I love so much that Jeff and I can frequently read each other’s minds. Last night during our hospital tour was one such time. There were probably 4 or 5 other couples in attendance and I knew we were both assessing and judging them all. No real contenders for new friends, but I could tell we were both secretly hating on the super intense woman who kept taking dramatic deep breaths and rubbing her belly in large circular motions, then started asking aggressive questions about vaccines and breastfeeding within minutes of birth. Too bad too, because her husband looked cool. Also, I knew without making eye contact that we were both vaguely annoyed with the tour guide. I suppose she gave a fine tour and it WAS incredibly helpful, if hugely surreal to realize that the next time we saw the inside of that birthing suite would be when I was actually BIRTHING, but I couldn’t help but stifle giggles over how concerned she seemed to be about Dads wanting to run around naked during the birth process. Who knew?? Multiple times she reminded us that if the Dad wanted to get in the Jacuzzi tub with Mom, they would need to wear swim trunks. She also stressed heavily that while it was okay for Moms and babies to be naked, as they were patients, Dads really needed to bring “jammy pants” and a swim suit. The image of my incredibly modest husband even thinking of stripping naked in front of our doctor totally cracked me up. But this tour guide seemed pretty serious.
One time a few years ago we were talking about kids with Jeff’s parents and how much they like running around naked when they’re little. I asked Jeff’s parents if Jeff liked to run around naked much when he was a baby (because I was having a hard time reconciling that with the modest version of him I know now) and his Dad replied, “Um, no. Jeff was born wearing a dress shirt and khakis.” I actually believe that this could be true. In contrast, I feel like there are pictures of me as a child well past the appropriate age to be naked, still running around in the back yard with no clothes on.
In other pregnancy land news, I’m apparently gaining in girth every day. Mondays are my least favorite day for two reasons now. One – going back to work and Two – anticipating the assessing looks and comments from all coworkers all day about how much I grew over the weekend. Annoying much? I AM by the way still a person of my own with thoughts and interests beyond my belly and baby. At least for another month or so. And while I’m on my Negative Nancy tirade – why does the weather have to be so fucking hot!? Yesterday was so pleasant after that god awful stretch of 90 degree weather but someone just told me that it’s supposed to get up in to the mid 90s this weekend? Just kill me now. Or buy me an air conditioner. Or check me into a hotel.