[My husband keeps me sane.]
I've heard that some women can't stand their husbands when they're pregnant. Not this woman. As independent as I think I am. As strong. As determined. As tenacious and scrappy. I'm afraid I'd be a tragic mess without Joe. I don't tell him enough. How happy I am that I married him. That I chose to have a baby with him. That he chose to marry me. Have a baby with me. How grateful I am for his unconditional love. Because believe me, there are moments when I wouldn't love me. But he does. And he tells me. Over and over. How grateful I am for his kindness. His compliments. That he tells me I'm beautiful. Even as I get bigger and crankier and dismiss every ounce of his flattery and crinkle my nose at the mention of beauty. Still he tells me I'm beautiful. And in moments of solitude, I think of that. And in moments of frustration, I think of that. And I think Damn girl, you're lucky to be so loved. And I think about my son. How lucky he is to have a father who sets his head on my stomach and says "Hello in there. How you doing? If you can hear me, kick me in the face. It's the only time I'll allow it, so do it while you can."
Pregnancy, as exciting as it is, can be a frightening endeavor. It can be as heavy or as light as you want it to be. As dramatic. Or humorous as you want it to be. You see that hand puppet up there? That's my husband's hand. He drew on it while I was in the middle of a glucose test last month at our birthing center. For those of you who are unfamiliar with glucose tests, it's a gestational diabetes screening that requires guzzling a bottle of foul-tasting, sugary syrup and then waiting an hour for a blood draw. During that hour, my husband went to the bathroom, where he grabbed a Sharpie marker used for marking urine samples, and on his hand drew two eyes and a mouth. When he returned to the waiting room, he insisted on talking using only the hand puppet. In a ridiculous voice, of course. When it was time to draw blood he made obscene faces with the puppet behind the nurse's back causing me to giggle awkwardly before being pricked. Note: I failed this test and returned three days later (without Joe) for a three-hour test that required 12 hours of fasting and ingesting a stronger, more sugary syrup concoction Without him the test was boring. Tedious. Definitely not funny. Definitely not worth writing about. Other than the fact that I passed. At the next appointment, my 32-week appointment, while we waited for the midwife to enter our room, Joe and I played a game of hot potato with the rubbery life-size fetuses on display. This was followed by a game of Which is it: Pregnant or FUPA? There was a lot of activity that day in the birthing center. A woman was in labor at the end of the hallway. Female family members of all shapes and sizes were running amok awaiting the arrival of a niece, or nephew, or cousin, or grandchild. One woman's FUPA so closely resembled a baby bump that we were convinced she was pregnant until we realized she was in her mid-50s. At least. I was laughing so hard when the midwife walked in the room I could hardly regain my composure. I married Joe for these moments. Because there's no one else I would rather toss a rubber fetus with at 34 weeks pregnant, who makes me laugh when I'm uncomfortable who tells me I'm beautiful even though I'm beginning to resemble The Blueberry Girl from Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory. My wish for all girls who one day hope to settle down with a mate is that they find someone who stretches mundane moments into stories worth retelling. Because that's all life is. The good stuff, anyway. The meaty stuff. The stuff that lulls us to sleep at night. Stories and moments strung between people like a tangled fishing line invisible to everyone else but you. What matters and consoles Comforts and inspires. Love is the man who rubs your back when you're sick and pregnant as I was this week. The man who heads to the drug store at midnight to get cough drops and sore throat spray for his wife, who's lying in bed miserable and wheezing. The man who actually sprays the stuff in his wife's mouth even though she's just warned him, "I might vomit on you when you do it." The man who pats his pillow at night and lets his wife curl up beside him hooking her leg over his and where there once was empty space now there's an unborn son. Wedged between them. Kicking them both. Like some kind of baby Morse code for goodnight. On Monday night I had my first painting class in a series of six painting classes at an art center in downtown St. Petersburg. It was a Christmas gift from Joe. I figured I best get the classes in now. Before The King is born. I also figured I'd paint something cool for The Baby Cave. I walked into class with my canvas. My paints My palette in tow. I was sick. My voice was gone. I was sucking on honey cough drops and nursing a bottle of water. I thought painting would make me feel better. The woman next to me asked when I was due. "June 1," I rasped, pointing to my throat to indicate my voice was shot. "Boy or girl?" She asked. "Boy," I whispered. "You're in for a treat," she said. "I LOVE my boy. He's my everything." I smiled. Nodded knowingly. When really I know nothing. Yet. "His father was out of the picture before he was even born," the woman continued. "I was four months pregnant when he left." She looked at me strong, determined tenacious and scrappy. "How old is he now?" I asked. "21. He just got into art school. He's the one who encouraged me to take this class." I looked at the painting she had started. It was of a woman's back. A muscular woman draped in red silk. I looked at my own sorry painting of two brown owls and hung my head in embarrassment. "You'll be surprised by how much boys love their mamas," she said. An hour later, I bailed out of class early. I could hardly breathe. The smell of acrylic paint was making me nauseous. I was coughing too much to be in public anyway. I felt stupid for surrounding myself with healthy people. I felt guilty for spreading my sickness. I waddled in the dark to my car. The Rays game had just let out. The city was buzzing with traffic. The air was sticky and filled with the sounds of honking horns and car stereos with too much treble. I drove to CVS to get Robitussin. In the parking lot, I saw a little white dog with three legs. He was so happy. He had that dog smile going on. Tongue out. Half-jumping, half-walking alongside his owner. Suddenly, uncontrollably I started bawling. I don't know why. Was it the three-legged dog? The single mother with the artist son? Hormones? Bronchitis? Anxiety? I drove home crying. I walked through the front door crying. I plodded up the set of stairs leading into our living room. Crying. Joe turned the corner. The pug circled my feet. A bad sitcom laugh track hee-hawed on TV. "How was your class?" He stopped short. Saw me My tear-streaked face. My pathetic owl painting. My bag of acrylic paints. "WHAT'S WRONG?" He asked, bewildered. "I don't know," I whimpered. I crumpled into his chest. A sniffling heap of phlegm and belly. My forearms speckled in brown paint. "Was the class THAT bad?" He asked. "No," I replied hoarsely. Dumbly. "The class was great. I loved the class. I painted two stupid owls." I flashed my painting. He smiled. "I thought they were bears." I started to laugh. A cry-laugh. A pitiful cry-laugh. I thought of the single mom. Who is, by the way, still single. How much braver than I she was. I thought of the three-legged dog running at a good clip through the CVS parking lot. Beaming. Oblivious to his handicap. "So what exactly is the matter?" Joe asked. I blubbered to find the words. But all I could muster was Thank you. For being there.
You’re welcome. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Wow. Your writing is incredible. What a wonderful post!
Hm, I do the crumple crying thing even though I’m not currently procreating. It’s an amazing feeling to have that soft hearted place to fall. Congrats you guys! xo
I can barely type this on my phone, my eyes are so welled up…
Amazing heid….
Amazing.
You are so amazing. I can’t stop crying. That was one of the most beautiful things I have ever read. And to think that was my son you were talking about. He is like his father in a lot of ways. I love you guys. That was truly, truly amazing and I am still crying.
Darn you Heidi for making me cry at work. Guess I should be working and not reading blogs.
That same man who has kept you sane during the pregnancy will keep you sane through the crying nights, the pee on the walls while changing diapers, the the silly things little boys do because they are yours…both boys.
Thanks for reminding me to tell my guy thanks for keeping me sane through the nutty things that happen to me.
You always put it into perspective my dear. Henry will love his mama-boys always do, and he will be lucky enough to have a great role model in Joe so that someday your daughter-in law will write (or at least think) such wonderful things about Henry 🙂
Heidi out of all the wonderful stories you have written or told over the years this is my absolute favorite. I love how you express all of your emotions so clearly. Etching a picture in the readers head, as you touch their hearts. You made me laugh, you made me cry……but most of all you make me very proud. My greatest wish for all of my daughters since the day you each were born, was that you always felt loved, knew how to love and that you love life itself. This story confirms that my wish for you has been fulfilled. You and Joe are going to make awesome parents because you already are a couple of awesome people. Love you both
I think this was my favorite post of all posts. Read it twice Heid. Made me cry twice too! I can’t wait for Henry! Hope your feeling better! Miss u!
“This was followed by a game of
Which is it: Pregnant or FUPA?”
If I was stranded on a desert island, I think Joe would be good company.
Great post. Really great.
“find someone who stretches mundane moments into stories worth retelling.”…You tell truths so eloquently, my friend. I’m with your Mom and Helya – one of my favorite posts.
pps: One reason I think we are such good friends..think alike. I wrote a letter to Amelia before she was born about ‘where she came from,’ which was basically about the love between Mbaye and I. This will make an awesome letter to The King someday.
Amazing. Beautiful.
But it was your mother’s comment that brought the tear to my eye. Also beautiful.
Love the pregnant or FUPA game, that is great. Joe is great too 🙂
I really want to write something amazing, but I am now crying the ugly cry…what a beautiful post!
I have a perfect, tiny, precious 2 yr old daughter…her Dad left when she was 1…it was so not the plan, so not what I wanted. We are doing great, and I am so sorry for him, that he is missing so much every day that he has other stuff to do…hold on to your love, it’s hard, and Joe, you might feel kinda neglected for a while, but that’s going to pass too, she’ll have a lot to contend with! Keep making eachother laugh and all the best with your brand new litte boy coming soon!
Heidi,
What a great post. Always love your posts, but I too agree, this one is extra SPECIAL.
Henry is fortunate to have such great parents.
LOVE this. Everything about it. You got me all choked up over here.
Tell me Joe has a cousin or a brother who isn’t afraid of snow, loves hockey and wouldn’t mind me ending some of my sentences with ‘eh’….?
Yup, I am welling up too. Heidi, this is a beautiful post. I write a blog but lay no claims to being a “writer”. YOU on the other hand are talented, woman! Keep it coming.
Hey, I’m a friend of Ricci’s and came across you blog through her. I’m expecting too. This cracked me up. With my first pregnancy I did the same thing – took an art class and spent 7 weeks painting an apple that no one could identify (It most closely resembled a belly button.) Thanks for sharing your wonderful writing and making me laugh!
Heidi!
I have been ready some of your writing as I come across it on FAcebook…and this was so amazing!I am 30 weeks pregnant now, and just went through that long glucose test and have a lot of the feelings you have and I JUST BAWLED reading this! You have a wonderful way with words…sincere and beautiful…I want to meet this Joe sometime! (-: All the best to you guys, you are in for a real treat…and it just gets better and better.
Thank you.
I cannot express how much I appreciate everyone’s positive feedback. I can never tell if I’m being too maudlin. Too Hallmark-y.
This thank-you-Joe post has been brewing for a long time. After a shiteous week, I was finally able to purge it from my brainspace.
I’ve been asked to post a picture of the STUPID OWL PAINTING. I think, in honor of Easter Sunday, I’ll do just that.
Stories and moments
strung between people
like a tangled fishing line
invisible to everyone else
but you.
That is one of the most beautiful things I have ever read.
It is my hope that I find a Joe, too. How lucky, blessed and wonderful your lives are and will continue to be!
So moved by this. I want to come back and read it over and over. I want to grab an intertube and float lazily down the river of these words, this imagery, this beautiful stringing along of words that form a story. Kudos yet again – this remains one of my favorite places to come and stay awhile.
LOVED it!!!!! The descriptions are wonderful….. I’m glad you have a great guy, I know too many woman that have craptastic boyfriend/husbands, and think they are great guys….. they don’t know what they are missing out on….. You just inspired me to leave Jake a a little Thank You you are awesome note and I love you in his lunch bag 🙂
It’s hard to seek out educated individuals on this topic, but you sound like you already know what you’re speaking about! Thanks