Election Day and my first OB appointment are a week away. I’ve never looked so forward to a doctor’s appointment, especially one that involved stirrups. However, all I know at present is that I’m pregnant. I have no idea how the baby is doing, how I’m doing, if everything is proceeding as it should… I want and need answers, and it seems that first appointment will never get here. I believe the reality of the pregnancy is finally starting to sink in a bit. The other night when I should have been sleeping, I was rearranging furniture in my head, trying to decide what will stay and what will go. The big debate is over my piano.
My grandparents purchased the piano in the 1950s, my mother learned to play on it, I learned to play it. When I first moved into my own apartment, my grandmother gave me the piano, and I’ve moved it around with me since. There are scars — a cigarette burn from when my dad was dating my mom, a broken (but repaired) leg when the piano was moved back to my grandmother’s house which I lived in for a spell, candle wax from a party. The piano wasn’t an especially expensive or even good sounding instrument, and is still horribly out of tune. I rarely play anymore because other things always seem to occupy my time. And it takes up a lot of valuable space. Some of my friends and family insist I can’t get rid of it because I could teach the baby to play. Others think it’s no big deal.
Regardless, in thinking about the piano and trying to make a decision, something snapped. Reality decided to step out of the closet and smack me on the head. Your life is not your own anymore, it said. Decisions will now be based on what is best for the baby. Your time will be spent caring for the baby. None of this is bad, or even new news. It just is what it is. But as reality sank in, sleep flitted away. How many other ways will our lives change? For the better? For the worse? Of all the women with children I’ve spoken to, only one has admitted that she would not have children if she could do it over again. The rest insist no matter what, it is absolutely worth it. I tend to agree, but still don’t know what to do with the damn piano.
I’m still nauseous, though I’ve been fortunate and not had any vomiting. The dizziness seems less. My hair has become that of an uncultured bush woman. My boobs are growing ever larger, and I’m scared they may suffocate me in my sleep. My belly is pushing out of my formerly comfortable pants. I pee, drink and eat all day long. And I want to bite people’s heads clean off for no known reason. Apparently all of this is normal.
3 responses so far ↓
R.L. Gibson // Wednesday, October 29, 2008 at 2:27 pm
“Your life is not your own anymore, it said. Decisions will now be based on what is best for the baby.”
Honey, your life will always be your own. Make decisions based on what is best for ALL of you. Your FAMILY is what is most important…and from what I know of you, you’re the backbone of that family….so take care of YOU.
Dean Lofton // Wednesday, October 29, 2008 at 5:39 pm
I’d love to have a piano with that much history. It can always be tuned. And when would you ever spend the money to buy an new one? You’d be more likely to buy something electronic. I think it’s “staying power” can be a nice symbol. And you can always sit stuff on top of it… so it’s functional in a unique way. Nothing “needed” would have as much character. My two cents! Love that the first doc appointment is on such a momentous day in our lifetimes!.
jairyhunter // Friday, October 31, 2008 at 8:51 am
You know what? Keep the pianio (as my 3 year old calls it); the baby won’t care about anything but banging til about age 4, but you can expose her/him to music and simple tunes.
Re: the pregnancy…not that I have firsthand knowledge, but it gets better. You’ll get to a point where you actually like being pregnant. People treat you different. I was always so proud of my pregnant wife. Your thoughts are consumed with what’s gonna happen; in a good way. If nothing else, you can use it an excuse–get to the front of the line, to sit down, to park closer to the grocery store, to sit down. And everybody lets you!
Yes, your life changes in every way. Your life is not your own–but none of the old stuff will seem to matter. And it will get easier, you’ll get a routine down. But to have something, someone, a precious creature dependent on you for the most basic of needs is a calling–a mission. You get this overwhelming sense of wanting to do everything “right,” oh, about every 5 minutes. This is where I believe God gave women the gift of knowing how to do. They just know. Sorry if that sounds sexist, but it’s one thing I’m sure of.