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“I gotta tell you, Carol, you’re not selling me on this whole pregnancy thing,” my friend has told me several times recently.
For some reason, my stories about belly button rashes, nausea, inexplicable food preferences, painful feet and so on, don’t seem to be making her eager to repeat my experiences.
That feeling was probably reinforced this morning when I recounted in graphic detail my humiliating moment at the Skytrain station today, when I spewed a large puddle of vomitus (it sounds less gross when I add an “us” to the “vomit”, don’tcha think?) on the pavement, which everyone had to step around while studiously pretending it wasn’t there (wouldn’t want to embarrass the pregnant girl who splatters our walkways with vomit, would we?).
But for all that, I do actually like being pregnant. I like getting to know my son as he wriggles a little bit less subtly with each day that goes by (Corinne, I’m beginning to feel the snake-sensation you referred to). Some days I find it hard to believe there’s actually a person in there, and other days I feel a gush of affection for him that is hard to explain when my only proof of his existence is a wriggling bag of snakes in my abdomen.
I worry that I’m not doing well enough, though. Not eating well enough (like at lunch, when all I dared eat after the Skytrain Incident was New York Fries poutine, and only half of a small one at that), not playing him enough music, not singing to him enough, not looking at peaceful scenery enough. I don’t want to miss my own pregnancy, and sometimes I worry that my nightmare is coming true.
I really hope that my boss doesn’t extend my contract. As much as it will suck to be out of work three months before I am due, it would be nice to concentrate on resting, feeling peaceful (so the cortisol from my anxiety doesn’t turn him into a stress mess), and nesting (baseboards in the house would be nice, for example). But if he offers me more time, I’ll have to take it. Money is money.
On the other hand, I am strongly hopeful that I will never have the following conversation with my son, overheard on the bus home today:
Boy: “PLEASE can I have lego?”
Mother: “No, that’s why I bought you Lego VIDEO GAMES, so that I wouldn’t have to help you build stuff.”
(because apparently interacting with your son on a project that would teach him creativity and mechanical skills is an undesirable thing. See how much I’m learning?)
Boy: “You don’t have to help me.”
Mother: “Sit down.”
Boy: “YOU ARE BUYING ME LEGO.”
If By Yes 
Oh, I’ll be back lady. Try to ditch me now. I’m six months post-partum and you’re still pregnant. You can’t outrun me! ; )
You can be one of my models of things to come, like Lego Mom, but hopefully a little different.
I once threw up in public, and I wasn’t even pregnant. I was in a movie theatre, had just watched a hurky-jery movie (Stigmata) and barfed all the indian food I had had before hand right at the entrance to the theatre, because I was a long way from making it to the bathroom. People studiously ignored me as well, as they walked past me, and out of the theatre.
I threw up in a Dooly’s once, in my wild and crazy youth. That was humiliating too, but at least that one I could help clean up!
Hey, when I was pregnant with James I rolled my car window down and barfed into the slipstream. THREE TIMES. Plus an additional two times Michael had to pull over so I could yak on the sidewalks outside those beautiful homes along Quinpool Rd. Because James, apparently, didn’t like riding in the car or the smell of exhaust AT ALL.
As I’ve said before, I love having children, but I detest being pregnant.
Oh, and that music thing? A study was just released last week that debunked once and for all the Mozart = smart baby connection. All your baby hears in your belly is that weird echoing underwater noise you get when you submerge your ears in the bathtub. He’s hearing your voice, and that’s what is important.
I’m not sure about the smarter bit, but I do know that studies have shown that music played regularly during pregnancy soothes the baby later on – I think in the most quoted study it was Coronation Street or some such – the mother’s favourite show. But I also think babies only hear certain sounds. I doubt that violin strings would carry far under water, but a throbbing base probably does.
However, I SHOULD start reading because we KNOW (I remember from my pyscholinguistics class) that he is paying attention to my voice. Babies recognize The Cat in the Hat after birth when it is read regularly in utero, and even hours after birth show a preference for their own mother’s language over a foreign language.
Gotta start reading!
An old ex-boyfriend of mine had Harlequin romances read to him in utero because that’s what his mom was reading anyway.
It worked, I’d say – I know he never forgot a birthday, an anniversary, or any other important (or semi-important) day. He also wrote me love poetry and gave awesome backrubs.
So, consider it with babby, ‘kay?
Maybe I’ll just play that Old Spice commercial at him a lot.
“I’m on a horse!”
It is much, much, much MUCH harder than we seem to believe to truly screw up a child. If it were as easy as we all carry on about, there would be NO functional people on this planet.
I won’t say “relax” to someone with anxiety issues, because that’s patronizing and stupid, but I do want to encourage you: you’d really have to be actively TRYING, over a prolonged period of time, to wreck a child.
And even then, look at people like Maya Angelou. Human beings? We’re survivors. A child raised by well-meaning, loving, run-of-the-mill parents, even parents with the odd quirk (which is to say, ALL OF US), will be fiiiiiiine.
I really do need to relax, though, because I know I can be a perfectionist – I get it from my mother – and I don’t want my child to grow up thinking I need him to be perfect. I need to accept a happy medium!
Wow. Just wow, to Lego Mom.
No need to worry about the nutrition thing — Babby will get what he needs. The occasional poutine won’t hurt either of you. Just don’t make it his first food, okay? 😉
As for the talking/reading/music thing — I was TERRIBLE at that. I had good intentions and knew the research, but in the end I just felt really foolish reading and talking to my belly, and to tell the truth I rarely listen to music at all. So, yeah, my kids lacked that in utero experience. Oh, well. Liam has been well read to AFTER birth and seems to impress people with his vocabulary, grammar, and general knowledge, so I think we’re okay. The jury’s still out on Jonah.
LOL but poutine is so nice and soft for babby’s first bites! :-p
Diet coke in a bottle would wash it down nicely.
Diet Pepsi, please! :-p
Oh, Carol, you don’t know if he’s going to prefer diet pepsi over diet coke! Way to foist your own opinions on your kid. Why don’t you let him decide? Fascist.
Oooh, zing!
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