I don’t know what is more difficult, describing the sheer wonder of pregnancy and its ability to illuminate power and beauty in your body that you never imagined, or trying to articulate the staggering force of the stupidification that is being pregnant. I’d wager I had higher functioning IQ days in college after truly grievous damage done through the use of alcohol and bad company. (not the band, the ditzy friends and questionable guys).
When I am not weeping at the sight of a sparrow alighting on a bush or melting into a gooey puddle at the sight of a battered Cinderella sticker trapped in the lint vent of the dryer, I am most likely trying to get my tongue and brain to cooperate:
“C’mon, buddy, you can do it, say ‘what I’d like is lemonade’,’ you can do it.” Instead what comes out is something along the lines of:
“Like. I’d a. What like is lemonade. I would likely make a lemonade. I’ll take lemonade, please,” this last part spoken as if I am at a countryside revival trying to exorcise my demons. I am trying to so hard to be ok with it, some days the triple threat of widening everywhere, stuttering everything, and whimpering about anything can bring a gal down. Luckily I have a pretty twisted sense of humor and am kind of enjoying the so-over-the-top-she-can’t-be-faking verbal incompetence and emotional fragility.
Another perk, if there are any pregnant gals out there reading this hoping to find some light at the end of the tunnel, or at least a bit of ambient light along the 9+ months way, I’ve got it. The moments when mind and mouth cooperate are infinitely sweeter than ever before. Case in point, tonight I was in the kitchen trying to figure out what the hell to make for dinner.
“Hey, babe. What would you like for dinner?” I called to Sean.
“Aw, I don’t know. The stew you were going to make sounds good.”
“Ok, but we both know I didn’t get to the stew today,” I called back.
“Yeah, but it still sounds good and that’s what you asked.”
I then thought with perfect clarity: jack ass.
“Ok, how about I make soup, a different kind, and then tomorrow we’ll have stew?”
“Soup? Yeah, I don’t know, that doesn’t sound so great, not like stew.”
Then I gave the universal long, loud silence in response.
“Yeah, I don’t no babe, I’m not that inspired,” and with that his involvement in the creation of dinner was complete.
Fast forward 10 minutes.
“Oh my god, what is that incredible smell?” he called out impressed.
“Oh, nothing, just the dinner I’m pulling out of my ass,” I called back with a grin.
“Wouldn’t it smell kind of bad if that were the case?” he retorted sounding incredibly proud of himself.
Before he could get the cocky I’m-so-funny-smile off of his face I called back, “Not coming from an ass this sweet.”
2 points pregnant chick, 0 points baby-daddy.