You know those women who glow during pregnancy? The ones who giggle with friends about their unreasonable cravings while praising their growing bundle of joy for blessing them with gorgeous locks and glowing skin? Those women who simply emit a golden hue of pure joy for nine months?
I was never one of them.
I was the pregnant girl attached to an IV pole because my growing cherub caused persistent severe vomiting leading to weight loss and dehydration. That was the clinical definition of my first pregnancy, but I simply called it really effin’ annoying. New moms assured me that it would all be worth it. I smiled and excused myself to vomit out back in the parking lot like some drunk sorority girl.
When my oldest was two, I decided it was time to give this pregnancy thing a second chance. How much worse could it possibly be, I wondered.
That’s when my second child whispered into the wind, ‘Hold my beer!’
My second pregnancy played out much like my first. Once, during Sunday mass, I emptied my first born’s toys onto the floor and immediately threw up in her favorite bag. Right there. In church. During the priest’s eulogy. Our exodus from the Roman Catholic Church can likely be traced back to that very moment.
I developed a strong affinity for elephants during those nine months, pitying them for their unlucky place in the evolutionary chain. Two years. Those Momma Elephants grew their babies for two years! How unfortunate for them. And how unfortunate for me that my 9-month tenure felt more like their two year reality.
But, remember those new moms? The ones who told me it would all be worth it? They were so right.
Earlier this month, my youngest daughter – you know, the one who whispered ‘Hold my beer?’ She celebrated her last, first day of high school. Her last, first day! And I suddenly find myself envious of those Momma Elephants and their two, whole years while I count down my measly nine months.
In nine months she’ll walk across the stage, wearing her cap and gown. In nine months she’ll be ready to leap into the next phase of her life. In nine months I’ll curse my place in the evolutionary chain and wish time would somehow just. Slow. Down!
Sigh…
Our babies need those first nine months to ready themselves for the world. I suppose we parents need these last nine months to ready ourselves for a new chapter ahead. But, I wonder, how much better could the next chapter possibly be?
Hold my beer!
The Happiness Trick 