“I’m pregnant!” she responded again, as
if we had different English teachers growing up and I was now somehow unable to
read.
“I AM SO SO HAPPY FOR YOU GUYS AND WHY
ARE WE STILL TEXTING?”
Three seconds later I heard her laugh as
she picked up the phone. After 33 years,
no “hello?” is necessary when we call.
One of my life-long best friends is finally pregnant. She was the smart one of the rest of us and
waited to get married until she was thirty-five. I think that’s right. Since I feel about a thousand years old right
now, I cannot remember how old she actually was but it was roughly seven or
eight years ago. The only other thing I
quasi-remember is that I wore a horrible dress to her wedding and she came to
both of mine. Even Steven.
“Yeah.
We are thrilled. But I’m
scared. I have NO idea what to do,” she
admitted out of the gate.
That makes two of us in the parenting realm, I thought. “Ok, well, get the vitamins, some Ritz,
7-Up, and the obligatory books STAT,” I advised, ever the ready at the helping helm. “And seriously? Between Chels and me? No worries.
We got this.”
Chels had both her kids without an
epidural. I had wanted to, but after I
got to 8cm dilated, a SWAT team and Liv’s Dad had to pry the bathroom door open
where I had barricaded myself in and was hanging on to the handicap rails,
squatting like I was in a gas station, trying to give birth on my own. Apparently that rendered me in trouble so my
wishes for completing the task in isolation were overlooked amidst the
confusion.
I continued to reassure her with the
minor details. “We can tell you the difference
between so many things, like breast-feeding or not, a natural birth vs. having
an epidural, oh and also I don’t think she had to have an episiotomy either.”
“What’s that?” she asked, her voice telling me I needed to shut up 5
minutes ago.
“Oh nothing, let’s talk about it ALL in
person because you know Chels and I are totally having a baby shower for you!”
We said our goodbyes and I wondered if I
still remembered everything, especially how to throw a party right now.
The entire time I was on the phone with
her feigning loud enthusiasm, my heart was breaking. Trying to hold back tears, I listened to her
tell me how she was going to decorate the nursery, go shopping with her Mom,
pick out necessities, and buy teeny-tiny baby clothes. It was the clothes that threw me into
hysterics. I pushed MUTE on my phone
and started walking in circles.
At some point during our conversation I
had been folding Liv’s clothes and habitually placed them in the spot in the hallway which
signify two things to her: she has to
put them away and I love her.
“Are you still there?” I vaguely
remember my almost 43-year-old BFF asking, interrupting her nursery decorating
harangue.
I had no idea how to answer.
I had no idea how to answer.
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