And When He Arrives, He'd Better Bring Queso

I'm back, I'm pregnant, and I'm hungry.

It's been almost seven months since I clicked out a single word here, which has probably been either a tropical island of coconut-scented bliss for you or an ocean of nothingness, which is mostly what it's been for me.  It isn't that these many months have been empty, only that the feeling of floundry nothingness is how I've felt toward the Blog bookmark on my Safari toolbar.

Not floundering, but floundry, like the fish: clammy and undesirable.  Don't touch it. 

In fact, quite a bit has happened.

C and I tap danced through another fabulous summer of camp,

made an amazing escape to the desert of southwest America,

got ourselves pregnant,

Wait, wait, wait.  
(no source link folks, but this beaut' belongs to the interweb -  I only wish it were mine)

That's better.

took a dinner cruise,

and I rode a camel named Luke.

It was a full season.  And now, with snow and sub-zero temps alternating punches, we venture into the icy boxing ring of winter, bobbing and weaving, whilst I awkwardly balance a belly that is gradually causing me to not only look like the letter p, but to also, well, have to.

Some people have children because it makes them happy.  Ideally, all people have kids because it gives them joy, which despite my general snarkiness, I genuinely believe to be a significantly different thing.  What I mean by the first statement is that some people have childhood dreams and aspirations of parenthood, of someday bringing life into the world: a tiny swaddled person wafting of that sweet smell of babydom (not the liquid poop, the other one).  Having kids can satisfy these feelings, hence happiness.

Most of you already know this, but I wasn't that kid. We weren't that couple.  I didn't grow up dreaming of motherhood, and in fact, the idea kind of made me squeamish, and at least half-terrified (still does).  It's not that I dislike infants or children or families or am some kind of angry grinch, but I've just never felt that... maternal.  Along with that, C and I as a couple had become pretty set in the idea that we'd invest in the human race in other ways.  For example, I love getting to work with college students and post-grads.  It gives me joy.  It's my jam.  So I think it surprised us both a bit when we came to the decision that, despite the fact that our emotional makeup toward the idea felt quite like a dry, lifeless paper cup, we would set ourselves to embark on this one-way trip to the Other Side.

It's been a strange process, mentally switching gears from being genuinely really satisfied as a twosome, to being genuinely really satisfied as a twosome, only we're about to become three.  We are trying to create room for the emotions that we can't yet understand for this person that is making himself increasingly known with every roll and roundhouse.  It feels a shade like treason to my former self to admit it, but I've truly enjoyed being pregnant.  So far things haven't been bad:  not too much back pain, no excessive gas ( I think - you tell me), or insane cravings.  It helps that we're 90 miles from the nearest crab rangoon, which, if you felt like bringing me sometime, would be totally ok, and might earn you a middle name or fairy godmother status via our son.  It's been a fascinating process,  to mentally know, then physically feel that life is getting ready to burst (don't remind me) forth from life.  Crazy, really.

So as I adjust to our Olympic vaulter catapulting himself off of my bladder, I think I'm also adjusting to the idea that in a few short months, there will be something other than the cat flailing around on the living room floor.  All in all, I suppose I'm actually looking forward to it.

Kiwi the Cat is not, unless he will be accompanied by snacks.  Which really, would be ok with me, too.

Popular Posts