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.
