Nesting

People have said all sorts of cliches to me during my pregnancy. Anytime pickles are mentioned, people look meaningfully in my direction as if they know, they just know, how often I eat them these days.* "You're huge!" is the current, highly annoying comment.* But at the top of the list is the significant giggle when they warn me about the NESTING INSTINCT!!!


Now I'm not a domestic goddess. Only once in my life have I become excited about house cleaning, and that was for the week after my wedding--a week which ended with me accidentally slicing my wrist open and nearly losing the use of my left hand forever. Judgement, I remind myself whenever cleaning becomes too exciting, for getting too involved in something so inconsequential.

But this morning I turned to my husband and said, "I really feel like I should be freezing food. But we don't have any room in the freezer." And then I looked down at the five (lovely) muffins remaining from our breakfast and said, "I think I'll freeze these muffins for after the baby comes."

And then realized that all those people were right! I've been worried over laundry, the unfinished-until-yesterday nursery, the dirty little strips of wax on the kitchen floor, the vaccuum bag, the handsoap refill which seems to have disappeared, food, food, and food. My nesting instinct might look more like a normal person's stewardship, but for me, it's a bit overdone.

The great thing about it all is that our little one will come when its ready regardless of whether I made that apple pie or not. Or bleached the bathroom. Or dusted my pantry. And thankfully, soon, the nesting instinct will creep out the back door in my psyche, ashamed at how little progress it made. I'll wave goodbye and grin.




*Irregardless of the fact that the combination of pickles and ice cream sounds like heartburn on a plate, besides, in a metaphor-mixing way, taking the cake for gross dinner ideas!

*I know, of course I am, every woman at 38 weeks is huge--there's a full-sized baby in there! I'm not as big as a house, I'm a hotel! The wonderful little person in there will be checking out soon and I do think we'll both be relieved!

On Invasion and Public Perception

There's something about being pregnant that seems to announce to the world, "Touch me! Flatter/insult me! Tell me horror stories about the great ordeal through which I'll be going in just a few short weeks!" "Ask me hideously embarrassing questions about any topic which strikes your interest!"

Why? Why do old women and young place their hands reverently on my bump (and I'm always perversely glad when my child refuses to move until they're gone)? Why does my weight--always before a subject not to be ventured upon--become of such interest and approval/disapproval? And why in the name of all that's holy does every woman who has ever given birth, thought of giving birth, or heard of someone else giving birth tell me about all that can go wrong with birth--the enforced C-section, the endless labor with no progress, the hospital that ignored everything it was told--and then blithely turn away from me, saying, "Good luck with yours!"? Why do people ask me how we conceived this child (and yes, I'm tempted to say, "The usual way")?

I seem to remember reading a discussion at some point about how the pregnant woman becomes public property--how most individuals in our culture seem fascinated by the burgeoning belly, by the promise of new life, by the straying from the perceived societal norm of flat bellies. It is as if personal boundaries--easily infringed upon in daily life--become non-existent during the five or so months when pregnancy is discernable.

This may be partly due to the fact that, due to the obvious nature of pregnancy, one's personal life becomes suddenly public. The state of my reproductive organs has always been of an intensely personal nature to me, but now anyone,--from the waiter who offers my husband and myself seating for "Two and a half" to the smiling strangers who ask me when I'm due--can see exactly what is happening in the innermost sanctum of my body and make a crushingly good guess about what is happening in my emotional temple as well. My womanhood, which before I could either downplay or accentuate by my wardrobe choices and carriage, is now flaunted before the world. Every move I make fairly displays the femininity I carry. My round and lovely belly going before me is the flag of identification with every mother throughout history who has populated the world with all these wonderful, zany, tactless people.

It's a strange, far-too-public place to be. And yet there is very little I can do about it other than the obvious: repel unwanted advances, though that becomes very difficult as I'm usually not prepared and often in the moment more concerned about giving offense than anything else.

Am I the only one who feels this way? Am I missing a vital point in this public interaction during pregnancy? What is the strangest position in which you've been placed by being pregnant in public? I look forward to hearing your thoughts.