Sept 14: 31 weeks. Little Fetus Froo Froo is the size of a pineapple. Sheffield and I riff for a long long time about how dismal it would be to deliver a pineapple.
WELL-MEANING FRIENDS: So, do you know if it's a boy or a girl?
GINNA AND SHEFFIELD: We don't care. (Big sigh.) As long as it's not a pineapple...
This riff goes on for a long time.
Sept 15: I start a four-week job. At night, while rehashing the pineapple joke and other fart jokes, Sheffield makes me laugh so hard I pee. This is the second time this has happened this trimester. Don't get cocky, I tell him, it's not that big an accomplishment to make a pregnant lady pee.
Sept 16: I wear an official maternity dress that hugs my middle and everyone at my new job is very nice to me. Back on the subway, however, no one offers me a seat. I think MTA should make a little badge for pregnant ladies, so passengers don't have to guess and risk embarrassing a non-pregnant but slightly poochy-bellied lady.
The plan:
- You have to have a signed doctor's note to get one and it expires after 9 1/2 months.
- You can start using it as soon as your first puke.
- It could be a lavender-colored badge the size of a Metro card bearing this:
I'd wear the shit out of that badge.
Sept. 17: Third day on the job! Everyone here is so cool! My job is so cool! This office space is so New York and so cool!
At 10:30 AM, I faint.
It's miserable. But hardly anyone was aware. I only alerted one person, a woman I'd known for about 16 of the previous 48 hours. She brought me water and a strawberry Nutri-grain bar. I love her.
Sept 18: Fifth visit to Midwives.
We talk about the fainting episodes (two now) and decide that I don't need to see a bunch of brain or heart experts... yet. I should just "tighten up" my snacking routine. Instead of eating every two hours, I should eat every hour. So, now, I operate a lot like a cow.
When I lie down on the examining table, our Little Froo greets the midwife with a protruding foot (or knee?) just above my belly button. Midwife says "I guess I don't need to take a heartbeat check." But she does anyway. She asks about my navel ring:
MIDWIFE: Aren't you gonna take that out?
(Sheffield doesn't even try to hide his eye-rolling; he's convinced that it's infected.)
ME: I will if it becomes a problem.
MIDWIFE: 'Cause your belly's gonna get bigger...
ME: Yep. As soon as it's no longer worth it to keep it in, I'll remove it. But for now, it's okay.
YOU (READER): ARE WE STILL TALKING ABOUT THIS?!
I know, I know, but this is my plight, and I want my baby to know what I went through to have her...
Sept. 19: To keep from fainting I've been instructed to eat more protein. "Protein with every snack." And "snack every ninety minutes" (apparently, the two-hour span between noshes wasn't enough for the Mighty Froo.) So here I am. Walking down 14th Street free-handin' my roasted chicken. Just following orders.
Free-handing: /frē/ - /ˈhandiNG/. Verb. The act of eating food with ones hands, no utensils involved. The term is generally reserved for the practice of eating foods that are typically consumed with knife and fork, and really should not be handled otherwise. Eg. Poultry, meat, fish, ice cream. Get a plate and fork, lady. Love, Merriam Webster.
Sept. 20: Third time this trimester that Sheffield makes me laugh so hard I pee myself. The challenge is no longer not to pee. The challenge now is to spare the sheets, the mattress, or at least, for the love of god, woman- the rug.
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