I’m now six days away from the official due date of my unplanned (but now certainly wanted) first baby, and I think I have learned what it might be like to be disabled in America. It’s not very pleasant. I am certainly a spectacle, but unlike other disabled people, the woman with a giant rotund belly warrants comments from nearly everyone she passes, whether it’s kind strangers who say “Congratulations!” on the street or the bitch who works at Target who warned me not to have my baby on the floor. And if I have to hear “OMG you’re SO pregnant,” one more time (from friends, family and strangers), I really might lose it. I’m hormonal, chunky and need a drink, so stating the obvious is getting plain annoying.Fatty comments aside, the past two weeks have been pretty hard for other reasons. Getting around is no picnic, especially on public transportation, and I’ve been officially denied sex — the baby daddy thought it was creepy putting his penis so close to the baby’s head. But since becoming full term I’ve really been grappling with the reality that my life is truly about to change forever—at any given second I can go into labor and POW! hello, motherhood, hello new life. Some days I wake up and am so disappointed I didn’t go into labor overnight because I really want to meet him, but other days, such as today, I woke up and breathed a sigh of relief that this kid was still tucked snugly inside of me. I’m on maternity leave now, so I could sleep until 10 a.m. just because, do some work from the comfort of the couch, and meet my friend for a gigantic grilled cheese lunch and gossip session in his backyard. I still got to be me, albeit a gigantic version of my former self, and it was great. Tonight the plan is to grill out in the yard with the BD, and watch my favorite TV lineup with no disruptions. Aka, no crying baby, no poopy pants. Nothing has changed yet, and I have to say, today I’m glad.
At the same time, I feel horribly guilty that the baby somehow knows that I don’t mind him staying in a bit longer just because I’m selfish. I am really anxious to have him and make sure he is healthy, and mostly am only looking forward to my new life, but I’m still really scared by all the impending changes. Some days I’m not sure I’ll even be able to handle them and that makes me feel like a bad mom already—so much so that I went and read a few baby books to my belly an hour ago. I was trying to make up for the fact that earlier I’d patted my stomach and said, “You can stay in there until after the weekend, I want to go to brunch on Sunday.” Have you ever read Goodnight Moon to an empty room out of guilt? It’s a little disconcerting, to say the least.
The truth is I really can’t wait to see this little guy on the outside for the first time, and am happy that that day is coming so very soon. But I am also very happy that I might have a few more days to myself to do as I please, so I am going to snooze, watch trashy TV and eat cereal off my chest, just because those are things I like to do. Although, you never know—I could pop tonight. At least I do know for a fact that it won’t be sex that brings on my labor.