AS THE WORLD TURNS

It’s important to remember that while pregnant, you are your child’s entire world.  It somewhat eases the pain of becoming a small planet.

As a new celestial body, I naturally possess a powerful gravitational pull.  Crumbs are especially vulnerable; being dragged deeply into the black hole that is my ever-expanding cleavage. 

I tell you, I cannot get through a meal without doing something disgusting.  Yesterday a small cube of cooked chicken wound up so deep in my outfit it was publicly irretrievable.  The day before I missed my mouth not once but twice, spilling ginger beer all over myself.  And don’t get me started on the mucus production.  Every time I laugh, some food-laden spittle comes flying out of my mouth like a small asteroid. 

You simply can’t take me anywhere.

Hiding out at home is not without its perils either.  With an altered depth perception, my house has become a veritable obstacle course.  I’ve taken to examining my legs nightly, trying fruitlessly to recall the origins of each fresh black and blue. 

After that, I grease my rings to remove them from my sausage fingers and carefully lower myself into the docking station that is my full-body pillow. 

But through it all, there is one undeniable truth:  stained clothes, bloated limbs and bruised legs get old; but the joy of feeling your baby move about the world you’ve made him is forever.

“Say good morning Bobby” I greet my husband each day. 

“Good morning, baby boy!” he says with the sweetest belly kiss.

And with that I’m off to tackle another rotation – grossing twenty-somethings out of reproducing one lunch break at a time. 

BABY BLUE

Will coolly leaned against a counter, legs crossed, arms folded.  His gentle smile never faded as he waited patiently to hear the news. 

Meanwhile, my Dad, step-dad and father-in-law frantically huddled around the doctor’s tiny screen; counting ribs and looking for ANYTHING resembling a phallus.

You could hear a pin drop.

“HE is doing great!” the doctor said deliberately.

The room erupted. 

Women cried.  

Men beamed. 

My father quietly sobbed as he texted everyone he knew that he’d finally have his boy---his namesake. 

At the celebratory lunch there was bourbon and tales of childhood mischief.  The men grappled for the check, each wanting to pay for this special meal – this MANLY meal.

It was an amazing day.  One I will never forget.

The next day however was somewhat different.

I awoke at 4AM realizing I knew nothing about baby boys.  In the dark silence, I desperately Googled everything I could find on circumcision and changing male diapers. 

“Wait… double diapering?  Ice packs?   

Oh okay.  So, we just have to put a little Vaseline on it for a week. 

Of course – you have to point the penis DOWN!   Will, did you know that?”

I turned to my sleeping husband, his drool glistening in the soft laptop light.

“…Should we discuss this later?”

By six I had moved on to the nursery.  It was decided – the theme would be safari chic.  My wish list quickly filled with elephants and giraffes.  Inspiration photos were saved and emailed.  My breathing finally slowed – I was wrapping my head around this.

But somewhere around 7:30 – I got a bit sad.  It slowly set it in that for the time being I’d have to shelve all the hopes and dreams I had for my little Ella; that sweet little girl I already knew how to diaper.  The one I could count on to be my best friend forever.  The one I already had some idea how to raise.

The irony is none of these feelings detract from my excitement about raising this little prince.  Bringing up Bobby will be an adventure and one I still very much look forward to.  But that achy, guilty question persists:  am I a bad person for mourning the loss of my Ella?  Will anyone understand what I’m going through, or will people assume I’m taking this incredible miracle for granted?

At first I thought I’d suffer with this alone – how could I ever cop to having these thoughts?  But soon I learned many of my close friends and family had gone through similar moments in their pregnancies.  Many gave amazing advice and slowly, I began to forgive my own fears.  And the truth is when I dream about the day I finally get to hold my precious son, none of those fears are present.   

Maybe someday I’ll have the opportunity to meet Ella. 

Maybe I won’t. 

But either way, what an amazing little man my Bobby is going to be!

UNTIL TOMORROW

Dear Baby,

How do I start a letter to the best person I’ve never met? 

I guess I could introduce myself.  Hi Baby, I’m Mommy!

You’re probably wondering why I’m reaching out.  Well – tomorrow is the day your Daddy and I learn a little bit more about you. 

Don’t get me wrong – we know a smidge already.  We’ve seen your picture and heard your heartbeat.  We know you sleep while we’re driving and swim while we’re resting.  If this heartburn is any indication, we know you’re growing a rather thick mop of hair.  And we know you hate Mediterranean Mint Gelato.  Oh boy, do we!

But until tomorrow, we won’t know what to call you.

You see, we’re taking a very special picture of you tomorrow and this picture will tell us whether you’re a girl Baby or a boy Baby.

If you’re a girl Baby (and Mommy has her way) you’ll be named for two remarkable women:  The First Lady of Song and the Patron Saint of Music.  You already have a sense for what these ladies have done for the world.  After all, you’ve been singing and dancing with me for over four months now!

You might be like Daddy and enjoy creating smart, silly songs that make people laugh.  You might be like Mommy and love performing The Great American Song Book in front of lots of people.  Either way, I promise your life will be filled with harmony and joy.

If you’re a boy Baby you’ll be named for two wonderful men:  Your Grandpa Robert and your Great Uncle Bob.  You might already have an idea of how important these men are.  Your Grandpa Robert taught Mommy about responsibility and American History.  Your Great Uncle Bob taught Daddy humor and self-discipline. 

If you’re born with even a percentage of the hilarity and integrity of the Roberts before you, you’ll be one amazing little boy.

We’ll have to wait roughly four months and twenty-two days to know if you have Daddy’s eyes or Mommy’s hair.  But in the meantime, at least we’ll know whether to sing “Isn’t she Lovely?” or “Sleep Little Dream Prince” to calm your evening kicks.

No matter what though, Baby please know that you are so, so loved; not just by Daddy and I, but your incredible grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins too!

Until tomorrow, Baby.

-          Your Mommy

THE NEED TO KNOW

My belly has outed me to the general public.  Perfect strangers now suddenly feel comfortable engaging me in pregnancy chit-chat; and I’ll let you in on a little secret:  I LOVE it!

People now know I’m cradling this precious life inside me and their recognition makes me feel special and understood; respected even.  There’s just one little thing.  The following conversation occurs at least four times a day:

STRANGER:  So do you know boy or girl yet?

ME:  We find out next week!

STRANGER:  Oh, you should wait. 

Um, I’m sorry… have we met? 

Right…stupid question – you’re a stranger.

Well, if you DID know me you’d know how ridiculous you sound right now.

I literally choreographed my last dinner party. 

I pre-decorated my home two months before I even moved in. 

I once drew a to-scale blueprint of my cubicle to decide how best to arrange my desk, okay? 

Wait to find out the sex of my baby?  Are you crazy?! 

There’s a registry to assemble.  There’s a room to adorn.  I’m facing the biggest change of my entire life and you’re asking me not to prepare.  In short, you’re a loony tune.

That said, I completely respect couples who wait.  I truly admire their patience and spontaneity.  I just can’t do it.  For me this isn’t about wanting to know…it’s about needing to. 

I am someone who craves order and there’s nothing more disorderly than a newborn.  That’s why I feel the intense compulsion to line everything else up before this messy little miracle arrives.       

So come next Wednesday, I’ll be busy choosing a gender-specific inspiration room and adding the appropriately colored bedding to my registry.  As for you strangers, you all can leave your judgement at my masterfully coordinated door.

No – not that door… 

THAT door!

*Sigh* --- here, I’ll show you.

BETWEEN A BUMP AND A HARD PLACE

Week nine – I’m on an elevator. 

“How far along are you?” asks a male neighbor, presumptuously. 

Smiling, I reply “about nine weeks.”

“Wow!” he exclaims.  “My wife’s four months and you’re MUCH bigger than her.”

Week twelve – A family member gasps at the sight of me and insists I replace cookies with salad for the remainder of my prenatal period. 

Teary-eyed, I retrieve Chips Ahoy from the supermarket.

Week fifteen – I engage my pants in a twenty minute battle for closure.  Finally, my button submits – victory!  Walking into the office however, I discover I’ve forgotten the zipper.  RETREAT!

OK, so I popped early.  And yes, my clothes are snug.  And wow, people are not shy!

But I don’t need any reminders, guys.  Life reminds me constantly!

I’m blessed to have never really struggled with my weight.  This is the biggest I’ve ever been.  And while I’m THRILLED to be pregnant, it has already taken a wee toll.  I mean, walking is hard; sleeping is hard; driving is hard!  I’m not whining, but in the immortal words of Ron Burgundy “that escalated quickly!”

Being a positive person I decided to embrace my bump and schedule a cute WE’RE PREGNANT photo shoot.  Excitedly, I made plans to pick up booties and pumpkins and bellylicious outfits.  That was until I was asked “…but are you really big enough for a photo shoot like that?”

Well – I don’t know. 

What’s big enough? 

What’s too big? 

I’m trying to turn lemons into lemonade here, people (errr fat into Facebook likes) – somebody please throw me a bone!

All of that said, my doctor says I’m right on track.  

So please excuse me while I tune you out and get ready for my close up.

ONE FLEW OVER THE FIRST TRIMESTER

I sat on the couch, surrounded by boxes, fighting back angry tears.  With half my kitchen packed up, Will and I were at the mercy of the pizza delivery guy --- and he was late. 

Way late. 

Two and a half hours late. 

“Where the !@#$ is this guy?!” I screamed.  By now I was pacing the cardboard laden apartment.

Poor Will sat white knuckling his phone.  “I… I don’t know, boo.  They’re usually on time.”

“I HAVE to eat, Will – you don’t understand!”

“Okay.  I’ll call again.”

This hunger was desperate.  I had never experienced anything like it.  I was Shirley MacLaine and that pizza was the shot to end my child’s agony.  All she had to do was hold on ‘til 8 and its past 10:30.  GIVE MY FETUS THE FOOOOOOOOD!!!

This was not my only meltdown. 

A week prior I became completely overwhelmed by a plumbing fixture catalog.  Ironically, the only place I felt safe was the tub.  There I sat fully clothed, curtain drawn until I decided which shower head to buy for our master loo.

Fast forward to week 12:  sobbing alone in a work bathroom stall because I couldn’t recall the last time I looked deeply into my husband’s eyes.  Moments later I would think of nachos and feel much better.

This pregnancy schizophrenia baffled Will.  “You’re only a little pregnant” he would say “how could you already feel this [hungry/moody/tired]?” 

I wanted to be mad at that question, but the truth is I was confused too.  I was once a sane person.  How did I go from 0 to 60 seemingly overnight?

The answer of course is hormones.  Estrogen and progesterone may be vital to the construction of human life but they also make you a sweaty, snotty, tender, exhausted raving bitch-monster.

I'm happy to report that with my first trimester coming to a welcomed close, I'm finally feeling a little more stable. 

But make no !@#$ing mistake --- I’m still not sharing my mozzarella sticks. 

Especially when they arrive three hours late.

BABY STEPS

It was after 8 PM that mild January evening when I finally collapsed in a defeated heap on the couch.  Will trailed behind me.  “Food?” he asked.  “Food!” I demanded.  The events of the day had drained and starved us.  But, somewhere between the disorganized walk-through, the delayed closing and the maddening negotiations – Will and I were homeowners.    

After months of underwriting, haggling and check-writing – we had won!

I expected to wake up eager to pack our apartment and pick bathroom fixtures.  Instead, I was utterly hung over.  Stress always knocks me out and it seemed the closing had allowed a cold to sneak in.  I made the earliest possible appointment with my physician and shuffled off to work.

I was early to my appointment that Thursday, desperate for an antibiotic or ANYTHING to cure this fatigue.  I hadn’t felt this tired since Lyme disease and no amount of sleep seemed to help. 

The nurse’s line of questioning was pretty typical. 

“When did this start?”

“Any allergies that you’re aware of?”

“Are you pregnant?”

When I didn’t answer her last question, the nurse looked up from her notes.

“Am I pregnant?”

Until that moment it hadn’t occurred to me.  Since our honeymoon, I put myself through a roller-coaster self-doubt, excitedly purchasing pregnancy tests each 27^th of the month only for my period to come the next day.  It got to be so ridiculous that my Mom actually snapped “Don’t buy any more tests until you’re late!” 

Fair enough.

“It’s possible,” I told the nurse “but not likely.”

 “I see here it’s possible you’re pregnant?” the doctor asked, scanning the notes.

“I’m not late or anything, but it’s possible.” I conceded.

“Well let’s take a urine sample and find out.”

At least home pregnancy tests relieve your suspense in a matter of minutes.  It had been HOURS since I left the doctor’s office and still no word.  Anxious, I phoned around 4 but he’d already gone for the day. 

The next morning, my anxiety was gone.  I was crampy so I popped a tampon and started to get ready for work.

“What’s the weather supposed to be today?” Will asked from the living room.

“Not too bad.” I said, pinning my hair up. 

The phone rang and with my hands busy I just threw it on speaker phone.

“Alex, I’m so sorry for the delay but I JUST got the results of your pregnancy test.”

I didn’t even stop what I was doing as I heard him shuffling papers on the other end.

“Hmm, okay…” he said, “It’s positive.”

“Wait… what?”

“It’s positive.”

“So… wait, positive means… that I’m pregnant.”

“You’re pregnant.”

“I’m pregnant??”

“You’re pregnant!!!”

SILENCE.

“This is good news, right?”

“Oh my God… of course!  Of course!” I said.

I then remembered Will was still in the next room.  I hung up with the doctor and walked in to find him completely still, somewhat happy but mostly bewildered.

“I assume... you heard…” I asked tentatively.

“Yes.” 

My eyes filled with tears as he swept me into the biggest hug of my life.

"I can't believe we have to go to work now like nothing happened!"

He looked down at me and said lovingly “I guess it’s a good thing we bought that house, huh?”