Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Behold, The Irrational Pregnant Mind

In exactly four weeks, The Rev. will be home. We have both survived 7 weeks of being apart from one another, but it has been this week, the eight week milestone, that I decided it was time to lay the "Have I mentioned to you that I am under a lot of stress at work which is aggravated by the fact that I am alone and pregnant" card on the table.

Given, I know that The Rev. misses me. Personally, I think he misses the dog more. She can't complain to him via email and the phone. I know he is having a good time in Puebla, and the little annoyances that come his way pale in comparison to me bending over and wondering what is poking me in the chest. Oh, wait, it's my stomach. Not that I want to take away from his learning experience, but our last phone call...

"I had a fantastic week."

"Really, I had a corporate visit and I think I have to fire someone."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but my guide is a student of french..."

"Your guide is a frenchman?"

"No, she is Mexican, but she is learning French."

"Oh, so your guide was a girl this week."

"Yeah, so anyway, we were touring this palace and talking about french food and she mentioned that she knew a great French restaurant in Puebla that has great wine and cheese."

"So you went on a date with your guide."

"It wasn't a date."

"When did you go?"

"In the late afternoon."

"You drank red wine, ate stinky cheese and french bread without me."

"Um, yeah."

"Well, is she cute?"

At this point I knew The Rev. knew that he had dealt himself into a corner and no matter what he said, he was doomed. He could have said this woman had fallen out of the ugly tree, hitting every branch on the way to the ground, set on fire and put out with an axe, and I would still be annoyed that he was having fun. I know his eating at this bistro was all a part of a learning experience, but the fact that he took one of our favorite pasttimes and did it without me (who is not allowed any wine or stinky cheese at this point) pushed my pregnant, hormonal emotions to the waaaaaaaaaaaay other side of the rational. Aggravated by he didn't even ask about my week and when he did all he could say was, "I'm sorry to hear that, but I had a great week, let me tell you about it!" I was ready to tell him not to come home, and if he did, he could hitchhike his way home from LAX. Boo. Hiss.

And he did say she was cute, but not as cute as me, of course. I'll have to see the pictures.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

I am officially wearing maternity clothes. My mother swept into San Diego in what can only be described as a whirlwind of cleanliness punctuated by long breaks that included naps, shopping, eating popsicles, and beholding the bump that has been renamed "baby g." I still slip and call him/her "lima bean" on occasion, but being that I don't want to burden my child with being nicknamed a legume for the rest of their life, I decided to put on the brakes. Now that my mother is back in Memphis, I won't have any guests for a month, when my father comes into town, so that he too can behold the bump, hear the fetal heartbeat and participate in naps and popsicles. I don't see myself taking my dad shopping for maternity clothes.

My mother insisted on taking pictures, and one is particularly horrendous, showing how fat my arms have gotten. The maternity clothes worked wonders, though, because the next day she took a picture and I looked like I wasn't pregnant at all. At 14 weeks I am amazed at how much I have changed, although it still hasn't settled into my gray matter that I am pregnant. Most of my friend have told me that I won't realize it until the baby kicks for the first time, and that won't be for another 5-6 weeks, around the time we see Baby G again on the ultrasound monitor. And then I will be half-way to having a baby...I AM HAVING A BABY IN 26 WEEKS AND I HAVE DONE NOTHING! As one of my baby books observed, most cities can't fill a pothole in 9 months, but a person can produce another living being in that amount of time. Truly amazing.

The Rev. is well, and shared with me that he watched a whole television program in Spanish and understood everything the characters said. He has five more weeks to get addicted to Spanish soap operas, and he should count his blessings that of the 20 channels we get with our basic cable, channels 12-20 are Spanish speaking. He can feed his addiction and not feel obligated to do it in another country. I am ready for the man to come home.

Someone has to rub my feet after a long day at work.