Welcome to my last Saturday without a baby. Holy moly. I actually think I’ll really miss being pregnant. For all that I complain about it, it isn’t really all that bad, and actually has some perks. And, really, even though just about every decision I make is for the baby, being pregnant still makes things all about ME. Am I tired? I should lie down — I’m pregnant. Am I hungry? I should eat whatever I want — I’m pregnant. Oh, Joe, could you finish the dishes? I’m pregnant.
And I even feel like just in general, in public, I have special status in some way. Like I’m somehow almost untouchable (in the Elliot Ness way, not in the Indian caste way). People give me the benefit of the doubt. People are deferential. I feel like people think I’m a nice person for no other reason than that I’m pregnant. I could be totally wrong about that, but that’s the way it feels. Women smile at me in a knowing sort of way and let me go through the door first. Men make sure I don’t lift anything heavier than a sheet of paper. I feel — dare I say it? — entitled. when I cross the street and a car tries to turn, I stick my belly out as far as I can, as if to say “You wouldn’t hit a pregnant lady, would you??” It’s not a good attitude, necessarily, but it’s kind of nice to know what that feels like. Is this the way that some people feel all the time? Wow. I think it’s a good thing that it will be finite for me. It could get ugly.
And really, it’s been a super easy pregnancy — no real morning sickness, no swelling, and even now I’m not incredibly uncomfortable. I can still walk the 1/2 mile each way to and from the el and work, I can still wear all my shoes. Can even put my socks on by myself most of the time! So, to have such little discomfort, but still have people treat me so nicely — I’ll kind of miss that.
Soon, I won’t be this special person anymore after Tuesday. I’ll be somebody’s mom, and it will immediately cease to be about me at all. Forever. I’ll just be a regular lady without a big belly, and no one will get up on the el to give me a seat, no matter how bad my day has been, or say “no, no, no — let me get that.” I’ll be the one doing everything for someone else. So I’m really trying to enjoy being pregnant. If someone treats me with deference, instead of feeling guilty, I make sure I smile and say thank you instead. I’m really trying to remember what it feels like to have a baby moving around inside me. I thought it would be creepy, but it’s really pretty cool, even when I can see my belly moving around. It’s weird how that’s a neat thing, when describing it sounds so oogie in some ways.
Joe is out right now with some friends, having a last hurrah. As jealous as I am (my last hurrah was the Superbowl in February, for heaven’s sake), I can’t really begrudge him one last night out with the boys. Especially because with a c-section, he’ll be doing the lion’s share of everything for quite a while. Like the fact that we’re doing cloth diapers and our washer and dryer are downstairs, and I won’t be able to go up and down stairs for about 6 weeks. So, I suppose a few drinks with the guys is understandable. Heaven knows I’d be doing the same thing if I could. Instead, I’ll drink and Izze and watch The Meaning of Life (Part I: The Miracle of Birth) and have a good laugh, and try to enjoy just being pregnant, being alone, and being able to watch an entire movie from start to finish. After Tuesday, all bets are off.