When I talked to a woman who had twins last year who warned me that she wouldn't "sugar coat" anything. Then she went on to tell me that she was stretch mark free until the last month. In those last few weeks she could actually feel her skin stretching and ripping. And now, a year later, her stomach is in such a state that a tummy tuck of some sort is inevitable.
This put me in a foul mood. I am now lathering my belly up with three different varieties of oils, lotions and other so-called magic potions, three times a day. It's my new obsession. Or maybe it’s just a way to focus on something other than what is coming. Part of the reason why its easier to focus on pregnancy, or even more gruesomely, on child birth, is that what comes after is so much more of an unknown, longer duration and scarier prospect. That is, raising children.
I have never owned a dog, a fish or any other pet for that matter. Not because I dislike animals, but because I know that I am not responsible enough. Let me rephrase: I do not feel like I am responsible enough to take care of anyone other than myself. Having a dog means you have to BE there. You have to get up and walk him, get home and walk him again. You can't just take off for a spontaneous weekend away because who's going to walk him? Who's going to feed him? Who's going to be there for him?
For the last 33 years, my answer to that question was: "Not me!". But now I find myself in the situation where I've skipped over the dog and gone straight to the holy grail of responsibility - a kid. And of course, nature thought it would be absolutely hilarious to hit the girl whose plants die when her husband is out of town with not one but TWO kids. And it is hilarious - or it would be if it weren't so scary! Actually, I wouldn't even know that it is scary as I haven't stopped to think about it.. until recently...
The other day, Mike and I walked by our new apartment and while we talked about how we scored, how fabulous the garden is and what a luxury it will be to have more space, we got extremely nostalgic about our current home. Mike has lived in it for the last six years and we have therefore called it home. Our current neighborhood will only be 20 minutes from the new place by foot. But what about my corner coffee place where they know me and know what I want before I ask? And my standby Italian café where I go when I don't feel like staying in but don't want to spend a lot of money, and the cute Italian waiter that serves me delicious pasta?
And then suddenly I realized. It’s not really about leaving my apartment (which is small and cluttered) or my street (which usually smells like dog poo). It is just symbolic. It's the beginning of a new phase and we have no idea what to expect from it.
Have I lost you all already? Yes? No? Some pregnant women lack concentration. I, evidently, suffer from self-indulgent over-philosophicalness!