Hit by a Pitch

I’m weird, as usual.

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It seems like with pregnancy and parenting, as usual, I’m totally weird. I’m feeling the need to step away from the pregnancy-related groups and message boards, again.

I had to do this during the first trimester, because all everybody did was complain about how sick they felt and how much they were throwing up and how food was so disgusting. I never experienced that, and I’m not the special kind of asshole who likes to rub my good fortune in the faces of those worse off than I am. Plus I just didn’t relate. What does someone who’s really enjoying food and hasn’t vomited in over a year have to add to a conversation about not being able to eat anything but a bite of saltine and endless vomiting? Nothing, unless that person is a gloaty asshole.

Things were better during the second trimester. Most people feel pretty good then, so I wasn’t the weird one for a few months. That was nice!

Now in the third trimester, people feel like shit again. I’ve heard more about swelling (feet that can’t be contained by shoes! gigantic ankles!) and aches and pains (sciatica!) and sleepless nights than I care to remember. It sucks that those things happen to some people (and might still happen to me — there’s still time and sometimes when I stand for too long my left hip sort of hurts a little bit!) but they really haven’t happened to me and I’m, again, not going to gloat about my good fortune around people who are suffering. (In other news, I’m convinced that maintaining my gym-rat lifestyle is why I’m not suffering from most of those things, so yay me, right?)

Another common ailment suffered by women in the third trimester of pregnancy is the asshole and/or lazy-ass husband/significant other (although, truth be told, I think I’m the only pregnant woman in the world who is not married, because most talk of this phenomenon focuses on the husband, who is referred to by some annoying-ass cutesy nickname, as Mr. So-and-So [in the case of this blog, it would be Mr. HBP, which actually might make me vomit], or generally as “the hub” or “hub” or “hubby” — gah, I really hate that). Apparently many men say stupid things to their pregnant wives, play hours and hours of video games every day, and do absolutely nothing around the house. Today, I had to step away from the only pregnancy-related message board I can read for more than 30 seconds at a time (no blinkies or tickers) when somebody mentioned making a chore chart for her husband. Seriously.

I’m telling you this now: the day I even consider making a “chore chart” for another adult is the day I want somebody to shoot me.

I know I don’t have to worry about that ever happening. First of all, I’m not the nagging type and, to me, a chore chart = nagging. I’d never in a million years make a chore chart for an adult. Hell, I’d never make a chore chart for my kid. It’s just not my style, at all.

But there’s the bigger issue. I’m not in a relationship with a guy who doesn’t do shit or who “needs” to be told what to do. I don’t write much about B here (or, you might have noticed, about any family/friends/people I know in real life), maybe because it feels weird or like a violation of privacy to discuss other people and maybe because he’s just so freaking awesome I can’t really do it. Anything I say about him is just going to be annoying because he’s just the shit, you know? I guess that partly goes back to my desire not to gloat when I have it really good. With B, I have it really, really good.

Anyway, to get back to my original point, which had something to do with chore charts and other stupidity, B does way more shit around the house than I do. I’m totally LPP (lazy pregnant person) around the house these days. I mean, I’m good at some things, such as researching the hell out of and procuring a good supply of cloth diapers and cute baby clothes, but when it comes do doing actual work, I’m pretty useless (unless work = baking cookies, in which case I’m on point). In contrast, B has done a ton of shit. He put a new roof on the garage (the old one leaked). When I mentioned that our bathroom was kind of gross, he scrubbed the entire room with bleach. When I complained about the shower head being wussy, he replaced it. Egads, I sound like a total whiner, but I swear those are the only things I’ve complained about lately. Anyway, he just does stuff, you know? And it’s freaking awesome. Yesterday, he spent the evening cleaning up debris and other shit in our yard after the guy rehabbing the house next door replaced the fence.

I got a little stressed out the other day when my midwife asked us about how we were preparing for life with a new baby — like, were we preparing food to freeze and save for the early days or were we planning to have people come by to help with the baby, cooking, cleaning, and laundry. Honestly, the thought had never occurred to me. First, I’m not really comfortable having people (other than B, obvs.) do shit for me. Anyway, I’m sure I’ll be totally overwhelmed with breastfeeding and recovering from the birth and all the crazy stuff that’s going to happen, but I’m not worried about us and how we’re going to handle it. I mean, B does most of the cooking and, as I get more and more lazy, most of the cleaning, too. We never eat any of the shit we freeze, anyway — there’s always like a big bowl of chili that sits in there for a year, gets all freezerburned, and then gets tossed. So I don’t know. B will probably cook like usual or we can order pizza every day. Maybe I’m being stupid and our life is going to change in a more intense manner than I’m anticipating — I really don’t know. We’ll probably get really sick of washing diapers, but I’m pretty sure we’ll be able to handle it. I don’t see it getting really, really hard until I return to work after 12 weeks.

There’s also the stuff like the meetup groups. I have the best of intentions with these things, I swear. We don’t really know local people with kids. I’m sure that, after we have a kid, we’re going to want to know local people with kids. I’ve been looking into pregnancy and parenting groups in the area and, I don’t know. I just can’t do it. I’m sure it’s all perfectly nice and I’m way too picky, but I don’t want to sit around with other pregnant women and have someone try to sell me spa products. I don’t want to watch chick flicks or go scrapbooking (scrapbooking is another one of those you’ll-have-to-shoot-me things) or go out to brunch when there’s football on TV. I don’t want to join some sort of moms’ group that meets 27 times per month, mostly at times I’ll be working after my maternity leave, and I don’t want to do mommy and me yoga or join one of the 1,000 groups for moms in fancy neighborhoods like the Highlands. I wish there was something like a “Parenting in the ‘Hood for Normal People” group that meets like once or twice a month on weekends and has members who live in and around downtown Denver. Maybe I’ll have to start that one.

Anyway, this post is kind of pointless and all over the place, but I guess that’s kind of how I’m feeling right now. Maybe not fitting into the mom/parenting world will end up not being a big deal — maybe we won’t change much of what we do and with whom we do it after we have a kid. Maybe it’ll just be our life, plus a kid, instead of an entirely new and different life. Actually, that sounds kind of nice.

Written by Tracy

September 18th, 2009 at 12:10 pm

Posted in and life

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