More and more people are stopping me at work - even dads - that I don't even know personally, to ask me when I'm due. I tell them the due date, or how long I have to go (6 weeks) and they just smile. A glow comes over them and they say things like "you're going to love it" and a faraway look takes over their face. Something is going on here, because they know its my first and they know that everything that happens is probably going to shake my world to the core.
It's hard for me to grasp or even think about for more than a minute. On one level I can see that I'm getting bigger, walking slower, feeling a lot more movement inside me, down to the level where I can pick out which body part of hers is poking me. But the idea that me and my boo will soon be three is still kinda foreign. Even talking about plans and events later this spring, let alone summer, everything will be different. I said to him, "do you realize that everything we speak of after the next 6 weeks will involve the three of us and not just you and me? Isn't that crazy?"
My shower was so lovely - tater tots and bacon and mimosas, in the beautiful castle apartment I used to live in, with all my dear friends who also put so much thought into their gifts, all so happy to be there (I assumed, by their smiles). But all still so surreal. I've hosted so many showers that I knew how to do it. But coming home and opening all he gifts again for my boo, its hard to believe that our little one is going to be the one to use them. Looking at the tiny onesies and imagining a tiny body - our daughter - will go into them? Whose kid is all this stuff for?
I guess it will all become very real soon enough. In the meantime, I am collecting stories, advice, well wishes and odd faint glows from anyone who wants to reminisce about those last few weeks and first few weeks. Something odd happens to parents when they see someone on the cusp of what's to come. And it makes me think its going to be very much worth any pain and discomfort that comes with it.
Well, enough with the doom and gloom. Back from a weekend in sunny San Diego I have to say I feel much rejuvenated. The midwest in January can be a big weight, and we needed this pre-baby break from Chicago. Vitamin D, and the smell of fishy, salty air, wafts of eucalyptus, a mani pedi in a Thai inspired garden, watching surfers and eating well. Also, our host treated me like a princess. Not that he doesn't always, he's European after all and has always been the most gentlemanly of gentlemen. My favorite part was getting picked up in the 60s Ford Econoline from the salon to go to the beach - my husband (!) had taken the front seat, the only seat, so I was confused. They threw open the big sliding door to reveal the giant black papazon chair from the house snugly fit into the back among the surfing boards and beach accoutrement. Oh yes, I'll take that thanks.
Big belly wardrobe envy.
Its a bit strange to be so - visibly a pod person. You can tell the women at work who already have kids - they size you up with a smile and say, "looking good!" Women who have never had kids think it rude to even look more than a glance, or to acknowledge the bump at all, owing to our society's polite standards about commenting on another female's shape. I don't blame them - this was me a mere few months ago. Upon hearing that a friend was pregnant my first response was "no shit! congratulations!" as I mentally calculated how many happy hours and boozy girls weekends we would have to sacrifice from here on out.
No less than two African American women in the airport stopped me to ask if I was having a girl. I can only surmise that in the community I am the fucking poster girl for 'carrying high.' Still I was amazed at their confidence in this bit of folklore. And their warmth. Don't usually get that in busy airports.
Getting a bit too big to sneak a pint of Guinness in the bar, although I'll have a glass of wine with dinner if I'm seated in a restaurant (banquette table, please, for my arse is killing me). Although, despite the fact that it is supposed to be safest now, in the third trimester, my desire for even the smallest treat of an adult beverage has simply vanished. I feel like my body works overtime to burn off the alcohol so I just end up feeling hot and dehydrated. "Ah I was a champion drinker!" I would lament. Soon enough again I guess, although never with the same abandon.
Its easy to get people to stow your overhead luggage, bend over and pick up your purse, understand why you've changed your chair three times at your desk or spend hours at a time in the office lounge with your feet up on the couch. You can go home early from the party, snuggle up in bed with your book (not the baby book, not now when everything aches so bad), walk slowly to work, come in late. With a smile and breakfast in your hand.
For someone who has a hard time asking for help, a hard time admitting discomfort, someone with a pretty good work ethic, this is a nice break. This is me when I look in the mirror: "I'm pretty fucking pregnant, damn."
But being 7 months pregnant and emotional does not help either.
Week started off all right, I've been freelancing so long that it felt like another rote January week to face just like those of yore. My friend was going into surgery on Tuesday so I was a little preoccupied with that, being her point person for updates to the family. Plus I just know I would be terrified to go into a major surgery so I was anxious for her, but she seemed fine.
Tuesday night I was happily settled down with the new episode of Mob Wives, when B called and sounded choked up. I immediately sat up and demanded to know what happened. When she told me that her good friend in Oregon had shot himself, her friend who stayed with me for a weekend in September for her wedding, who I used to counsel about women over IM, who I've gone on MotoGP vacation with, I just simply didn't believe it. I felt bad that she was crying so much because I was sure that his girlfriend had made it all up in some crazy scheme to upset people. There is no way he would do that. I tried to comfort her but all the while whatever I was saying felt canned and pre-scripted and stupid. But it was no matter because a) it was not true, and b) if it was he would be out of surgery soon and just be a little bit worse for wear. She would have to slap him good and all would be forgotten.
But I was wrong. They did perform the surgery but the damage was too far gone.
I cried a lot when it sunk in. I didn't speak to him every day but B gave me an update on him every time he called. We doted on him, and complained about his proclivities in women, and how silly he could be. But there's no woman on the planet who has ever met him and not fallen in love with him, including us. He's one of those special people with a light, a smile, an attractiveness that goes beyond looks or sexuality. One of those people you just want to be around all the time because they make being you more...fun. The idea that he would take that away from us...how much pain could he be in? Then when the outpouring of grief became apparent on the internet. I knew that if he knew so many hearts were breaking around the world, there's no way he would have done it.
And then my friend's surgery was through, but they put her in the ICU instead of her recovery room. And then took her out, and then put her back in. Being the only one to get the initial texts to translate and send onto her family, I felt such great responsibility and worry. She let me visit her once in order to drop off her things after surgery, but only let me stay for about a half hour because she hadn't slept and was in pain. I have to deal with the fact that she doesn't like people around when she's sick. But when she is telling me things about infection, and blood pressure loss, and oxygen in her blood, and possible blood clots... all the while saying that I can't even come to the hospital to assess what's going on. I don't know how to process this information on my own. Is this life threatening? Should her family be here now? So I called the damn nurse myself. She put me at ease but I'm still worried sick.
And another friend in the hospital since Christmas for a blood infection, my cousin back in for diabetes and heart conditions. Too much. Too many things to pour my heart's worry into.
I think the mothering/worrying instinct has kicked in already and I'm an emotional mess. How do I take care of all these angels at the same time? How to I process loss and worry together? Why can't I control everything and why don't people do what I tell them to do?
Being pregnant is hard. Also? My back hurts. But epson salts in the bath are nice. Also, handsome husbands with fuzzy beards that hug me at the end of a hard day that ends in tears. Quite a few nights this week.
Count your blessings, hug your loved ones, and tell them what they mean to you.
Also, my dear friend who has passed would want you to know about this horoscope series so you can always share it with your friends when it's their birthday. So here's the one for his star sign, which we last played here in Chicago on his birthday:
I hope you've found peace dear friend, and lots of hot girls who are not crazy. You deserve that after all this time!
More and more people are stopping me at work - even dads - that I don't even know personally, to ask me when I'm due. I tell them the due date, or how long I have to go (6 weeks) and they just smile. A glow comes over them and they say things like "you're going to love it" and a faraway look takes over their face. Something is going on here, because they know its my first and they know that everything that happens is probably going to shake my world to the core.
