Friday morning, I sat in the Wal-Mart parking lot, watching a little bird in an evergreen tree and telling my mother that we are expecting a girl. She said “Oh,” and then told me that the crew that cleaned their carpets hadn’t done a very good job. Only an hour earlier, I had told my husband that I wasn’t going to tell her for awhile, that I really wanted this to be the thing that would get her excited about the grandkid, and that I was worried that even this wouldn’t be enough to get her to emotionally invest.
Shortly after placing Cricket, I showed my mom some patterns for knitted Moses basket linings, and asked her if, when the time came, she would make one for her first raised grandchild—I told her that it was important to me, and she agreed. I brought it up again when I told her that I was pregnant with this little bird, and it’s taken me a few months to realize that it ain’t gonna happen. It’s a silly thing to get hung up on, of course, but a friend recently offered to knit something for the baby and I thought of it again. I had a Moses basket when I was a baby—does anyone do that anymore? Perhaps my mom is just embarrassed by how behind the times I am.
Several people have told me that everyone gets tested for STDs and drugs, and that I should maybe chill out a little. Fair enough: I was, I think, sensitized by a couple of other things that happened at the visit. One is a thing that has happened before—I tell them that I don’t smoke, they are politely skeptical, and then (in this case) the midwife listened to my lungs and said with obvious surprise, “Oh! You don’t smoke!” But the thing that put me most on my guard was a conversation that started when she asked whether I was still breastfeeding my firstborn. My general philosophy on this one is that if they’re going to be jerks about it, I need to know, so I just said “I actually placed my first child for adoption” in a neutral sort of way and waited. It was a bit awkward, but she didn’t seem hostile—just a bit flustered—and she did ask whether it was an open or a closed adoption. Guess I live in a pretty progressive area.
I look seriously pregnant now. I keep thinking about adding one of those dorky Lilypie tickers to the blog—shamefully, I have one on my home page. But at almost eighteen weeks, I definitely look more pregnant that I did at this point last time. I’m also having more back pain that I did last time, but some of that might be circumstantial; we have a futon but no bed, and I have no desk, so I sit or lie on the floor to use my computer. We are hoping to get a bed before the little bird is born, but we’ll have to see how things go.