I was playing with the baby and I can’t remember the toes song.
“This Little Piggy”?
Well, it’s not a song.
Fine, sure. But I said, “This little piggy went to market. But this little piggy didn’t go anywhere.”
Yeah, that’s not quite right. But he did stay home. And then one of them had roast beef, which now suddenly seems really weird.
Right? That’s weird.
…Pamie. Roast beef isn’t made from pigs.
… Right. Right, I knew that.
It’s still weird. And I don’t know where he ate it, because they didn’t say. So you’ve got This Little Piggy went to market, This Little Piggy–
–stayed home. This Little Piggy had roast beef, and This Little Piggy had none. Which doesn’t rhyme too well, but whatever.
And then the little pinkie toe piggy went wee-wee all over the place.
That’s what I always pictured! This pig running around peeing all crazy, just running and peeing. Wee-wee, wee-wee, wee-wee all over the place. Hee-hee-hee-hee-heeeeee.
Not “all over the place.” He went home.
He’s still funny. Peeing and running.
“Mom, you sent me a blank e-mail.”
“No, I didn’t. I sent the people an e-mail, and I said it was from my new e-mail address.”
“Yes, but you put all that in the subject line. Then you open up the e-mail and it’s blank.”
“Well, if they want to know anything else that’s going on, they’ll have to write me back!”
For when you’re nursing your child and your mom stands super close to watch it while she chats, and then she gets so caught up in the moment that she leans in and kisses the baby’s head, just centimeters away from your bare breast.
Because that is what happened to me yesterday.
Oh, does that not happen to you on a Thursday? Then I guess maybe we don’t need a whole word for it. Maybe just a therapy session.
Oh, this is nice. I’m outside.
I’M OUTSIDE! WOO!
Yes, I’m outside, with my friend, like a real lady and I am going to have some lunch. A lunch date! Oh, I’m on a lunch date with my friend like I’m a real, live, normal person. This is fantastic.
She’s been talking. My friend is definitely talking right there. I should probably pay attention.
Man, it’s pretty outside. I forgot how nice life is when you’re around it. Look at all these people, just having lunch. Enjoying their day. People all look so pretty and happy and nice. These people all look so nice.
I hope the baby is napping.
Can she see my breast pads through this shirt? I hope I look okay. I am almost positive I remembered to put on deodorant before I left. I could check the app to see if the baby is still asleep, but —
NO. I will NOT check the app! This is MY TIME and there’s nothing I can do if the baby is awake anyway, because I’m way over here, enjoying my lunch with my friend like everybody else gets to do and I should do because I’m still a person.
1. I’m watching the Beyonce documentary.
2. It’s 3:30 in the morning and I’m on my third shirt because I’ll never not be covered in someone else’s body fluids ever again.
3. Decaf is bullshit.
4. It’s pretty outside and I am inside.
5. There’s this documentary about happiness but at one point there’s a segment on suicide in Japan and there’s a clip of all these Japanese mothers singing a song about their sons being gone and IT IS THE SADDEST THING IN THE WORLD.
5a. Technically, there are two things I can name that are sadder.
It’s that time of year when networks are ordering pilots. This means tv writers are sitting around anxiously waiting to find out which scripts they’ll be viciously hate-reading.
People like to say, “I bet your mom is so excited to be a grandmother. What did she do when she found out you were having a baby?”
“Oh. She immediately put her house on the market.”
And they laugh. They laugh and laugh. “That would be so funny,” they chuckle.
I don’t say anything. I don’t have to. You can see it in my face, my tired eyes, my worried hair.
Their laughter fades away. They whisper, “Oh, you weren’t kidding.”
“WHERE IS BABY?”
This is the text I get, several times a day now, from all over the country. Sometimes it pops up on a Facebook window. Sometimes it’s just a subject line of an empty email.
“WHERE IS BABY?”
As if I’ve hidden the child somewhere, confused Christmas for Easter and hidden this ripened egg under a rock in a field. Like I’m lying to them all and I’m waiting until Baby’s First Tooth before I spill any details.
My own mother asked today with sadness, “Will you tell me when you’re going to the hospital? … or do I just find out after the baby’s here?”
I know they are all asking out of love and excitement. It just cracks me up that it has been reduced to–
“WHERE IS BABY?”
Baby is still incubating, heavy enough now that my stomach rests on my legs when I’m sitting, making me feel like an exhausted bus driver.
Did you know you can have contractions for days and days and days that mimic labor but don’t turn into labor? Not these cute Braxton-Hicks things you hear about sometime, little “practice contractions” that can pop up at any point during your pregnancy. These are minute-long, full-on cramping, every ten minutes contractions that just stick around for ten or twelve hours until you finally fall asleep? Then they wake you up every few hours when a particularly strong one happens, and then the next day you just have them all day again? All the while your friends are texting–
“WHERE IS BABY?”
And you know exactly where Baby is, because your body has been trying to push the baby out since Thanksgiving.
This is just one of the things on my very long list titled: Things People Don’t Tell You About Being Pregnant Until You’re Pregnant, Which Is Just Way Too Fucking Late, If You Ask Me.