So… one of my girlfriends is pregnant. She’s with child. She’s cooking up a person in her God-given oven. She’s… going to be a mother. And she’s not in a relationship; this was an accident. An ACCIDENT.
So my first response is EWWW… WHO is having unprotected sex in THESE days? Then I thought of my friend and decided that it was more likely a Ross and Rachel (Friends) situation, the 1% time that a condom doesn’t work. Then I thought that if she had even suspected this, she could have gone and gotten the morning after pill. And also a battery of tests. Because now, in a few short months, there’ll be a whole new person walking about in her life. A whole new person that she’ll be responsible for, for the rest of her life. A whole new person who will first look up at her, then make her life the epitome of the battle between good and evil.
There will be dirty diapers, and breastfeeding, and napping, and exhaustion. There’ll be battling the tendency of throwing the child out of the window after an afternoon of non-stop screaming, and the zombie-like sleeplessness of watching them sleep because she’s terrified of cot death. There’ll be the uncomfortable teething period, the graduation from crawling to standing, the panic of finding them wondering what a socket is for. There’ll be the separating them from another child’s hair, and teaching them how to share toys. There’ll be potty training, and a training to eliminate tantrums, and a new level of patience developed because of an extended period of them following her around asking ‘Why?’ after every answer.
In 13 short years, she will be conducting insane negotiations about curfew with a rude, pierced, marijuana-experimenting teenager who doesn’t want to go to college, but rather wants to take their ‘rock band’ to the world stage. There will be inappropriate girlfriends or criminally-minded boyfriends being sneaked into her house, where, the day after she’s done her weekly grocery shopping, the fridge will be half-empty. There will be doctor’s appointments and PTAs, and hockey or football games to attend, and headmasters to deal with and essays to correct, and tutors to be hired.
It’s sickening, and scary, and no wonder she looks like she’s about to pass out from shock any moment. Except she also looks more beautiful than she ever has. Her skin is l’Oreal perfect, and, unconsciously, once in a while, she does this thing where she passes a possessive, protective hand over her lower abdomen and smiles distantly. It’s distracting and annoying, and I won’t be seeing her for a good while.
…You get that I’m totally and completely and utterly JEALOUS, right? There is a distinctly green tinge to my face which is ANYTHING but l’Oreal, and after this, I’m giving myself an hour to pout. Just one.