Anne TootillTo Be or Not to Be a Mother -Part One
September 19th 2006 16:41
All pregnant women are cute. I was a pregnant woman. Therefore I was cute. It’s simple logic. If A equals B and B equals C then A equals C. It all makes perfect sense. A reasonable person would expect no less. But I defied all logic because I was pregnant and I was definitely not cute. Apparently, if you’re more than two feet tall, weigh more than 20 pounds and say more - although not always something more important - than ma ma and da da, drooling just isn’t so cute. Not even the cuteness factor that automatically attaches to pregnancy will help you turn the corner on this one. No matter how you spin it, a constantly drooling adult is unsightly. And a constantly drooling adult holding a spit pot filled with an hour’s worth of saliva (had to empty it every 1- 2 hours) is right up there with a decaying corpse left to rot for a month in the 3000 degree desert sun. Want to pat that person’s belly for good luck? I think not.
So there I was finally holding down my toast and jam, ready to make my world debut as a cute pregnant woman, ready to receive all the attention and goodwill that would be naturally bestowed upon a woman in my condition when I morphed like some anti-superhero, into the pregnant Bride of Frankenstein. Thank goodness for older sisters. Mine dropped by regularly bringing along my one year old nephew. Leave it to a sister to make you feel normal even if you were missing half your face. It was like she didn’t even notice a thing. Same old, same old. We’d talk about how our mother was driving us crazy, what our husband’s were doing wrong, our favorite T.V. shows, etc.,etc.,etc. And you know if she hadn’t brought up that movie. Turner and Hooch. The one starring Tom Hanks as Turner. If she’d never doubled over laughing, gasping for air as she described Hank’s partner Hooch, a huge drooling dog and how much I reminded her of him, then maybe, maybe for a few minutes I could have pretended I wasn’t a freak this pregnancy had created.
But like in all sibling relationships there comes a time when it’s as good to give as it is to receive. Not long after Valentine’s day arrived and with it came big sis with a big box of chocolates and as I bit into a solid dark piece of heaven…close your eyes and imagine what happened next (and remember I over- Tosalivate). Et tu Brutus. Revenge was mine.
Or not I thought as she left to meet up with her hubby for a romantic dinner for two while I went to rinse and clean my spit pot which had turned a deep brown and was beginning to smell. Pregnancy was supposed to be fun. isn't that the message we've been given? So when would the good times start to roll?
So there I was finally holding down my toast and jam, ready to make my world debut as a cute pregnant woman, ready to receive all the attention and goodwill that would be naturally bestowed upon a woman in my condition when I morphed like some anti-superhero, into the pregnant Bride of Frankenstein. Thank goodness for older sisters. Mine dropped by regularly bringing along my one year old nephew. Leave it to a sister to make you feel normal even if you were missing half your face. It was like she didn’t even notice a thing. Same old, same old. We’d talk about how our mother was driving us crazy, what our husband’s were doing wrong, our favorite T.V. shows, etc.,etc.,etc. And you know if she hadn’t brought up that movie. Turner and Hooch. The one starring Tom Hanks as Turner. If she’d never doubled over laughing, gasping for air as she described Hank’s partner Hooch, a huge drooling dog and how much I reminded her of him, then maybe, maybe for a few minutes I could have pretended I wasn’t a freak this pregnancy had created.
But like in all sibling relationships there comes a time when it’s as good to give as it is to receive. Not long after Valentine’s day arrived and with it came big sis with a big box of chocolates and as I bit into a solid dark piece of heaven…close your eyes and imagine what happened next (and remember I over- Tosalivate). Et tu Brutus. Revenge was mine.
Or not I thought as she left to meet up with her hubby for a romantic dinner for two while I went to rinse and clean my spit pot which had turned a deep brown and was beginning to smell. Pregnancy was supposed to be fun. isn't that the message we've been given? So when would the good times start to roll?
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