Anne TootillTo Be or Not to Be a Mother -Part One
September 21st 2006 13:59
The sun is shinning, the birds are singing. Life is good. I’m primping in front of the full length mirror. A little blush here, a dab of lipstick there. Pull up those stretchie jeans. Smooth down the tent-sized top to properly showcase my bulging belly but at the same time hide my growing butt. A delicate balancing act but I was a seasoned pro.
Doorbell rings. Right on time. I pull-out the wads of tissue from the corners of my mouth (gotta ebb the flow so I had both hands free for proper primping), toss them in the trash, grab my spit pot and my bag and I race down the stairs and to the door. Time to party. O.K so maybe after months of captivity my racing legs were a bit too wobbly to run the marathon but I did make it all the way across the house AND down a flight of steps all by myself and without one time-out.
There she was. My younger sis. Patiently sitting outside in her car. Waiting for me. Just like any other normal person. I sighed remembering those good old days. No, I scolded myself. Not today. No reminiscing today. And no more talk about drool. Not today. I wasn’t going to give it a second thought I decided, spitting the extra saliva into my kidney dish and wiping the lingering spit from my chin. Nope, today the world was my oyster and my sister and I were about to embark on an adventure. I was out of the house. Real world here I come.
We chatted. We laughed. We gossiped about mutual friends and neighbors. And if my sister hadn’t had to pull the car over to the side of the road so I could empty my filled to the brim spit pot it really was the good old days.
Forty minutes later I had checked in and took my seat among the preggers and nonpreggers. Now I understood how the Elephant Man must have felt in a crowd. I was the hit of the sidelong glance. What’s wrong with her? No one had to say a word but like the one-eyed fortune teller I could read their mind. Come one come all to the greatest freakish sideshow of all. In this corner is the bearded lady. Over there is the man with two heads. And on this side of the obstetrician’s waiting room my friend, is the one sight sure to appall…my spit pot and me.
Doorbell rings. Right on time. I pull-out the wads of tissue from the corners of my mouth (gotta ebb the flow so I had both hands free for proper primping), toss them in the trash, grab my spit pot and my bag and I race down the stairs and to the door. Time to party. O.K so maybe after months of captivity my racing legs were a bit too wobbly to run the marathon but I did make it all the way across the house AND down a flight of steps all by myself and without one time-out.
There she was. My younger sis. Patiently sitting outside in her car. Waiting for me. Just like any other normal person. I sighed remembering those good old days. No, I scolded myself. Not today. No reminiscing today. And no more talk about drool. Not today. I wasn’t going to give it a second thought I decided, spitting the extra saliva into my kidney dish and wiping the lingering spit from my chin. Nope, today the world was my oyster and my sister and I were about to embark on an adventure. I was out of the house. Real world here I come.
We chatted. We laughed. We gossiped about mutual friends and neighbors. And if my sister hadn’t had to pull the car over to the side of the road so I could empty my filled to the brim spit pot it really was the good old days.
Forty minutes later I had checked in and took my seat among the preggers and nonpreggers. Now I understood how the Elephant Man must have felt in a crowd. I was the hit of the sidelong glance. What’s wrong with her? No one had to say a word but like the one-eyed fortune teller I could read their mind. Come one come all to the greatest freakish sideshow of all. In this corner is the bearded lady. Over there is the man with two heads. And on this side of the obstetrician’s waiting room my friend, is the one sight sure to appall…my spit pot and me.
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