Butt Spot for Baby

32 weeks.  astoria, ny

Sept. 21:  32 Weeks.  Little Fetus Froo Froo is the size of a large jicama.

Sept 22:  Someone offeres me her seat on the subway!!!  I am seven months pregnant and I think this is the first.  She doesn't ask if I am pregnant, or make a big deal out of it, she just turns over her precious butt-spot for my butt.  (*Note:  the two dudes on either side of her do not budge.  Good job guys.  Just, be aware, you white guys are scoring very low in this small social experiment.)

Sept 23:   I have a few irrational fears.  First and foremost, terrorists.  I am regularly spooked that one of these guys is going to hijack the subway system and kill me and my baby in a horrible and humiliating way.  Sheffield agrees that this is irrational, and demands that I stop watching the news.  I obey.

Secondly, and perhaps less irrational, I am increasingly fearful of subway steps.  Namely, of falling down them.  Sheffield says this is not irrational, because people do fall down subway steps sometimes, and that I should be careful.  I obey.  I am decidedly slow going down the subway stairs.  I am a New Yorker's Nightmare.  New Yorkers want to plough through me, walk over my head, or kill me in a horrible and humiliating way.  Because I understand their frustration, and can relate, I often step aside and let the rush pass so I don't feel the crowd and the hatred bearing down on me.

However, unlike Terrorists, 

I think most New Yorkers are just full of a lotta hot air, 

so, sometimes, I continue at my own pace and those bitches can wait.

Today, carrying two heavy bags of groceries in addition to my backpack, I am making my way down the subway stairs at Union Square.  It is not rush hour.  It is 9:20 on a Friday night.  There is no crowd. However, a train has already arrived and its passengers are making their way up the steps beside me as I inch down, fumbling to keep the grocery bags on my arms and still hold the railing... the railing on my right; I know how this works.

(PS.  Dear tourists, staying to the right works on sidewalks, too, 

as well as on the roads when driving in cars.)  

From behind I hear someone barreling down the steps behind me.  I am halfway down now, and because of the person-traffic to our left, neither of us can make room for the other and we are stuck in the same narrow path.  I have long given up that I will make it onto the train that is about to depart.  

That is our plight, Little Fetus Froo Froo and I; we must always take the next train.  But don't we think it's a small price to pay for our, you know, survival?  We do. 

Dude behind me wants to make it on the train that is still hovering in the station, and starts this chant:  "Go, go, go, go, goooooo...."  to me, presumably.  And now I've had it.  I step from the last step of the flight onto the platform, and turn to face my pushy passenger:  "Dude, I'm pregnant.  I'm doing the best I can."  He doesn't respond; he just bolts to the doors of the train, which promptly close on his nose and he does not make it on.

I see it as a World Lesson:  Bullies never prosper.  Or get a seat on the subway.

Sept 24:  The girl behind the counter at the Mediterranean place is unenthused about my request for half tomato and half lentil soup.  (I realize it is a high-maintenance move, but seriously, the lentil soup alone is just a little too bland and the tomato soup just won't pack the protein.)  I throw down my pregnant card ("I know it's weird, but I'm pregnant, and that's the only thing that sounds good.")  It works!

(And PS.  They should put that mixed-soup combo on the menu.  And I should get a cut of the profits.)

Sept 25:  Seriously, these great acts of kindness fill my heart.  You guys are too much.  TOO MUCH!  So many friends and family have rallied with gifts, hand-me-downs, clothes, and baby stuff, it's like Christmas once a week.  Today, two boxes of fun and practical gifts and hand-me-downs arrived from my D.C. friend Cathryn, her husband Daniel, and their son Gregory (pictures below.)  My friends Jenn and Brad in Asheville kept me at their house and cared for me when the morning sickness started, though we had no idea how bad it would get.   My aunt Mary took care of me during the next week when sh!t first hit the fan, and saw to it that I got fluids (and medicine) through an IV since I couldn't keep it down the other way.  My parents kept me at the their house when I was at my sickest, caring for me and preparing what little food I could handle.   In Cape May, the cast members that had never met me before became like a family of godparents to the Little Fetus Froo Froo.  There have been showers, and parties, and an infant-sized pink Charlie's Angels shirt.  I am so grateful.  Grateful.  Grateful.  It's often hard to live in a city where I have no "family," but somehow, my real family is always there when I need them, and the "world family" handles the rest.

Thank you Cathryn, Daniel, Gregory!

Sept 26:  Please don't tell me I need to eat more, or I need to eat differently.  I am eating every ninety minutes, balancing carbs with protein.  I spend more money on food now than I ever have in my life.  I am not counting calories.  I am not concerned about weight-gain.  I am just trying to fit in enough food so that I don't faint, but not so much that I suffer heartburn or throw up.  It's a very delicate balance.  So, please do not advise me on my diet.  And, yes, I would love a doughnut, thank you.  But, just half, please...

Sept 27:   Have I mentioned how terrific Sheffield is?  I mean, my golly gosh, he is really doing great at taking care of pregnant-me.  I won't get all mushy-mushy, here, but I think it would be criminal for me to continue this blog without acknowledging that the dude has stepped up.  And up.  And up.  Three cheers for Sheffield!  Hip hip HOORAY!  Hip hip HOORAY!  Hip hip... can you go buy me some juice?