I’m gettig a new issue of Hip Mama together & I need quick/short submissions (up to about 200 words) on the subject of… LABOR (work, jobs, childbirth, labor movement, etc.).
Deadline is Sunday night. Send me your submissions quick! To arielgore at earthlink.net.
maia packing up to go to college
& me still pregnant…
The baby is born and immediately he insists on make up and nail polish. He can talk, I think. Or he is communicating telepathically. I tell him he’s too young for make up and nail polish. “Make up isn’t good for newborn skin,” I tell him.
But then Krystee comes to babysit. She takes him to the mall. And when they get back they are both wearing sparkly gold and blue eye shadow and red nail polish.
Walking down the street and an old hippie slows her car, leans out her window. “Do you need a ride?”
“No, thanks, I’m all right.”
She looks puzzled, pushes her long white hair out of her face. “Honey,” she says. “You’re about to deliver.”
“I think I’ve got a few more days,” I try to assure her. “But thanks–”
She shakes her head. “You’re going to get varicose veins if you keep walking like that!” And then she shrugs, sort of half-waves, and speeds off.
* * *
Thirty-eight weeks pregnant and the nasty indigestion is back. Papaya enzymes don’t work. Or maybe it would be worse without them. Starving but I can’t figure out what to eat. Feeling whiney about the whole thing. A thousand disorganized contractions.
“You make it look so glamorous,” Sia says.
I’m inspiring I.U.D.s all over town.
I read stories on the internet about women giving birth on trains, in department stores. I remember the girl who had her baby in the movie theater where I worked when I was a teenager. She didn’t seem to know she was pregnant, let alone in labor.
I am all too aware.
I can’t go anywhere without someone gasping wide-eyed, “Are you going to have that baby TODAY?”
I recount my strange daily symptoms over nonalcoholic beers and wax nostalgic about how simple my pregnancy with Maia seemed. I think it was because I was a teenager, had that strong teenage body. Maria thinks it had more to do with blissful ignorance. “We are suffering from too much information,” she says.
This may be true, but I am also suffering from too much indigestion, too many contractions.
I was born two weeks early. I remind the little sprout of this fact, tell him it’s not so bad. You don’t have to wait for your due date, I tell him. Still, he waits.
Last week, Maia’s friend crashed into Maia’s car. The insurance company wants to total it, but they’re taking their own sweet time. Not sure how Maia is supposed to get to college. I’d drive her, of course, but the baby is due that day. Not sure which scenario sounds less wise: Driving 1,000 miles 40 weeks pregnant or driving 1,000 miles with a newborn. It’s not going to happen.
But I have a new column in Skirt Magazine. Maybe you’ll like it.