Since I’ve been pregnant you’ve really showed me how amazing you are. You’re excited for me. I love and appreciate the support, but the thing is… I’m due in less than two weeks, I barely remember what it’s like to not be pregnant and I’ve developed a short fuse and a sense of urgency. I feel frazzled and pressured to get everything ready. When I’m not groggy and out of it from my (doctor-mandated) sleeping pills, I’m panicked and starving. I wish I was one of those pregnant women who has lots of energy and seems constantly high on oxytocin and endorphins, but my inner champion is on the bench. I should be walking around with a sticker on my forehead that says Warning! Highly Combustible Pregnant Lady: Approach With Caution.
So, until this baby is born, can you please just do these things for me?
Lower your expectations. I know, I know. Normally I have a can-do attitude — and I love that about me. You need help with some self-assembly furniture? I’m your girl. You need fashion advice or a restaurant recommendation? I know exactly what you’re looking for. Need a friend to bounce ideas off of, problem solve, or just complain about your crappy day to? I think I’m good at that. Need directions? I’m like a human GPS. But honestly, I am just not myself right now. I can’t wash the dishes because my belly bumps up against the hard granite counter top and it hurts. I cannot reach things on the floor. I can’t walk around for too long or eat a meal without a break, or carry things heavier than my purse. I woke up to three completely non-threatening e-mails this morning and I cried. I mean it. These e-mails were totally benign, took me no time to answer, from polite, nice people that I like, and I felt so overwhelmed I actually teared up. I am so forgetful and things keep slipping my mind and it would be great if I just got a pass for the next couple of weeks. Seriously, if there’s anything you can take off my hands, just take it.
I’m right about everything, OK? I’m well aware that I’m not really right about everything all the time (even though I like to joke that I am), but right now? Just for right now? I am. I don’t plan to be difficult or stubborn forever, but right now, my priorities are donuts and sleep. Those are my main focus. If you have a real bone to pick with me, it’s gonna have to wait.
Bring snacks and high-fives on over. If you do either of these things you will endear yourself to me forever. I am basically always hungry and everything sounds great to me. I’m also grateful for words of encouragement, juicy gossip, girly pampering, and understanding. It means everything to me to get an e-mail cheering me on, a funny text, or a simple “I know what you mean.” I love hearing from cool moms who “get it.” You’re my beacons of hope.
Let’s celebrate my last days of freedom. It takes me way too much effort to put on makeup and the whole deal, but if you’re cool being seen with me in my mismatched and frankly, too tight maternity clothes (I didn’t even know that could happen), I will
gladly probably get in the shower if you want to go get coffee (decaf for me) or sushi (green dragon roll for both of us!) or see a movie. I know these days are numbered. Not too long from now I will have hemorrhoids and an infant attached to my boob so let’s go see The Hobbit now. I’ll sneak in the candy.
Talk to me about anything …but terrorism. Can we keep it light? Yes, I’m appalled by current events, but I have enough anxiety without thinking about gun violence or politics or Bill Cosby (Yes, duh, I think he’s guilty). I will return to being a good citizen as soon as I come to grips with my double chin and birthing this child, something I’m not at all convinced I can actually do.
Actually, don’t talk about my body either. I know what I look like, kind of. I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection on a glass door today and felt very alarmed. I do not want to hear that you think my daughter is “gonna be big.” Let’s at least wait to fat shame her until she’s taken her first breath, then we can all take aim at the little chub. My normally hyperactive resolve to not care about my weight is on hiatus. So what’s going to happen is that we’re all just gonna pretend nothing is happening and don’t you dare complain to me about your thighs. You know nothing, Jon Snow!
Keep the advice to a minimum. I promise not to read pregnancy message boards if you promise not to tell me your birth story. I appreciate good advice from people I like and trust, and I will generally ask for it if I need it. Some of the advice I’ve gotten is great! If it’s something that really helped you and feels like a big problem solver, I’m happy to hear it, I just may be past the point of retaining it. There are just way too many opinions for me to incorporate them all into my cerebral cortex. I have an extremely short bandwidth. I have been doing my own laundry since I was 12, but the other day I called my mom into the room to help me sort out my baby’s new clothes; I just could not make rational decisions about what colors were going to run in the machine.
Please stop asking me if I’m ready or if I’m excited. No, I’m not ready. Yes, I am excited. I am very very excited about having a baby. It’s literally the only thing that makes this whole deal worth it. You name me one person on earth who would sign up for 9 months of this pregnancy nonsense if the end result wasn’t literally the miracle of life.
I can’t believe this pregnancy is almost over or how close I am to being a mom. It’s taken so much work to get here and the big day is literally just around the corner. I can’t wait for everyone to meet my daughter. I just need a nap first.