Poor, poor Dave.
4 out of 5 nights I make a racket when I’m getting settled into bed. I’m unwieldy and uncomfortable, and I’m not taking it like Gary Cooper.
I get into bed.
I pull my pregnancy pillow up between my legs.
I go to lie on my side.
“Ow. OW. Oh.”
I organize the pillows under my head.
“Ow. Mmm! Mmmm. Ow.”
I settle in.
“Oh my god.”
I mean, thank God I’m not both pregnant and an old lady, because it would be intolerable. I’d be like, OH LORD JESUS! JESUS, LET A WOMAN SLEEP. OH DEAR GOD. OH MY BONES. OH HONEY.
So two nights ago, I have my regular “oof” routine going, but this time it is bookended by
Dave had gone to bed hours before I did, and was sound asleep. When I came in, I stepped in some water that had spilled. And I was like, “I just stepped in something WET! God!” Dave murmured, “Wha?” And I said, “Some water spilled on the floor! What is that?” I stomped off to get a towel and then I stepped on something sharp, and I was like, “FUCK!” And Dave, slightly more awake now, was like “Wha? What?” And I said, “Now I stepped on something SHARP! Goddamnit!” and I reached down to pick it up, oof, and it was just a little piece of plastic, nothing dangerous, but I was like, “It’s this sharp little THING! I’m just…I’ve stepped in enough tonight!”
I wasn’t done.
I got into bed and did the oof oof ugh thing but extra-petulantly, and then my neck and back started hurting, and I started crying, “My neck! My neck hurts! Ow!” and then I realized that the top sheet had been put on sideways, and I was like “GOD, this SHEET is SIDEWAYS!!” Dave was totally awake now, and was like, “What? What? Do you want me to fix it?” and I was like “NO, it’s FINE!”
I want you to know that I realized that I was being a ginormous baby lady. I just couldn’t stop. I tried. I lay there, muffling my weeping under a pillow. And then it hit.
OVERWHELMING FEAR OF IMMINENT PARENTHOOD.
It was like, my neck, my back, my belly, my foot, this sheet….in 10-14 weeks a tiny baby will be out here needing me to take care of it. The dam, already in a bad state of repair, burst. Burst. Buh-urst! Giant-mouthed, Peanuts-style weeping and howling. Poor Dave was trying to ask me what was wrong and I couldn’t tell him. I eventually squeaked out, “I’m afraid,” and went right back to wailing.
Dave sat up and rubbed my back while I howled, and eventually I calmed down enough to sleep.
I hope I’m getting this out of my system.
Dave is a hero.