Tina Rowley

writer + (performer) + [space left blank for surprises]

Welcome to the internet home of Tina Rowley. Here you'll find my blog, links to my other published writing, and whatever ends up climbing into the space I left blank for surprises.

 

magic 8 ball says insufferable at yule time

Dave and I went to a big party last night in honor of the closing down of the sketch comedy group I used to be in back in the day. But I'm not here to talk about sketch comedy, lords and ladies. I'm here to talk about babies, mofos. Bear with me.



Clearly, I'm nowhere near the Down Low with this impending baby. But at the party last night, when people asked me how far along I am, and I was like, "NOT VERY, BEBE!!!", I got a few sort of recoiling responses. Like, ew, oh, you didn't say that. Like, AWK-ward!

Let me just say that I totally understand some people's instinctual nervousness to hear that. Some folks have been down a bad road, and that response is just going to be automatic for them. But others, others just had it anyway, the AWK-ward! response. And then I felt like a jackass.


So, yeah. That happened.

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Today began the freaky tiredness. This isn't like a regular tiredness. My mind is alert. Even my arms and legs, they're alert. But my belly is WEIRD! It constantly feels like I've just done a large amount of situps - that fresh, non-achy muscle exertion feeling. And it makes talking difficult, because it feels like talking uses some of the same muscles that are building the baby wing.

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Christmas is coming.

Yes, not soon. But it is coming. And I know just how I'm going to be.








INSUFFERABLE, wieners!! I'm gonna be like:


(singing in whispery, reverent, transatlantic-accented falsetto):

What chi-i-ld is thi-is who laid to re-est on Ma-ry's la-ap is slee-eeping?

Ah-wa-ay in a manger, no crib for a bed, the little lord Rowley laid down his or her sweet head....

Si-ilent ni-i-ight, Ho-oly ni-i-ight.....

I'm going to be jackassing around looking all serene and knowing and wise and beatific. Look at me, everyone. The beauty of motherhood.


Am I not so sensual, so pure? Behold the holy womb, my hands alight upon it like resting doves. Fetch me a plate of cookies, you person. I cannot move, I must rest.

Because I have a little of that going on right as we speak.