I am officially over being pregnant. It happened almost overnight. My hands are swollen, my abdomen is barely supporting my belly so I’m wearing a back brace, my ass fucking hurts, if I sit on my yoga ball my back hurts, I have to sit sleeping up, I’m so out of it I typed a sentence that says “I have to sit sleeping up,” and I have two rashes on one leg and acid reflux. Also, the other day, my husband had this to say about my choice of clothing:
Jenny: I got this hat in Finland. In Helsinki. It’s so cute that sometimes when I wear it, people just smile at me!
SJ: You do look like a woodland … mushroom.
Jenny: NORMALLY WHEN MEN DESCRIBE WOMEN AS A “WOODLAND” SOMETHING THE NEXT WORD IS “NYMPH,” NOT FUCKING “MUSHROOM.”
Then there’s the peeing. I’ve been incontinent for months. The other day at work I sneezed and peed through the back of my dress and onto my yoga ball. Sexy!
All the woo-woo books talk about how a woman’s body is made to do this. But it’s not giving it up EASILY. No, the body is all, I want you to understand how FUCKING AMAZING I am. YOU WILL KNOW HOW AMAZING I AM. Lower, middle, and upper back pain ALL AT THE SAME TIME.
I don’t think of the baby as a parasite exactly, but I am definitely hosting another living being. And, given how uncomfortable it is, I am surprisingly supportive of him. When he gets the hiccups every day, I don’t yell STOP IT and punch myself in the stomach. I say, Do your thing, baby! When he does a double backflip and drags his head from one side of my uterus to the other, I say, Do what you need to do! I got you!
I can’t stop thinking about meeting him. Most of all I want to see what he looks like. As we all know, white babies are ugly — they’re like shriveled old people — and this white baby is coming from two people under 5’8″ with big noses, crooked teeth, and bug eyes. He doesn’t have a chance. Still, already I think he’s beautiful. But then fear sets in: What if he doesn’t look like me at all? What if I end up spending all my time taking care of someone who looks like a miniature version of the person who’s not unloading the dishwasher?
At least SJ is keeping me entertained through my third trimester (more accurately, I am keeping myself entertained through SJ). The other day we were in the unregistered BUT NOW SMOGGED ONLY THREE MONTHS LATE MAYBE NOW IT WILL MAGICALLY REGISTER ITSELF minivan with two broken door handles, and “My Prerogative” came on the radio. Natch, I started seat dancing, but I could tell SJ didn’t know the song.
Jenny: Do you know who this is?
SJ: (Smelling ridicule a mile away) I don’t care.
SJ: (Thinks) Salt-N-Pepa.
Jenny: Salt-N-Pepa was a girl group. That’s your clue that it’s not them. But I will tell you it’s someone who came out of a boy group.
Jenny: Bobby Brown!
SJ: Did Bobby Brown come out of a boy group?
Jenny: DID BOBBY BROWN COME OUT OF A BOY GROUP.
Jenny: Do you want to know what group Bobby Brown came out of?
SJ: I’m not going to engage in this conversation anymore since you’re transcribing. With your shit-eating grin. And I was into punk bands, not boy bands.
Jenny: That makes you cooler than me!
SJ: Write that down!
Jenny: No, it’s not funny.
That night, as I was drifting off to sleep, SJ said, “I’m setting my alarm to wake me up for boxing.”
Jenny: You know that if your alarm wakes me up, you’re going to boxing.
SJ: I know.
In the morning, SJ’s alarm rang at 7 a.m. Admittedly, this is when I also set my alarm for, so it didn’t exactly wake me up and require retribution. But SJ rolled over. I put on my glasses and picked up my phone and do what I always do when SJ says he wants to go to boxing in the morning: I went to YouTube. Last time it was “Eye of the Tiger.” This morning it was the theme song from Rocky. I pressed play and held it above SJ’s head. The Rocky theme played.
SJ: (After a second, tiredly) Can you turn that up?
Jenny: (Delighted) I can’t! It’s all the way up!
That night we were lying together belly to belly on the couch cuddling. Then SJ farted. I gave him a dirty look and tried to sit up. But I couldn’t, because pregnancy.
Jenny: Can you push me up?
SJ: (Gallantly pulling me up by the wrist) So you can storm off?
Jenny: Yes. Thank you. (Storms off.)
That’s love, people.
This salad is yet another version of all the other salads I make and still something I can’t get enough of. You need:
- 1 large handful arugula
- 1 early girl or Roma tomato
- 1 bit of cucumber, peeled and chopped
- 1 medium carrot, peeled and chopped
- 4–5 cured anchovies, chopped
- Wedge feta cheese
- Olive oil
- Balsamic vinegar
- Salt and pepper
You need to:
- Combine ingredients, splash on oil and vinegar, season with salt and pepper, and enjoy the simple things in life: a Mediterranean diet, with or without a half-carafe of wine (without for now, but not for long!).