on cloud nine, I could feel their excitement and positive energy right up there with me, his mom agreeing with parts of the ceremony quite out loud as if we were in a southern baptist church. I glance at my family. No expressions at all. Almost a bit of apprehension, as if our next step might be to bring out a goat and sacrifice it before them. I have a picture I took of my mom, dad and brother in a bar when I was home one time. This was a really great day we had been sharing together and with the boyfriend, we had already been to the market, to the brewery and now we were stopping for one more drink before dinner. And all of them looked, in the photo, as if I just told them the family dog had died. This is the default facial expression I guess?

Later (much later, close to 1am) that night, my best friend told me that my mom had been telling stories about what I was like when I was a little girl. That I would always come up to my parents and complain, "I'm lonely! No one will play with me!" And I actually have visions of doing this. I don't know why I was lonely because there were a ton of kids in the neighborhood, but I remember my parents reading the paper every day, this damn daily paper that they could not be torn away from (which isn't even very good), and I just wanted one of them to play with me. In those minutes between times that the neighborhood kids couldn't come out and play. "Your mom said that your brother was never like that, he just liked to play alone with his leggos," explained my friend. "Don't you see? You came along and you rocked their world. You wanted to be around people all the time and they didn't know what to do with you!"

And in a way this made me relax on so many levels. I always struggled with why we as a family had to do every holiday just the four of us. Why having people over set my dad into an epilepic fit complete with shouting, and door slamming, and hurt feelings. They are by nature more insular people, only truly relaxed when, well, alone and reading the paper. I know my mom is more social, and has lots of groups and organizations she goes to. But 40+ years of living with dad must have taken its toll. She doesn't have the type of friends that come over the house.

But now I will never be alone at the dinner table. I have my boo (my boo-sband), and the little girl kicking inside me. My constant companion right now. And I was so worried that my family disapproved of the wedding, and I was completely wrong. They thought it was just perfect, lovely, a great event. No one told me this at the time of course. Its a week later and I'm getting the good feedback now. This is how things work. But I'm just glad it went ok and everyone was happy.

Now why are these checks written out to Mr & Mrs? And how come the cable company wouldn't let me adjust his account until I conceded that I was Mrs. Him? And now I also have to battle putting my last name somewhere on the b.c. as well. We will be like the Spanish and have many last names, no?

This is all a very interesting study in societal attitudes toward women and I will have to report back with more information as I gather it.

Love,

The Mrs.

*my friends at work bought me the Jay Ryan poster above at a holiday party/bazaar this week - partly for the scooter and the bouquet - what they didn't know is the date of the show being advertised is actually my birthday. It's framed and hanging in my bedroom already.