What Not to Do With a Pregnant Mama? Don’t breathe on her, don’t look at her, do as she says, and everything will be just fine!
The first time we saw our first baby, it was while having an Amnio in the Doctor’s office. “Is that what I think it is” I whispered to Baddy, knowing that the prominently protruding thing sticking out from the tiny fetus could only mean one thing, a little boy.
“YES” “Indeed it is,” the doctor replied, and my heart filled with warmth, and absolute terror! I came from a family of girls and the only thing I knew about that organ was that it could grow and shrink depending on the excitement level. How in hell would I know what to do with a boy?
“Does it look like he’s waving to you?” Baddy asked.
I tried not to freak out that our baby did indeed look like a tiny alien waving to us from the womb.
This was the beginning of a beautiful long ass road trip adventure with our son to be, Thumper.
Having a British mother I have spent many a summer in Europe, and what I have noticed in our travels is that European pregnant women get carte blanche treatment – plus they are always magnificently beautiful.
Being pregnant in America, I felt short changed. Americans almost seemed irritated that somebody could actually weigh over 125 pounds. I was like a ticking time bomb ready to explode at anybody who irritated me.
Being a Masshole, I made a concentrated effort to diffuse that irritated mode of being by driving less and taking the bus more.
Make Sure You’re Not Hungry…and Not Late
BUT always being late didn’t bode well with the timely schedule of RFTA. Arriving late yet again one day I tried to park in the gravel parking lot of the auto body shop near the bus stop. When the owner rudely told me that his lot was not a park and ride and that he made no exceptions to the rule, I pulled off a few doughnuts and sped away with gravel spewing from my tires as he chased after me with his fists in the air. I worried for weeks that he would hunt down my mini-van with flames on it and deflate my tires.
Then there was the time that a man honked aggressively at me for driving too cautiously when entering the grocery parking lot. He parked his car and was very taken aback when he saw a large pregnant women rapidly approaching him.
“What is your problem?” I demanded in my horrendously scary mommy voice. “Move to New York City if you need to lay on your horn in a mountain town parking lot.”
“You’re fucking crazy lady,” he replied.
“Crazy is what crazy does,” I sputtered, the foam expanding in my mouth.
When I was far enough away he yelled that pregnant women should get their licenses revoked and I almost charged back to make him into a permanent parking space by sitting on him and flattening him into the asphalt forever, but thought better of it.
When I told Baddy the story he got concerned, Please don’t end up behind bars, which is what he used to say when I was a hot, gorgeous mess of a girlfriend going out for a night on the town with my girlfriends.
Baddy was actually concerned about a whole lot of things with our first pregnancy. He was concerned that all of his wife’s endearing “idiosyncrasies” had been turned up to a decibel level he didn’t know whether he could endure. He was concerned that his horny wife wouldn’t let his face near her while having sex if he stank at all of the beer he drank the weekend before. He was concerned that he couldn’t touch the amazingly perfect tatas of his dreams lest they explode from fullness. He was concerned that his sexy wife was craving hot fudge sundaes at 7:00am and was getting PHAT. But most of all, he was concerned that the woman he married may be lost forever in a sea of hormones and fangs.
Nevertheless, his new beast of burden of a roommate was carrying his son – and he learned quickly that to have peace in the house, he must deliver the pampering and love every moment (little did he know that this would be practice for the other two pregnancies coming down the road).
And so as Thumper grew in my belly, do did our love – as did our humor and with Baddy calming the storm of emotions, I was able to enjoy the beautiful moments of pregnancy – after the first three months of nausea hell – and every moment of life became that much more precious as we watched our little life grow, and karate kick in my belly.