Twenty-two years ago I was sitting in a living room, eating a popsicle, doing anything to try and stay cool and comfortable while 9 months pregnant and over-due...long over-due. A few days earlier, I was on the back of a motorcycle trying to induce a thrill to cajole this little being out to no avail. Twenty-two years ago, eating a popsicle, I was reading through a Sauder Furniture guide, step-by-step, taking stock of all the pieces, hardware, and tools, ensuring everything was prepped and ready before assemblage.
Six months earlier, I was pouring over What to Expect, When you are Expecting by Heidi Murkoff. Hands down the best pregnancy book ever written and my gift to every expectant mother I know.
Nothing, NOTHING, N-O-T-H-I-N-G, Nothing, No Thing changes a person's life like a baby. Nothing. However, a great book packed full of eons of information and experiences can help prepare for those changes...a lot, as does a robust support network.
My first trimester was full of drama, morning sickness, papers, studying, drama, morning sickness, work, more morning sickness. I don't know how I survived those first three months. I existed on apple juice, Cheerios and pretzels with a prenatal vitamin thrown in occasionally, and a few hours of sleep every night.
My college roommate...ugh...my college roommate. I was her 7th roommate in the first week of class. Seventh. I had registered late for school and as a result, was placed in over-flow dorm housing until a spot opened up.
I was the 7th roommate.
Upon our first meeting, I learned she had 18 brothers and sisters and her dad had two wives. She cried to her mom about her rats until 10 pm, every night. She woke up at 4:30 am, flipped the dorm light on, and started doing her make-up, every morning. After asking, politely, multiple times for her to possibly do her make-up in the bathroom or wait until 6:30 to turn on the light, being denied any request of a transfer by the residence hall director, I made myself scarce.
At semester I was granted my request for a single room (f*** roommates that don't listen and don't adjust). On the 9th floor with south-facing windows, all by myself, yes, I could get used to this.
The second trimester. More drama, not much morning sickness, class, papers, drama, studying, yoga, work, drama, a little sleep, but I ate everything. The single room with south-facing windows became a sanctuary. By the end of my third trimester, I had gained over 40 pounds, had boobs like you have never seen before, and was ready to pop.
The sun lit up the ponderosa pines across the creek, the golden rays illuminating the needles and pine cones. I got to work. Step One, find piece A and place two C pieces on either side with the unfinished sides pointing to the back. Place the dowels in the pre-drilled holes and connect piece A to piece C and repeat on the other side. Surely putting this thing together will get this baby moving and ready to come out into the world.
Six hours later, spaces for organization and places to set photographs, VHS tapes, CDs, and the TV appeared but no indication of labor. It would take medical intervention four days later to get this river moving.
There are times in life when the waiting is the hardest part. Tom Petty didn't have to write a song about the waiting, but then again, maybe he did.
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