There’s a party going on in my tummy, right as we speak. I digit letters on this keyboard and a baby, my baby, is growing bigger and bigger, floating around, waving, stretching and preparing to come to life, in a few months.
After weeks of lying around desiring a cloud under my bum and a vacuum to pull all the nausea out of my system, I’m finally in the middle of my “pregnancy honeymoon period”. My baby and I are getting to know each other, even though I don’t know whether it’s a boy or a girl, the great expectations my crazy mind is filling this unborn human being with, are occupying most of my dreams and my anxieties.
The other night I dreamt I had a baby girl, she was full of hair on her head and she was perfectly able to speak even though she only was three weeks old. “You’re not my mommy, are you?” Was the first thing she told me, “I really don’t think you’re mommy, I think that man is,” pointing at a random dude that was walking down the street. According to my subconscious and my fears of inadequacy to be able to be a great mom, a “random dude walking down the street” would have fulfilled my baby’s need of love and attention better than I could.
Sometimes I find myself fantasizing about my baby discovering the vaccine for AIDS, or maybe he (or she) is going to win a Pullitzer Prize, or will perhaps be the next Andy Warhol and an amazing philanthropist full of artistic ideas and idealism. My little puddle of love is not even around, yet I’m trying to decide if it’d be better for him (or her) to attend University in Europe or in the United States in order to accomplish all these things (at once, in a lifetime).
…And then, there are the swings. Going from an incredible sense of peace to effervescent joy and the most dramatic melancholia, all in the spun of two minutes and all because I’m glad I found a strawberry-banana yogurt in the fridge but I then discovered the aforementioned yogurt expired a week ago. Only that piece of kinder chocolate bar that my husband ordered from New York is able to make me happy again.
Now I cannot quite describe how I feel at the idea that in three weeks, only three weeks, we’re going to finally find out if we’re going to buy pink or blue hats for our wonderful creature. It feels like a million colored butterflies are flying into a rainbow of fluffiness and marshmellows, just thinking about it. Sounds cheesy? Well, get out of here. It’s my cheese!
Truth is, I’ve never been this excited in my life.