Now that the morning sickness has disappeared, I’ve had another what-the-hell-is-happening-to-my-body-moment: hot flashes. At first I thought, wtf? I can’t be having menopause because my womb is obviously fertile. At work the other day, I was holding a cold water bottle to my neck just as the president of the university walked by. Great. Not that he’d care about a lowly office-runt, but still. Not attractive.
I feel like I’ve joined some secret society. Every mother has a story and I appreciate all the suggestions. Some say that I’ll lose the baby weight if I nurse, others say it’ll say on for the same reason. Whenever I tell someone I’m pregnant, I feel the eyes target my belly, as if I’m supposed to be protruding already. Do I need to give a disclaimer? I’m not showing, I’m just out-of-shape.
Probably the best part of being pregnant is what it’s done to my attitude. I used to dread being late. I stressed myself easily. Now, I’ve become this odd zen-Mona. I am slow to anger. Before, I drove with one hand on the wheel, the other hand clenched in an angry shaking fist. Now it’s like, “Dude, you want to pass me? Go ahead.”
And there’s all the shopping that needs to be done. I read this article that mentions a $600 stroller that saved a baby from a collapsing building. When I told Mike this, he said, “When are we going to be around a collapsing building?”
All the women I see are divided into two categories: pregnant and not-pregnant. I’m interested in those women who are pregnant right now. I went to the mall the other day and I saw a girl who couldn’t have been older than 15 with a belly so big, it probably arrived five minutes before she did. I wondered how she would make it, hell, how I would make it. When this baby is born, I will have my college degree and an extended family eagerly waiting to say hello to my hatchling.