Preggo Brain

Pity the man who is forced to live 10 long months with a pregnant woman. (Yes, 10. I don't know why people seem so eager to say 9 when in reality a normal human gestation is 10 months. Believe me, once you hit week 40 day 1, you start counting the minutes).

My dear husband eagerly herded the boys to the basement this morning so I could shower and dress for my much-anticipated baby shower (not mine - a friend's). Little did he realize what he escaped.

At first I put on yesterday's clothes until I could figure out what to wear. This has become increasing difficult as I have officially reached The Fat Stage (too big or awkward for normal clothes, too small for maternity). Soon my unmade bed was littered with castoffs.

Doug reappeared long enough to nix my outfit, saying something to the effect that it reminded him of one of our elderly neighbors. Surprisingly, I wasn't offended, but I did happen to agree that it didn't suit. My goal was to find something that looked nice but didn't make me look like I was trying to look like I was pregnant.

Doug: But the truth is, you are.

Julie: Well, thanks a lot, Captain Obvious. Apparently you have
never been pregnant before.

Doug: (Exits stage left, hoping he has no reason to return, shuffling the
children to Wal-Mart to buy a baseball bat.)

Like I said, I pity the man.

Anyway, I finally chose a suitable outfit (which was approved by my dear hubbie though one may never know if he was being honest or just hoping to live another day). I made a coordinating card for the baby gift, looked up directions, and left the house, allowing enough time to be fashionably late.

The only other time I drove to this friend's house, I got lost (it is most suitably located in a subdivision named Hiddenbrook). I made all the appropriate turns, however, only to find an empty driveway and dark house. My phone calls were unanswered.

Confused, I drove home to realize the party was actually on Saturday, May 2.

Momnesia is real.

Like with Andrew: I was still working at NAPA the first three months I was pregnant with Andrew. One of my last tasks was to coordinate a retirement party for my boss, including sending invitations to all of our sales reps. Until one of them happened to mention it in conversation, I didn't realize that I had actually sealed all the response cards in their envelopes. (Thankfully we had a good turnout regardless).

Or with Stephen: On the day I went to purchase a pregnancy test (from Target - I didn't know then that Dollar Tree would do the trick), I called home to tell Doug what to feed Andrew, except I dialed the number from our apartment in Knoxville and couldn't for the life of me figure out why I couldn't get through.

Or with Matthew: I was at a fundraising dinner, chatting with two women I have known for several years. Another friend of mine came up and I asked her if she had met Lady A and Lady B. As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I began to silently pray that she would say "Yes" because I could not recall their names. Thankfully, she did. (I later admitted my slip of mind, but collectively the 2 women have 16 children so they were understanding).

I think I should stop while I'm ahead.