Pregnancy Stress

I'm only 2 1/2 weeks away from my due date and I still wake up in the morning and check my stomach to see if this is a reality. Sometimes it feels like a 9-month-long dream. Two weeks seems like an eternity, yet, realistically it's so close I can almost smell it.

My biggest challenge right now is the 35-pound bowling ball I'm lugging around on my stomach. I wake up at least twice a night to pee, and then there's the nonstop thirst. I drink about a gallon of Crystal Light a night. There's also the space issue- I can tell this baby is running out of room down there. I feel her pushing and stretching all the time. If she could speak she'd say "Gimme a little space, would ya? It's really cramped down here."

Speaking of cramps, the constant pressure on my private parts is really starting to hurt. I walk like an elephant. My coworkers look at me and say "Ohmigod! It looks like you could blow at any moment!" (This is not very helpful, by the way. I'm fully aware I'm a walking time bomb.)
I go to bed at night and say to my baby-to-be "Please don't come tonight, okay." Partially out of fear, partially because I've mentally scheduled this baby to arrive on her due date. If she arrives early, my inlaws will arrive early, and they're staying through Labor Day no matter what. So this little one needs to sit tight because she's buying me time.

My inlaws are horrified I don't want them to move in permanently. As if adjusting to a newborn isn't chaotic enough, let's throw in 2 non-english speaking hands-on never-leave-the-house parents of my husband to add to the excitement. Truth be told, the entire idea petrifies me. And we're not even talking about the birthing process. The pain, the multiple pairs of eyes staring at my body, and the thought of trying to squeeze a watermelon out of a golf-ball size hole is completely horrifying. I hope there are enough drugs in the hospital to get me through this.

I think the one thing that keeps me going is the thought of maternity leave. Ahhhhh. It couldn't happen at a better time. I'm really looking forward to a few weeks off. At which time, I've told myself I'll lose all the baby weight, become skinnier than I ever was before and have a completely new outlook on life. In my head, maternity leave is a 3-month-long all expense paid vacation. In reality I'm aware it's 3 months of sleepless nights, painful attempts at breastfeeding, and total wonder and frustration as to how to care for a newborn.

I keep assuring myself that many people have children, lots of them have more than one. There must be a good reason. It can't be as painful, scary, and challenging as I've made it out to be in my head. There has to be enough reward to make the fear, the weight, the exhaust, and the pain all worth it.
I'll let you know.

The Final Countdown

I'm four weeks away from my due date and I feel like I've been pregnant for years.
It first started feeling like an eternity about a week ago, when I developed a rash across my growing belly that made me look like a cherry flavored gummy bear. The rash has since vanished, and in its place are my reptilian hands. The skin on my palms and feet is falling off in layers. I've been trying to wear the white cotton gloves that are meant to return the moisture back into my palms, but instead I feel like a Michael Jackson wannabe stuck in the wrong decade.
And it gets worse....hearing about life in the outside world. That's the world where all my friends are going out, getting hammered, and having a great time, while I'm at home sucking down lemonades and watching Seinfeld reruns.
Which brings me to Sunday morning....

"OhMiGOd! You have NO idea what you missed last night!!!!" Lilly is practically screaming into the phone. "It was Insane- I was SO drunk- oh wait- EVERYONE was sooo drunk..."

I think about how much I miss alcohol. It's been forever since I've had a decent buzz.

Lilly continues "Daphne was bombed, Megan was trashed, Victoria could barely stand up.....it was absolutely hilarious....I can't believe I got home alive!"

"Where were you? What were you guys drinking?" I ask. I feel like I live on a total other planet I'm so out of the loop right now.

"At J Bar, there was this HUGE party. They were pouring free champagne....EVERYONE was there. Paul, Steve, Dan, Dave- your Dave...."

I can't get close enough to the phone right now....."Really? Hot Dave was there? Was he with anyone?"
Hot Dave is a guy I met a year ago. He's also known as my imaginary boyfriend. I'm secretly in love with him although I've only talked to him once or twice. I'm convinced we are meant to be together in another life. I'm also convinced the less I see him, the more perfect he becomes in my mind.

"Oh yeah, he was there. He asked about you. And no, he wasn't with anyone." Lilly answers.

Being 8 months pregnant is equivalent to being in a social coma.

"Please tell me you didn't mention I'm about a thousand pounds right now, and ready to give birth to another man's baby..." I plead. Truthfully, I don't know why I care. Hot Dave knows I'm married and totally unavailable.

"Of course not!" Lilly says "I told him you were out of town. It sounds very mysterious."

"Awesome. " And for some reason it feels like the complete truth.

"So anyway," Lilly continues "I kissed a guy at the bar, and gave another guy my phone number. And ready for this....I found out later they were roommates!!!!" I can hear Lilly almost choking from laughter on the other end of the phone.
"It gets better..." she howls, "Daphne had a 10 minute long conversation with a guy she met at the bar, before he told her that her blouse was wide open! And Victoria told some guy she'd love to have dinner with him sometime, and he responded that they had already been out on a date together- twice!"

At this point I would give my right breast to have been there. (that's right, my much needed future breast....) I think I can't wait to have a night out with the girls. I can't wait for this 35 pound bowling ball to be gone from my waist.
Yet, I can't say I'm ready to be a mother yet either. The options right now are looking bleak.

1) Continue to walk around looking like the 10th planet...or
2) Give birth, and be responsible for a tiny life that I've created.

Lilly can hear my silence on the other end of the phone.

"Don't worry Jan, you'll be back out with everyone in no time."

"Yeah, I know," I say, but I'm not sure I really believe it.

In addition to being worried about becoming a parent, I'm also worried my life as I know it is over. That Saturday nights will always consist of me sitting on the sofa with a lemonade and Seinfeld reruns, or maybe baby barf on my shirt, instead of out having a glass of wine while telling a great story to a bunch of friends.

The Baby Jackpot

"You should see this place!" exclaims Daphne "It's freakin' unbelievable, I can't WAIT to move in!"

After living with her parents for the last 8 years, Daphne has finally hit the jackpot. The baby jackpot, that is. And life has never been so good.

"I'm so excited for you, really Daphne, if you need me to help with anything, just let me know," I reply honestly.
It's true I'm not even the slightest bit irritated about her situation. Although, maybe I have the right to be.

Here's the breakdown: Daphne got knocked up by a multi-millionaire about 11 months ago. And fortunately for her, he's a really nice guy. Stupid, I think, for not wrapping his wonderous wand in rubber, but very sweet nonetheless. This multi-millionaire, Warren, is picking up the tab on his new baby and baby mommy's life. Which includes the rent on a brand new 2 bedroom luxury condo just outside Washington DC for the both of them.
Warren, however, is continuing to live his bachelor lifestyle in either his beautiful pad in Manhattan, a penthouse in Washington, or his beach home in the Hamptons. Every other weekend, he's a baby daddy, but rest of his days are filled with business trips to exotic places, beautiful girlfriends eager for an expensive night out, and one-night stands found at his hotel lobby while having martinis at the bar with the guys. Don't worry about Warren, a baby and baby momma are not cramping his style.

"Yes, I'm going to redecorate the entire place," Daphne adds. "I totally need new furniture, the old stuff I once owned is in my parent's garage, and there is no way I'm using that. Warren says he'll cover all the expenses for the nursery, and of course, our monthly bills. I mean, if I'm home watching our baby, I can't also be working to pay for all this."

Ching. ching. ching. (that's the sound of a slot machine that just hit the BIGTIME. I hear it in my head often when I talk to Daphne.)

"Absolutely," I agree.

Truth be told, I don't know how calculated the entire situation really is. Was she not on the pill intentionally? Was she never on the pill? Or did she stop taking it during date night #3, when the their close encounters led to this baby?
I think the final story is something along the lines of "I always forget to take my pill. So I try to double up when I can...."
Which is completely possible knowing Daphne.

Daphne is not the most reliable friend I have. She has trouble holding down a job, (which explains why she's living with her parents) has a hard time keeping a boyfriend, never remembers to pay bills, and although her intentions are good, her follow-through is usually lacking.

But her mood has never been better.

Ironically, I too, am pregnant. My husband and I planned this baby, so I don't have any multi-millionaire baby daddy to pick up our tab. In fact, as soon as my maternity leave is over, I'll be right back at work earning my living. It can be financially stressful, that's for sure. I've had plenty of sleepness nights trying to figure out which of my body parts I could sell in the black market to pay for daycare. My liver? A kidney?
But somehow, we're going to try to make it work. And I'm beginning to get rest again, hoping that the joys of parenthood will make all of the financial burden worth it in the end.

"Did I mention Warren is taking us to Napa?" Daphne adds. "He's hiring a nanny to help me during the day, and then at night he's taking me out with his friends to the unbelievable wineries. I need to go shopping, I have absolutely nothing to wear!"

Ching. ching. ching.

I have to admit. It does sound nice. I've never had a multi-millionaire picking up my tabs and flying me across the country to drink wine. But then again, a glass of pinot on the couch in my modest home with my husband still sounds a lot better than being a single-parent with a fat paycheck and no real support.

The Final Days

Fact: The fastest way to ruin a marriage is to live with your inlaws. I know this because I’m on day 28 of a 29 day visit, and I’ve never wanted to murder my husband more than in these last few days. In fact, by day 16 I stopped appreciating his smile, his thoughtfulness, and his stunning good looks. Instead, I began to see him as the sole reason for my dissatisfaction and unhappiness. And as the days continued I began to envision myself packing up my bags and moving to another state. I started to fantasize about where I would go, what new career I would take on, and of course, about my new drop-dead gorgeous charming and weathly boyfriend who I would undoubedtly meet on a beach somewhere. By the way, this boyfriend in my imagination has no parents. He’s an orphan. And wouldn’t dream of inviting anyone into our home for more than a long weekend.

Yesterday, in the final days of this neverending visit, my husband and I attended a wedding. The bride glowed as she sauntered down the aisle. Her husband-to-be wore a grin that ran ear-to-ear. As they proceeded to say their vows it took all the power in my body not to jump out of my seat and shout a warning from the back of the room....the same warning I wish someone had shouted at me.

"WHAT ABOUT THE INLAWS? YOU LOVEBIRDS CONSIDER THEM? 'CAUSE TAKE IT FROM ME AS SOON AS YOU SAY YOUR I DO'S THEY'LL DECIDE THEY CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT THEIR LITTLE BOY!!!"
"DON'T FALL FOR IT!!!!! QUICK- THERE'S STILL TIME TO DRAFT A PRENUP!!!!"

The room would gasp, heads would swing to see who was shouting such an attrocity across the church floor. And there I would stand waving my fists, like a little old lady nearly knocked down by a bulldozer.

I decided to restrain myself. Good luck, I wished the bride. Maybe your inlaws have better things to do than shack up in your home for a month, stink up your bathroom, sit on your couch, and wait for their darling son to come home.

As my husband and I drove back to our house...the silence was deafening. We'd been fighting all weekend, which is very unusual for us. It was all about the inlaws.

"Are you still mad?" he asked
"Me?" (this response buys me alittle time to come up with a better answer.)
"Uh, huh. Are my parents THAT bad?" he wondered "I mean they only visit once a year, and they're very sweet house guests, and they really like you...."
"It's not your parents, it's lack of my personal space. "

He doesn't respond. Truthfully, there's nothing to say. We just have to wait a few more days until their plane ships them off this continent and back to their beautiful country.
I wonder if I'll make it that long. I wonder if I should move into a hotel. I wonder what my imaginary boyfriend is doing right now. Is he thinking about me? Does he have a frozen margarita waiting for me on some tropical island somewhere?

"Here we are," my husband says as we pull up to the house. I'm shaken from my dreams of a life without inlaws.
"And don't sweat it, Jan. It's just a few more days, and tonight my mom is trying out a new recipe."

Pumpkin Mush and the Italian Inlaws

It's day 11 of a 28 day visit from my Italian inlaws. I have no idea how I'm expected to survive the next 17 days. This is not to say they aren't incredibly thoughtful, helpful, and good-hearted- because they are. But they don't speak English. Not a word. And that always makes these visits a challenge. On the bright side, I could probably compete and win an International Charades competition.

Another challenge, is the overtaking of the kitchen. That's right, once the Italian inlaws arrive, no one is allowed into the kitchen. It may as well be Fort Knox with two very large and unfriendly pitbulls guarding its entry. You want water? Just ask. But don't even think about stepping into this sacred Italian territory.

What's ironic about this whole experience, is that the moment someone hears the Italian inlaws have arrived they immediately assume I'm in paradise.
The next words out of their mouths usually sound something like
"You are SOOOOOOO lucky."
or
"I bet their cooking is unbelievable!!!"
or
"I would pay thousands to have authentic Italian inlaws live in my kitchen for a month!!!"
You get the point.

Well, sorry to burst the dream-cooking bubble, but the best meal I've had in the last 11 days was a Papa John's pepporonni pizza. And I can thank good ole' Papa John for this fantastic meal because the Italian inlaws once again, burnt dinner to a crisp. "No capisco questo cucinare!!" I don't understand this kitchen!! My mother-in-law complains.

Last night, another Italian favorite was destroyed in our complicated American kitchen. Pumpkin Gnocci. The pre-gnocci pudding looked like it had potential....but aha- don't let the good looks fool you. This too, was a culianary disaster. As the gnocci dropped one-by-one into the pot of boiling water its mushy pudding-like contents clumped togther. My mother-in-law struggled to fix the water temperature.
"Che succhesso?!!" What's happening?!! She cries.
I ran into the kitchen to help but I'm stopped by my father-in-law.
"Gratzie, ma non e necessario, tutto bene", he says calmly. Thanks, but that's not necessary, everything's fine.
I return to our sofa, where my husband gives me a look. His expression says "Leave them alone, it's fine."

I consider offering to call Papa John's again, but decide it's best to keep my mouth shut.

About 2 hours later we're called to dinner. "Che pronti!!"
My Italian inlaws escort us into our dining room and lead us to our seats. I'm aware that their intentions are to make us feel as if we're dining at an Italian restuarant throughout the duration of their stay. So I play along.

I sit down and face our evening's delicacy. Orange-colored pasta paste goop in a bowl drowned in butter. Delicious. Pumpkin Gnocci, I'm told.

I eat as much as I can stomach and tell my chefs how much I enjoy their cooking. My husband is glowing and loves every moment of their stay.

It's times like these I must remember what's important. I must remind myself how hard they're trying. I remind myself how their visit means so much to my husband. I remind myself that "For better, for worse" includes Pumpkin Mush for dinner.
I remind myself that I may even lose a few pounds this month...and that if this is the worst it gets, I'm a very lucky wife.

The Carpool and the Supermodel

My husband returns home from work with sweat on his brow and bottle of water in hand.

"I barely survived," he gasps in his strong Italian accent.

"Why, what happened?" I ask.

"My car broke down, I was stranded on the highway, my cell had no battery, and I barely made it home alive!" In his accent it actually sounds more like "My car-a broke down-en, stranded on ze highvay, my cell had non bat-ter-re, and I barely made-a it ohm alif!"

Ouch. I silently thank God I carry a cell phone charger in my car.

"Wow. Well I'm glad you're here, did you have the car towed?" I ask innocently, as I stroke his back.

"Yes, and I'm getting a ride to work tomorrow from Gisele."

Gisele? Crap. She's the supermodel in his office. Well, she's not officially a supermodel, but she certainly looks like one. She stands 6 feet tall, slim, blond hair, blue eyes, great bone structure, soft spoken...let's put it this way- Heidi Klum comes a close 2nd to Gisele from the "office". What makes it worse, is that she has no idea she's drop-dead stunning. In fact, she's very pleasant, and comes off as the perfect employee. I've met her once, and even I wanted to sleep with her.

"Oh," I say calmly. "How is her husband doing with his new job?" I ask, trying not to sound threatened. I've also put down the chocolate chip cookie I was munching on.

"I think fine," he replies, "I forgot to ask."

Truthfully, I know my husband wouldn't cheat on me, I believe I've married the most trustworthy genuine-hearted man in America. But it never hurts to double-check.

"Well, I'm glad she's got you covered." Oops, bad choice of words.
"Just try not to run off with her and leave the dog and I to fend for ourselves," I say jokingly.

"Don't worry Bellisma," (this is his pet name for me, which I secretly adore.)"I don't want a supermodel, I want you."

Yes, it's a backhanded compliment, but I'll take it.

And first thing tomorrow, I'll call the dealership and put a rush on that repair.

The American Dream

Ring ring.

"Yesssss..." the raspy voice answers.

"Hi, Satan. It's me..." I say.

"Yessss....."

"Uh, I was wondering...is there any way I could get my soul back?"

"We made a deal. I got you what you wanted, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did. It's just that it's not exactly what I'd hoped for," I quiver.

"And why not? More money, less work. Isn't that the American Dream?" he chides.

I can picture his toothy grin and his forked tail wagging slowly behind him.

"I thought so..." I answer.

"So what's the problem?" Satan asks.

"There's nothing to it. I drive around all day in the hopes of getting 15 seconds with any of my assigned doctors. I do this 6 or 7 times a day. Then I go to bed and wake up and do it all over again."

"Sounds easy enough...what's there to complain about?"

"I've never been so bored in my life." I sigh.

"Ah. Be careful what you wish for," he says. "Sorry about your luck- but I'm keeping your soul."

"That's why I'm calling. Can we make another deal?" I beg.

"I'm listening....."

"Can I get my soul back and give you my brain instead? I really don't use it anymore....please."

"If I made that deal with every pharmaceutical sales rep I helped out it would be very lonely down here. Sorry, I can't help you."

Click.

Ring ring.

I grab for the phone hoping Satan has changed his mind.

"Hello, Jan?" says a young female voice. "It's Debra from Dr. Horn's office. I'm just calling to find out what you're bringing us for lunch tomorrow."