2009
So My Mom-To-Be
- Image by photosavvy via Flickr
My good friend Tamre is pregnant. I can say that now. I couldn’t before when I first found out: We were about to go on the Good Beer Show together and she called at the last minute to “bail.” Her excuse? “We think I’m pregnant. …Don’t tell anyone yet.” (You can only use that one once every nine months or so … hers turned out to be true.)
Luckily, there’s still something in this for me: I get the benefit of seeing a specimen change right before my eyes. Not just the part about a woman becoming A mom from her previously barren self, but also her becoming a little more like HER mom, specifically, in the process.
I’ll have to ask my mom how she felt when she was pregnant. I can’t help but rail against the natural institution. Especially after seeing movies like Slither, where a pretty young girl is being alternately sucked dry and grossly inflated as the breeding grounds for parasitic, nasty eels. Is the real thing that different?
But the baby isn’t what annoys Tamre about pregnancy. Nope, it’s the dumb, meddling people:
“Five months is a weird month in pregnancy. It’s the middle of my second trimester and the gravity of bringing a child into the world is starting to hit home. I’m big enough that people realize I’m preggo and didn’t just go on a bender at Chipotle. The flood of questions from everyone and anyone is overwhelming. And I mean overwhelming in the lack of common sense department. The contradictions make me want to roll my eyes and since I’m already a hormonal mess, sometimes it’s hard to handle. We’ll start with the easy and most obvious and see how ridiculous thse exchanges go.
CRANKY TAMRE WHO JUST WANTS TO BUY SOME PRETZELS “Thanks, I’m due in August.”
RANDOM LADY “Wow, you don’t look 5 months pregnant. You need to put on more weight.”
First of all, I don’t feel cute. I feel like a giant beached whale. Second, are you a licensed obstectrician? No, I didn’t think so. I know it doesn’t look like it, but I’ve put on 17 pounds and to me that is a lot of extra weight to be hauling around. Third, it’s very hard to slink away when you are carrying a basketball in your belly. I continue to try to be nice when I really want to be left alone.
RANDOM LADY “Do you know what you’re having?”
CRANKY ME “No, we’re going to wait.”
RANDOM LADY “Oh, not many people do that anymore. Well I guess you’ll be buying lots of green and yellow!”
CRANKY ME “That’s ok. I don’t mind.”
RANDOM LADY “Have you thought of names?”
REALLY CRANKY ME “We have a few picked out.”
NOSY RANDOM LADY “Keeping those a surprise, too?”
IF IT WASN’T ILLEGAL I’D ASSAULT HER WITH MY BAG OF PRETZELS ME “For now. Well, it was nice chatting, but I’ve got to go.”
And then she pats my belly. I stated earlier that I’m a hormonal mess, and with the outbreak of the swine flu, the last thing I want is some random lady in the grocery store touching me. I hardly let my husband touch me. I’m sure that every vein in my forehead is sticking out and I look like a cartoon character with steam rolling out of my ears. My one word of advice to anyone who approaches pregnant women … don’t touch them. You don’t try to pet bears at the zoo, do you? Same concept, just without cages. I wouldn’t be surprised to see a news story about a 6 1/2 month pregnant women going postal on a stranger. What they won’t report is how the stranger wouldn’t leave the poor girl alone and gave her unsolicited advice, then violated her personal space and rubbed her unborn child. In my opinion, they deserved it.”
![Reblog this post [with Zemanta]](http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=2ad3233b-2233-4e89-ae96-c73051c3d90c)
