Last night I crawled into bed around 10. It was quiet and wonderful and much needed, since I could no longer find comfort on the couch watching TV no matter how hard I tried. Four hours later, Nate decided to join me. He had been up working and at 2 a.m., he tried to gently crawl over me to get to his side. I woke up, yes. But did I move over for him? No. I was mesmerized by the level of comfort I was experiencing for the first time in months and I knew if one pillow was readjusted or one limb had to find a new resting spot, all bets were off for a good night’s sleep. So, I laid there pretending to sleep while guiltily listening to Nate’s rustle and bustle to maneuver himself into a position that wouldn’t require a morning chiropractor visit. He was struggling, and I knew why. We have a queen-sized bed, true. But, when you’re a pot-bellied pregnant woman sharing that space with a hairy dog and a tall husband, that glorious queen-size can suddenly feel like a miniature prison cot, and this girl was taking up way more than her fair share of the cot that night! I was sprawled out in every direction, pillows tucked underneath my arms, one leg above the covers, the other below. No wonder he couldn’t find a position worth sleeping.
Then, as if he knew I were awake, he laughed. Just a quiet laugh, but the kind of laugh that said, “Wow…I don’t even know what to do with myself right now because SHE is so comfortable, and I am SO NOT, but what am I supposed to do? She’s carrying my child and it’s just one night.” It was a sacrificial laugh is what it was. Just suck it up and move on. It had guilt, frustration, and angst written all over it, but he curled himself up in a teeny tiny corner with what little sheet he could scrounge up and attempted a short nap. As comfortable as I was, I couldn’t let him suffer like that so I “woke up” and rolled over, completely readjusting myself, but providing adequate room for two plus baby plus furball.
I laid awake silently for awhile after that, thinking of the many, MANY sacrifices we will be making in our upcoming decades. I thought about how many Nate has already made for ME. I thought about how many I have already made for BABY. It’s amazing how much you can give of yourself when you have someone else in your life who depends on you so much!
Our lives are soon about to change, taking a sharp, unprepared turn into the lane of self-giving sacrificial lambs known to the common man as “parents.” Moms and dads swerve all over this highway, in hopes they will eventually find the appropriate speed and direction for their particular and individualized Mini-Mes. I am quite sure our adventure will start out like a Nicholas Cage action sequence, with lots of unnecessary explosions and tire-squealing, but eventually there will be a happily-ever-after and all main characters will still be alive. Cliche? Maybe. Successful? You bet. And success is all we can really hope for, isn’t it?
On a side note, I was recently accused of being negative and cynical in my writing of this blog, told I should spend my energies elsewhere in a more “happy place.” And, I need to apologize to anyone who may agree with that statement. However, I defend myself briefly in saying this:
I blame my father for my sarcasm. I blame my mother for my temper. I blame myself for combining the two and creating a world of written words that may come across as angry and bitter. I promise you, PROMISE YOU, this is all written in an melodramatic, highly-exaggerated, balls-to-the-wall fashion and not every word should be ripped apart and dissected. I’ll tell you right now: Pregnant women ARE smug. We don’t all mean it when we say “Oh, I’m fine. Just a little backache.” We mean, “Hell yeah, my back hurts! I feel like I have small military elves armed with knitting needles crawling up and down my spine poking and jabbing to their heart’s content.” We don’t all mean it when we say, “It’s a beautiful feeling when he kicks me all night long.” Sometimes we mean, “It was cool for about five minutes, then his foot got caught in my ribcage and I thought I was going to have to perform surgery on myself and cut his foot off to relieve the pressure. Plus, I really wanted to get some sleep!” Every pregnant woman misses wine/beer/caffeine. Every pregnant woman hates not being able to “stare down there.” Every pregnant woman gets frustrated with the fact that men can’t do this and probably wouldn’t even if they could.
And, in my defense, I could pull off “smug” just as well as the prego next to me, but I choose not to. I don’t think I live out the bad, but I WILL write about it. When I’m at home with my husband and we’re lying around, I will grab his hand and make him feel his baby’s hiccups. I will walk my dog and breathe in fresh air and just be happy to be alive – alive for TWO. I will leave the doctors office and smile because 30 years ago, having a baby was still a big question mark for someone like me and today I can schedule a measly 53 appointments and end up with a healthy child, just like everyone else! So, I remain positive in my day-to-day life, just as excited to become a mom as every other mother out there, but the cynic in me decided there is enough Internet-jabber about the miracles and wonder and beauty of it all. I am going to focus on the pleasantries that don’t get discussed – farting, waddling, frequent urination, you name it!
Closing statement: I will be a good mother – this I know. Nate will be a great father – no doubt in my mind. We have the ability to sacrifice, to teach, to love and learn, to try, try again until we get it right. And, with a blessed mix of DNA, our kid will be a patient, witty, non-judgmental, mischievous, charming ball of energy and light with friends and family who love him for him. For these reasons, I am certainly not as scared as I may come across to the world of bloggers. And a big thank you to all of you who understand and are willing to find the humor and love (though it may hide between the lines here and there) in my writing.