Sorry I don't feel worse.
Since the news broke that my body is a dual-occupancy dwelling unit (me + 1), I've been asked the same few questions by numerous people.
I have to admit that as fun as it is getting lots of positive attention and love because Patrick and I managed to do something kajillions of other people have done (and it's also a blessing and a wonderful thing, yes, yes), I have a limit to how much I can discuss it.
It's like Wedding Planning 2.0. When we were engaged, it was fun to talk wedding ideas and plans... for a bit. After a while, I was generally ready to move on to another topic. Same with Baby Perfect, so-called because this child will be exactly that--perfect. (Duh.) I can talk about it for a little while. People who care naturally want to know what's going on. (So do people who are naturally nosey.) And I'm happy to fill them in... for a bit.
During the several brief conversations I've had with these caring (or nosey) people, I get the weird feeling that people are disappointed with some of the answers I provide to their questions. Well, to some of their questions. Some have plainly expressed their displeasure that we intend to wait to find out the sex of the child, so we know that one bugs people, though I really don't get why.
For other questions, I feel like maybe the disappointed vibe I get is because I'm not effusive enough.
Should I do cartwheels and just absolutely SQUUUEEEEEE! when discussing baby room colors? It's just that, thinking about decorating the nursery doesn't get me fired up. The walls are green. We rent. I'm not repainting. It's a nice gender neutral color. Which is perfect since we're not finding out the sex. So, whatever we "do" (by which I mean, whatever crib sheets we buy) will go with green. That problem kind of solved itself.
Should I be grinning like a kid about to dive into birthday cake when we discuss "baby"? I mean, I actually am really happy, but at this point it's still a little bit of an abstract thing. I get that a baby is coming and it'll enter this world by passing through the hallowed hallways of my nether regions, and it's making my pants tighter and tighter, but the only picture I've seen of this kid is nearly 2 months old by now, and it looked like a fuzzy, big-headed, alien tadpole. I can't imagine what this kid may look like one day, and I certainly can't picture how cute my fuzzy, big-headed, alien tadpole will look in a knit cap.
At this point, I really have very little news about the kid other than: it's coming and today it is roughly the size of an apple or an orange, depending on the website you visit. Not too much more to share. Sorry.
But the question with the answer that leaves people looking the most deflated is: How have you been feeling?
It's a question I've asked many a pregnant lady and I get answers from, "Not too bad," to "I'll answer that as soon as I run to the restroom to yack again."
So when people ask me, "How have you been feeling," I answer thus:
"Pretty well, really."
Crickets chirp. The question-asker blinks, and their mouth hangs slightly open as if they'd been preparing to respond with "Oh, how awful!" but realized they can't say that now. Their expression seems to say, "Is that it? Really?" They need something to respond to. I don't really have anything, but still I try to flesh it out.
"I mean, I'd get a little bit of a queasy or uneasy feeling when I was hungry, but as soon as I ate something it would clear right up. That doesn't happen now, though. And I did have the whole pregnancy fatigue thing, but that's passed now, too... so, yeah... Pretty well, overall."
The listener looks at me for a long moment and says, finally, "Well, that's good! You're lucky!" But it feels almost forced. They seem... disappointed.
Maybe it's because they don't believe me. "Oh, sure, she's just felt spiffy, I'm sure."
Maybe it's because they expect some awful stories of secretly getting sick at work and trying to hide the fact that I was living on ginger ale and saltines, and I have totally let them down.
Maybe it's because it seems un-mom-like not to begin suffering for the "toughest job you'll ever love" as soon as your little zygote got nestled into your uterine lining. Like I care less because I vomited less.
Maybe it's because I rob them of the opportunity to one-up my news by sharing their own pregnancy horror stories. It's not natural to follow up, "I'm feeling great!" with "I threw up the lining of my stomach and lost 25 pounds!" after all.
It's not like I chose not to have nausea. If I did have the choice, however, I'D CHOOSE NOT TO HAVE NAUSEA. (I cannot state that emphatically enough.)
After the disappointment of hearing that I'm feeling fine, I finally tell people, "It's still early, though! We'll see how I feel the rest of this pregnancy!"
That seems to make them happy, the promise of bad pregnancy times ahead, but I confess that I sincerely hope to disappoint them next time they want to know, "How are you feeling?"
And if I don't feel well? Well, it'll be their lucky day.
I'm not sure how that makes me feel.
I have to admit that as fun as it is getting lots of positive attention and love because Patrick and I managed to do something kajillions of other people have done (and it's also a blessing and a wonderful thing, yes, yes), I have a limit to how much I can discuss it.
It's like Wedding Planning 2.0. When we were engaged, it was fun to talk wedding ideas and plans... for a bit. After a while, I was generally ready to move on to another topic. Same with Baby Perfect, so-called because this child will be exactly that--perfect. (Duh.) I can talk about it for a little while. People who care naturally want to know what's going on. (So do people who are naturally nosey.) And I'm happy to fill them in... for a bit.
During the several brief conversations I've had with these caring (or nosey) people, I get the weird feeling that people are disappointed with some of the answers I provide to their questions. Well, to some of their questions. Some have plainly expressed their displeasure that we intend to wait to find out the sex of the child, so we know that one bugs people, though I really don't get why.
For other questions, I feel like maybe the disappointed vibe I get is because I'm not effusive enough.
Should I do cartwheels and just absolutely SQUUUEEEEEE! when discussing baby room colors? It's just that, thinking about decorating the nursery doesn't get me fired up. The walls are green. We rent. I'm not repainting. It's a nice gender neutral color. Which is perfect since we're not finding out the sex. So, whatever we "do" (by which I mean, whatever crib sheets we buy) will go with green. That problem kind of solved itself.
Should I be grinning like a kid about to dive into birthday cake when we discuss "baby"? I mean, I actually am really happy, but at this point it's still a little bit of an abstract thing. I get that a baby is coming and it'll enter this world by passing through the hallowed hallways of my nether regions, and it's making my pants tighter and tighter, but the only picture I've seen of this kid is nearly 2 months old by now, and it looked like a fuzzy, big-headed, alien tadpole. I can't imagine what this kid may look like one day, and I certainly can't picture how cute my fuzzy, big-headed, alien tadpole will look in a knit cap.
At this point, I really have very little news about the kid other than: it's coming and today it is roughly the size of an apple or an orange, depending on the website you visit. Not too much more to share. Sorry.
But the question with the answer that leaves people looking the most deflated is: How have you been feeling?
It's a question I've asked many a pregnant lady and I get answers from, "Not too bad," to "I'll answer that as soon as I run to the restroom to yack again."
So when people ask me, "How have you been feeling," I answer thus:
"Pretty well, really."
Crickets chirp. The question-asker blinks, and their mouth hangs slightly open as if they'd been preparing to respond with "Oh, how awful!" but realized they can't say that now. Their expression seems to say, "Is that it? Really?" They need something to respond to. I don't really have anything, but still I try to flesh it out.
"I mean, I'd get a little bit of a queasy or uneasy feeling when I was hungry, but as soon as I ate something it would clear right up. That doesn't happen now, though. And I did have the whole pregnancy fatigue thing, but that's passed now, too... so, yeah... Pretty well, overall."
The listener looks at me for a long moment and says, finally, "Well, that's good! You're lucky!" But it feels almost forced. They seem... disappointed.
Maybe it's because they don't believe me. "Oh, sure, she's just felt spiffy, I'm sure."
Maybe it's because they expect some awful stories of secretly getting sick at work and trying to hide the fact that I was living on ginger ale and saltines, and I have totally let them down.
Maybe it's because it seems un-mom-like not to begin suffering for the "toughest job you'll ever love" as soon as your little zygote got nestled into your uterine lining. Like I care less because I vomited less.
Maybe it's because I rob them of the opportunity to one-up my news by sharing their own pregnancy horror stories. It's not natural to follow up, "I'm feeling great!" with "I threw up the lining of my stomach and lost 25 pounds!" after all.
It's not like I chose not to have nausea. If I did have the choice, however, I'D CHOOSE NOT TO HAVE NAUSEA. (I cannot state that emphatically enough.)
After the disappointment of hearing that I'm feeling fine, I finally tell people, "It's still early, though! We'll see how I feel the rest of this pregnancy!"
That seems to make them happy, the promise of bad pregnancy times ahead, but I confess that I sincerely hope to disappoint them next time they want to know, "How are you feeling?"
And if I don't feel well? Well, it'll be their lucky day.
I'm not sure how that makes me feel.
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