At 25 weeks pregnant I’m starting to definitely look a bit knocked up – particularly in some outfits and always in the afternoon. I figure I must be 50% bloat if much of my girth presents itself from 3 pm on. Or maybe it’s the fact that I dubbed my afternoon snack “second lunch” given my veracious eating habits (Do you know anyone who eats three bananas in one day? Well now you do.). By evening my gut feels full and hard – literally stuffed, and I look in the mirror, sideways, in a “Really? REALLY?” sort of way. I guess this was to be expected.
Because of my hectic fall work schedule, Matt and I scheduled our first baby class in two weeks. It’s on breastfeeding. They said to bring a life-size baby doll, and I’ve deduced no one in my social sphere has such a thing. (If they did, I suppose it would be creepy, come to think of it.) Right now I’m eyeing a stuffed frog to bring, but I fear I’ll be chastised for its anatomical incorrectness (and also its lack of being even remotely a mammal). It looks better than the other stuff animal we own, though – a dragon complete with a spliced tongue and spiky tail (all dubious prizes from amusement parks from Matt). You girls may get jewelry or a night out, but I get a tie-dyed frog. Two of them, actually. Control your jealousy.
The other two baby classes we signed-up for are “Preparing for Baby!” and a one-day child birth workshop. “Preparing for Baby!” is a nice way of saying, “Hey you! First time parents! Yeah, you two clueless nitwits! This one’s for you.” It will teach us about newborns and car seats, about pediatricians and vaccinations, and about feeding and burping. I figure this has to be useful, because I’m not even sure if Matt and I know how to hold a baby properly. (All I know is that Matt constantly refers to the “soft spot” on the babies head and how he’s going to “poke it”. I don’t know what to make of this.)
In other news we have begun to prepare the nursery. I don’t do cutesy, I don’t do cutesy themes, and I sure as hell don’t do cartoons. This is not in line with Matt who said he first wanted to do a robot theme, then maybe Mario Brothers, then maybe space. Even if we don’t have a boy, I think he’s determined to make our child a tom boy, which is fine, unless they play copious amounts of sports, which (and Matt and I agree on this together) is not fine. I will steer him or her to music and books, and he will steer them to science and code. Look, there are parents who go to each and every little league game. Then there will be us.
For the room we settled on pale yellow walls with sage curtains and a large tree vinyl decal and I’m relieved that Matt likes it. In fact, when looking at tree decals, he has chosen the more modern, wind-swept ones that look adult-like and blustery, and are more suitable for a loft than a nursery. I said that’s not very warm and kid-like and he pretended he doesn’t hear me. His decals have dark silhouettes of birds heading south. Mine have blue birds dancing around the tree, their feathers plump and their cadence merry. I’m not sure how Matt got to this from robots, but sometimes I just have to keep my mouth shut and go with it. I often get my way by virtue of being a loud-mouth, so the boy can get whatever the heck tree he wants.
Matt has also begun using the baby to get out of things. Twice the Obama campaign called asking for volunteer time, and twice he has said, “I’m sorry; I’ve got a baby on the way!” No matter he took these calls in June and the baby is due in November.
I’m curious what I’ll be able to get away with when I become clearly pregnant. Will the MLDs let me board the train first? Will I get out of cleaning? (Last week – I’m not sure what got into me as I’m the furthest thing from a neat freak – I began scrubbing our bathroom tile with a hardcore disinfectant from Lowe’s. Matt burst in and took over, but subsequently I now have a mellow, non-toxic pink grapefruit scented cleaner so the battle hasn’t truly been won.)
For now, though, everything is the same except for the daily “Cletus” references that sprinkle our conversations. My friend Danita recommended we use the term “Sprout”, which Matt and I both adored, but it was too late: Cletus the Fetus had already taken hold and was already a part of our household vernacular.
And I suppose that’s just fine.