Most of my methods of documenting things are not very useful. For example, there's this blog of worthless drivel. I take photos that don't make a ton of sense to people. I don't really do scrapbooks or fill in the blanks on those special journals you can buy that say: "Today I am feeling _______." Uhhhh. I don't know. Fine? So needless to say, when I became pregnant I did not rush out and buy all the souvenirs for documenting pregnancy cravings and recording doctor's appointments and body measurements and baby kicks and whatnot. I'm 29 weeks and have yet to take a profile photo of my sticking-out belly. And yes, I can hear you gasping in horror through the innernets. I know I am a horrible person who doesn't deserve a baby.
To make up for my lack of pregnancy documentation, I am taking a few moments to jot down the prevailing thoughts that have occurred to me since joining the league of the hormone-crazed. They are listed below for your reading pleasure. Or disgust.
First of all, can I just say that not every person in the world needs to be, can be, or should be a parent? This little fact seems to escape 75% of the people I have encountered on a daily basis over the past decade. Get a clue and mind your own business, people. Our society's overall level of nosiness astounds me. I mean, I've certainly found that questions like "Why aren't you married?" or "Why don't you have any children?" from people who are practically complete strangers are GREAT ice-breakers in any social situation and definitely will not potentially result in someone awkwardly bursting into tears or anything.
If I thought the insensitive comments I heard before I became pregnant were bad, I still wasn't prepared for the ridiculous advice/reaction I received after I became pregnant. I was 32 years old when I became pregnant; I will deliver the baby at age 33. Last time I checked, these numbers do not qualify me for Guinness Book of World Records status. But I have been told both that I am "awfully old" to "finally" be having a child and also that I'm "too young." I have definitely been told on several occasions that I am probably going to kill myself or the fetus due to such factors as eating shrimp, drinking Diet Coke, too much protein, too little protein, flying on an airplane, riding on a bus, coloring my hair, too much sun, lack of sun, carrying a bag of groceries 15 yards, using a midwife, not using a midwife, standing, sitting, lying on my back, and breathing. Okay, I may have made that last one up. But the bottom line is this, people: When you are pregnant, EVERYTHING WILL PROBABLY KILL YOU so you should really try to be more careful and not do anything at all for nine months while taking every precaution but just try to relax and enjoy the pregnancy and definitely don't make any excuses about being pregnant in any situation because women give birth all the time and no one wants to hear about it. You heard me!
Ummmmmm...so now what? In January, two days after I got a positive result on a home pregnancy test, I went to the doctor and took a blood test to confirm that I was actually pregnant. They called me with the results: "Yep, you're pregnant. Come back in eight weeks and bring your insurance card." Huh? Eight weeks? Shouldn't someone be telling me not to smoke crack or prodding my uterus or something? Or telling me when my baby is due? Anything? That was so weird to me. I actually said, "Oh, okay...I guess I'll get some books or something..." before I hung up with the nurse. No response. Did I mention: So weird? And terrifying. How do they know I'm not a total moron who's going to go home and chew on some Comet cleanser or something? Then, to up the ante, a few weeks ago I came across a blog post that scared the bejeezus out of me -- apparently after you deliver the baby they let you just take it home even if you don't know what you're doing. My friend Marsha did assure me that, at least where she lives in Arizona, they put you through a short "don't shake your baby class" (her terminology) before you are discharged. So there's that. Uhhhh, books! I'll get some more books or something!
Mommy knows best? Is the female parent in a male/female relationship supposed to do 90-100% of all parenting, because HOLY TURTLENECKS I DID NOT GET THAT MEMO. Everything I see is "Mommy this" and "Mom's that" -- even the neutrally named Parenting magazine is marketed with a tagline that it is "mom's favorite magazine" or something like that. Dads are apparently too clueless to even try and function...? Yes, I know that women make 80% of household consumer decisions, and that fact clearly plays into this phenomenon, but wow is it sexist on so many levels. When I asked my husband if he was offended by this disparity, I had to chuckle at his reaction: "Well, actually...now that you mention it..." And I see men are starting to mention it more and more.
Why, yes, I AM wearing rubber flip-flops to work because my fe-fi-fo-feet don't fit in any other shoes. Get over it. Despite being a superhuman supergiant, I have unusually tiny wrists and ankles and rather narrow feet in real life. But now that I'm pregnant I'm Fatfoot McCankleston. Guess I am officially not qualified to run for president. (Sorry; latent Hillary-related angst.)
I have craved all of the following foods so far: Wheat Thins, Cheetos, Three Musketeers bars, BLTs, toasted marshmallows, non-toasted marshmallows, nachos for breakfast, strawberries, strawberry yogurt, strawberry malts, really hot french fries, pickles, plain vanilla DQ soft serve, and peaches. The good news is, I haven't really craved the one thing I usually crave the most -- sashimi -- since I am technically not supposed to really be eating it. And I haven't, though some California rolls are sounding pretty damn good right now. All food sounds good right now, actually. Of all the myths you may hear about pregnancy, the one about being extra hungry is definitely in the "it's a real thing" category -- even if the "you're eating for two" one is not. Now go get me some Cool Ranch Doritos and let's try not worry about it.
All of the above being said, I have to say I rather enjoy being pregnant. Feeling the little baby kick is all-too-cool, and for the most part I feel healthier than usual. My friends and family have been exceedingly kind, generous, and supportive -- they'll even tell me I'm glowing (which I think is code for "your face is a puffy, sweaty ball of flesh that's enveloping everything upon it"). I haven't thrown up or any of those things they say will happen to you during pregnancy. Most of the time, I don't even really remember that I'm pregnant. (Don't worry, I do remember at the bar and on the golf course.)
While I am 100% utterly, completely, totally, redundantly terrified about being someone's parent, I have learned that it is clearly not the logical part of your brain that allows you to leap into this whole "having a kid" thing. Otherwise, you would never do it.
Because at the end of the day, the main thought in my head is "he's going to be SO cool."
Now if he can just overcome the world's most not-so-cool mother, we'll be golden.
