Guest Blogger Mommy2b: Dear sis, BFF, mom, husband ... and everyone else,
I am so glad you're so glad that I'm pregnant. It's funny really, you're almost more excited than me! Listen, I know you "really really really" wanna come to every doctor's appointment with me, but the thing is, the last time you came with me, you sent me text messages every minute reminding me to "eat my snack" and "drink my milk" and "get my rest" and "take it easy at the gym like the doctor said." It's as if I wasn't sitting in that same appointment with you!
About that: Should I invite you to come to my doctor's appointments with me -- and know I am SO excited you're so excited -- please do not try to pay the nurse off to find out the sex of our baby. Walking out with my file isn't going to work either. Really, it's cute and everything, but when I went back for a follow-up visit, everyone was whispering and snickering. Me and his/her daddy decided we would make our baby's sex a surprise, and we'd like to keep it that way. Capiche?
Now about the sex: Did you know that it's the year 2009 already?! These days, both boys AND girls wear blue and pink and even yellow, green, white and orange! Can you believe it? When picking presents for the baby -- which is so so nice of you BTW -- you no longer just have to choose between blue and pink! Pfew. What a relief! PS: Do you think that a 1-week-old baby knows the difference between pink, blue or yellow? Nahhhhh.
That said. Color. I know you "really really really" hate the sage green we painted the baby's room. I know you wanted ... pink ... or blue, but didn't you have the opportunity to paint your kids' rooms the color you wanted when you became a mom? I would love love love the opportunity to paint our baby's room the color we want, even though it "reminds you of snot."
Speaking of our baby's room ... Did you notice I said "Our baby?" It's so funny, because every time we talk about the baby, you say "my baby," as if it's yours! Ha ha. Didya get confused? Let me remind you: YOU are the aunt, grandparent, god parent, and I am the parent.
Parenting. I haven't even begun to think about it, so all the things you're telling me I should and shouldn't do, like not send them to daycare before they're a year old or potty train before three, or let them sleep with a sound machine, they go in one ear and out the other. The only thing I am thinking of right now is how I'm possibly going to get through pushing this baby out of me, to which, of course, you responded "Ew, it is SO disgusting you are considering having your child born at home. In your own bed? I would never do that!" Well again. I'm not you. These are my choices. My choices. My choices.
Choice is a funny thing. Cause when we went to yoga together the other day, you kept telling me "You can't do that pose, you should absolutely not be doing downward facing dog," "Are you sure you can do a sit up??" It kind of kept me from relaxing, which is what yoga is all about, ya know? Funny thing sis, you've never even been pregnant, so how do you know? I didn't realize you were a doctor.
Doctors. My doc has told me what to eat and how much to exercise and what kind of prenatals I should take, but she hasn't told me what to wear ... That's apparently where you come in. I know you don't like it when I unsnap my jeans in public, but I just wanna be comfy. So please, rather than telling me, "Boy! You really should be wearing pregnancy clothes by now!" just let my belly hang over my pants. Also, telling me that I am looking big? Not a great idea right now. K?
My pants. My baby. My belly. My parenting skills. My pregnancy.
I love you all. But please ...