Dreams August 30, 2007
Joe apparently had some horrible dream on Saturday, where I met an awful end, and won’t tell me about it. However, he has given me the directive that I am not allowed to go down any stairs, and that I can’t go anywhere by myself, except to work.
It is rather sweet, however, not entirely practical. Especially since he’s going out of town for Labor Day.
when I worry, I do it right August 27, 2007
There are 2 big thing that I worry about with having this baby, and I think they’re both kind of related. They are: loving something so so so much, and that Joe will have a tragic biking accident and be killed. Seems to me that they’re both really about my worry of giving up any semblance of independence or selfishness that I have. I really can’t imagine loving something as much as I will love this baby. I mean, I think about how much I worry about our cats — cats! — and how much more worry that will mean when there is a little person here that I carried around in my belly. Can I deal with that? Will I have to wrap the child in bubble wrap every day to avoid any mishaps? Will I be one of those parents, who won’t let their kid play on the swingset because they could get hurt? Maybe I won’t even let this kid out of the house until they’re 20, just in case. I can’t imagine it. The heartbreak with every scraped knee, the tears at every bump, the worry every time I’m not standing right there. The honestly loving something more than myself. That is a really scary thought. I remember in a “feminist technologies” class I took in grad school we read about one of those pregnant women who “died” from a disease or something, but wanted to make sure she was kept “” on life support alive to bring the baby to term, and her husband did it. I remember thinking “how awful! to be kept alive as a mere vessel for some fetus that no one even knows yet, and who will be brought into the world without a mother anyway, since they’ll pull the plug right after the c-section! How could anyone do that?” And now, more and more, I am understanding how one could. How much emotion and love and effort I have already invested in this baby in utero, and how much I would want this baby to be in the world, even if I weren’t. If it’s already like this now, and the kid hasn’t even breathed air yet, how much more can it be?? It makes me feel like I have to put my head between my knees and take some deep breaths. Except I can’t get my head between my knees anymore.
And then there’s Joe. Biking to work every day, and all around everywhere. I get so freaked out when he comes home late now, sure that he’s dead (and of course no one will know to tell me because he lost his ID at a strip joint in Vegas….but, I digress), or maybe hurt so badly that he needs round-the-clock care for the rest of his life, and I’ll have to be a single parent. When Joe and I first started dating, we would always say to each other “I don’t need you, but I sure do want you around.” It was kind of nice, to reassure ourselves that we don’t have a co-dependent relationship, and that we could function separately. Now, I feel less and less like that — I suppose it’s a function of time as well as baby. Joe is just there now, all the time. He knows where the gas meter is. He knows how often the plants get watered. He knows how much antibiotic to give the cat. But, those are all things that I tell myself I could figure out and do if I had to. But this baby thing, not so much. This is the first time that I really feel like I need Joe. In a way, it’s really nice, to have someone that I know I can depend on, and that I feel safe needing. But, it’s also scary, to be so dependent on someone else, and honestly not know what I’d do if they weren’t around. I guess these two things are really he same fear — that of losing myself, my identity, my independence. Not that I was ever some Susan B. Anthony myself (and by the way, happy anniversary of the passing of the 19th Amendment today), but I could at least tell myself on my most “Byronic” days that I am an island, and I don’t need anyone. Not any more.
And that’s not all. There are so many more worries and fears involved in all this. An incomplete list, in no particular order:
-that the baby is deaf, because loud noises don’t seem to affect it, as all the books say they might.
-ditto blind, because light doesn’t seem to make a difference
-ditto any disability that they didn’t test for in the amnio, which is pretty much everything except Downs. There seems to suddenly be an inordinate amount of walkathons, Children’s Hospital billboards, childhood leukemia posters, cerebral palsy fundraisers, etc. in the world.
-that I will totally fuck this up, and turn the kid into a lawyer or a republican or a Michigan fan, or God forbid all three at once.
-that the child won’t like to read, or will have a learning disability that prevents it
-that I will never have a clean toilet again
-that I’ll have a child who either hates me, or that I coddle so much that the world hates it for being such a spoiled brat
-that I really won’t like being a mother
-that I’ll never get to Australia, or Antarctica, or see the Pyramids, but will take Griswold vacations to Wallyworld for the rest of my life.
-that I will never see my friends again
-that when I do see my friends, all I will talk about is bowel movements, solid foods and earwax cleaning solutions, and suddenly realize that, that’s all I have to talk about
I could go on, but I will spare you. However, if you see a handsome Asian man on a silver bike riding around without a helmet, please yell at him for me.
Selective Memory August 25, 2007
Sometimes I forget I’m pregnant. Just for a split second, but it’s really strange. I’ll be sitting on the el and look down and see this giant belly and think, for a split second “Oh my god! how did I get so fat?” Then I’ll remember. Or, I’ll see someone with a baby, and get as far as “I wonder, if I ever have kids, if…” before it hits me that, barring any really awful tragic thing, the “if” is really a moot point. The weirdest, though, is when I wake up in the middle of the night, and I think “Wow. What did I eat? I feel like there’s something alive inside my belly. That’s really creepy.” It takes me a little longer to remember at 4am, but eventually I do remember, and then suddenly it’s not really creepy at all, somehow. I don’t know why that is, but it is.
I hope this doesn’t bode ill for my maternal instincts. I mean, what if I forget I’m a mom? If I forget to pick the kid up from day care after work and just go home for an hour or so before I remember? Or if I’m one of those people on the news who leaves their kid at the grocery store? I have just gotten to the point where I am fairly confident I won’t leave my wallet behind at a bar somewhere (mostly because it has a chain on it to attach it my jeans or purse…). Babies make lots more noise than a wallet though, right?
Lost Innocence August 22, 2007
Billy Collins, former Poet Laureate of the US, is fabulous. His poem, “On Turning Ten” is especially touching to me right now, as I’m thinking of watching a child grow up, find and abandon imaginary friends, fall off a swingset, cry over a bad call in Little League, get his or her heart broken, learn how awful people can be, and I just stand by and watch and feel it all over again, and wish there were something I could do.
On Turning Ten
The whole idea of it makes me feel
like I’m coming down with something,
something worse than any stomach ache
or the headaches I get from reading in bad light–
a kind of measles of the spirit,
a mumps of the psyche,
a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul.
You tell me it is too early to be looking back,
but that is because you have forgotten
the perfect simplicity of being one
and the beautiful complexity introduced by two.
But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit.
At four I was an Arabian wizard.
I could make myself invisible
by drinking a glass of milk a certain way.
At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince.
But now I am mostly at the window
watching the late afternoon light.
Back then it never fell so solemnly
against the side of my tree house,
and my bicycle never leaned against the garage
as it does today,
all the dark blue speed drained out of it.
This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself,
as I walk through the universe in my sneakers.
It is time to say good-bye to my imaginary friends,
time to turn the first big number.
It seems only yesterday I used to believe
there was nothing under my skin but light.
If you cut me I could shine.
But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,
I skin my knees. I bleed.
Billy Collins
Turning a corner August 16, 2007
As I was walking into work today, I had a startling realization. Usually, when I walk by the Heineken billboard, I always suffer a pang of remorse — and thirst. Today, however, the Heineken “draughtkeg” didn’t stir up regret — but what did give me panic was a billboard closeby: The Radio Disney ad, with the omni-perky Hannah Montana smiling down maniacally, and the cast of High School Musical 2 with their jazz hands. It’s the same feeling I get when I see people walk by the museum with their American Girl Doll bags. Shudder.
At least Barney has fallen from favor.
I’m a lucky dog August 16, 2007
I just got back from a fabulous trip to Stratford, Ontario for the Stratford Shakespeare Festival there. It was so wonderful — we stayed at a B&B with beautiful gardens and a patio on the river, and I was able to take time to just wander and sit and relax in lovely surroundings. The whole trip just made me realize that I am so lucky with my life — lucky to have the leisure time, and the expendable income, to go on trips that are so rejuvenating. In the grand scheme, that’s a pretty rare thing. To be able to trave, to be able to attend theater, to just be able to leave worry behind for a few brief days, when the world is such a madhouse.
The thing I’m most thankful for, though, are all the wonderful people I seem to have collected throughout my life. Imagine traveling with 7 other women, a 9-hour car ride, staying with them, eating with them, spending most of your free time with them, and never getting sick of them. They even threw me a surprise baby shower at the B&B, which was a total surprise. Not only were my traveling companions there, but so were several members of the board I’m on, the Chicago Associates of the Festival, most of whom have probably talked to me 5 times in their life. It was so touching to me that so many people wanted to wish me well. And the best part is, that’s not my only group of fabulous friends. I have so many good people in my life that give me so much strength and so much to aspire to. I just can’t get over how many good things I have, through no real effort on my part, actually. The only word I can think of when I think about it is “blessed,” which is something I don’t say very often.
These are the things I think about when I read too much news, and get too depressed about the world and the future, and worry about bringing a little person into all this mess. I remember all those good things that I have that I didn’t really do anything to deserve, and if I can have a wonderful husband, walks through flower gardens, laughter with friends, and time to read a good book, then hopefully so will our baby someday. That is a hopeful thing.
Dress Update August 8, 2007
I know you have all been terribly worried about what dress I ended up wearing to the wedding a couple of weeks ago. Megan, a wonderful colleague of mine, went shopping with me at lunch, and she suggested White House/Black Market. Apparently this is a very popular store, but of course I had never heard of it before. But, they came through for me, and I found not one but TWO dresses that passed Megan’s approval. They were both expensive, though. The cheapest was $70 on sale. SALE! Lordy. When I showed them to Joe, he suggested perhaps I take one back. I replied, “You know, I thought about only buying one or the other, and then I asked myself ‘I wonder how much that bottle of scotch was that Joe bought for the bachelor party? I wonder how much he’ll be spending tonight on drinks with the boys in town?’ and I decided to buy both of them.” Joe just closed the closet door.
Anyway, I ended up wearing the — ahem — more revealing of the two at the wedding. At the hotel, I tried on both, and Joe said that the lower cut one might be a little too too. But then I had a pregnancy breakdown and almost started crying, saying “I already feel big and fat, and I just wanted to look a little more appealing….” Who can argue with a crying pregnant wife, 15 minutes before the shuttle arrives to take you to the wedding?
In hindsight, I probably should have listened to Joe, but oh well. You can see the photo for yourself, with my bedraggled hair and all (although for some reason I can’t seem to rotate it. Sorry). Several friends made comments, including references to “enormous knockers” and one woman who told me all night that my chest was “taunting” hers. You know, there are very few perks to gaining 15-20 pounds in 6 months, so I’ll use what I can.
Stories August 6, 2007
At the gym last week, on one of the TVs was a soap opera. In it, there was a very pregnant woman brandishing a gun. First, she pulled it out and aimed at one guy, who was understandably upset, and gestured frantically, but she still shot him. Then, there was a second guy, this one in a wheelchair — I don’t know if she shot him, because I stopped paying attention for a minute, but when I looked again, there was a third guy, and the second one was nowhere to be seen. But by that time I was done with my (incredibly taxing) workout and left him to his fate. I didn’t listen to the audio for the soap opera, but it was sure fun to make up the dialog. In my head, it went something like:
Pregnant Woman: YOU!
Man 1: Who? Me?
PW: Yes, you! You were on the el this morning and didn’t give up your seat, even though you saw my back was killing me! (draws gun)
Man 1: I didn’t see you! I was reading!
PW: Grrr……
Man 1: OK, OK I did see you. But I WAS reading, and it was Gravity’s Rainbow — it’s a very heavy book to carry if you have to stand to read it. It gives my pinky fingers cramps from trying to hold it up. Please, try to understand…
PW: Oh, I understand alright. (cocks gun)
Man 1: But it was Pynchon!
BANG!
Man 2 enters: What’s going on in here? My god!
PW: Didn’t give up his seat on the el.
Man 2: I understand — being in a wheelchair and all, you know.
PW: (ominously) Yes, I know. But YOU — remember last Saturday?
Man 2: (nervously) Um, no? Not really.
PW: I don’t doubt it. You, my upstairs neighbor, came home at 3am, drunk! Banging around with the pots and pans making your frozen burritos or fried eggs, or whatever the hell drunk food it was! How was I supposed to sleep?
Man 2: It was my girlfriend’s birthday! We got a little carried away at Hogs and Honeys. It was only one night….
PW: Only one night! Do you realize how mean it is to come home so drunk and wake up the most sober person — who has been sober for 7 months — with your crashes and bangs?? Rubbing my nose in your drunken revelry? Drunk is no excuse to a pregnant woman!
Man 2: You’re right. You’re totally right. But Jaegermeister was on special….
PW: And then what’s worse, do you know how long it takes me to get to sleep? Position the body pillow. Slather my gigantic belly with lotion to avoid stretch marks. Fall half asleep and realize I’m sleeping on my back, restricting oxygen to the baby. Wake up. Reposition body pillow. Fall asleep. Wake up with leg cramps. Finally, I fell asleep for good, and then YOU came home and woke me up!
Man 2: But I…My girlfriend…..
PW: So then, it’s reposition the body pillow again. Almost fall asleep, but get restless leg syndrome. Stretch my legs, which leads to another bad leg cramp. Lie on one side, get neck cramp. Heave my massive hulk over to the other side with a 3-point-turn. Get another neck cramp. Stuff extra pillow on top of body pillow….Do you see how this makes me a little testy??
Man 2: But…I didn’t realize….thin floors….dropped refried beans……wanted a nightcap to help me sleep…scotch bottle slipped….
PW: Nightcap?! Help you sleep?! Scotch?!
BANG
Man 3 enters: What’s all the noise in here?
PW whirls around: And YOU!
Man 3: Hey, lady — I don’t even know you. I was just looking at condos with my realtor. (looks at her closely) Although I think I could help you. I design maternity clothes.
PW: Oh, I know exactly what you do. I made sure your realtor found you a nice place to see in this building. It makes this so much easier.
Man 3: Makes what easier? What do you mean? I HELP women like you look fresh and vibrant during this important and magical time in your life!
PW: You help us look like circus tents! Look at this shirt I’m wearing! Pleats??!!! For chrissakes, what pregnant woman wants PLEATS on a shirt when she’s already as big as a house?
Man 3: (weakly) We balance comfort with style and elegance…
PW: And, is it because you feel you have to use 4,000 yards of material that you charge 50% more than a regular shirt? I’m only going to wear it for 3 more months! So I have to look like a Technicolor marshmallow and pay EXTRA for it? No wonder you can afford the penthouse condo!
Man 3: That shirt looks really nice on you! It’s great! I saw Nicole Richie wearing one just like it on Perez Hilton the other…
BANG!
PW: Thank goodness my nesting instinct is kicking in, so that all this cleanup will be a snap. But first, some Oreos.
Fin
I’m sure that’s not quite the way it went, but I sure wish it was.
