Every party needs a pooper, that’s why I invited myself.
Today might be Father’s day. The day of the dad. Everyone needs to kowtow to the power of the paternal, am I right? Don’t get me wrong. I still did more for Greg than he did for me on mother’s day even though I’m nine months pregnant and he has no excuse. Made breakfast (‘course that’s nothing unusual), bought him a t shirt and even started (left it to the last second, of course) a photo montage of all of his small and great moments as a father at Ruth’s request. Luckily (I’m going to hell for saying this) my own dad has passed on so I am off the hook in that respect. One grandpa is deceased and the other isn’t speaking to me, so I really just have my brother and father-in-law left to celebrate on this blessed day. But I’m not going to.
It’s also the summer solstice. The longest day of the year. If I was feeling more my ambitious self, I would be all up on pinterest looking at waldorf-y celebrations and crafts to do with the kids to mark the longest day of the year like I did with the winter solstice and spring equinox. The first day of summer. The peak of maximum sunlight in our part of the globe. A real turning point in the solar year. Yet it’s passing by unnoticed and unrecognized.
It also happens to be my father-in-law’s birthday. Luckily it’s not a real important number, I think it’s just a shit birthday like 69 or something. Thank god it’s not a multiple of five or, god forbid, ten. That would be terrible. Because I can’t wrap my head around thinking of a gift for him, even going to see him or cleaning my house in order to host some kind of gathering for him.
Because, today is many many things, but what it really is, to me, is the DAY BEFORE MY DUE DATE. That’s the holiday. I may sound like a jerk (nothing new) but everything else sort of just fades into the background in the face of the fact that my freakin’ due date is tomorrow. Like, I am hours, at most days, away from giving birth. So you’ll have to excuse me. that’s all I can think of right now.
“Your brother wants to talk to you,” my mom looked at me like now I was in trouble with raised eyebrows and handed me her cell phone. She had just gotten done whispering to him that I, gasp, “…didn’t feel like doing……ANYTHING”. Perish the thought. “Hey,” I said. “Hey!” said my brother, in his extroverted way that makes people want to get on board with whatever party he’s throwing. “So, what’s up?” he said, “I know you’re like super-pregnant, but we could just do something small over here if you guys don’t feel like going to a park. I mean, what’s the deal?” “To tell you the truth,” I said, trying to muster up some energy and enthusiasm, but failing miserably, “I just don’t feel like doing anything.” He laughed good humouredly. God bless his big old good humored heart . “Well, you’re entitled.” Then he said, “But, unrelated to Father’s day, would you want to come with us to the museum tomorrow?” I could see my mom eyeing me from across the yard, checking to see if my brother was making any headway.
I mean, I love my brother. And my mom. But I don’t know what is so hard about understanding that I. Don’t. Want. To. Do. Anything. (“Wait….you mean, like….nothing? Like, not even……?” That’s right. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Caput. Finito. Nothing.)
Well, that’s not completely true. I would like to actually have a baby, if I had a choice. If someone asked what I preferred to do today, I might just say: you know what I want? What would really make my day? If I could just have this baby, that’d be great. That would really just make my day.
And let me reiterate. I respect the process. I respect my body and my baby’s time frame and the magic and all that of the spontaneous and unrushed birth. I really do. And…I’m still terrified of childbirth. It scares the piss out of me. It really does. So, I’m not really “ready”, per say. But I have reached that point, anyone who always goes up to or past a due date for a baby knows what I mean, where my fear is actually being dulled by my absolute impatience at waiting, at being in a hellish limbo of not knowing. Of being so primed for an insane, life-changing experience that seems to be taunting me, always just out of grasp, lurking somewhere, ready to jump out at me.
So, here I sit, as ready as I can get. Primed. Waiting. Anticipating. And that is taking up all of my energy to the point that it’s all I can do.
So, don’t mind me. And don’t take my reclusiveness personally. I’m just a damn party pooper right now.