This morning I woke up with a bloody eye. Yes that’s a little extreme of a description, but the word “popped blood vessel” just doesn’t seem to capture my horror upon looking at myself in the mirror today. To introduce myself: My name is Mary and I’m 25 years old. I’m a Sagittarius, I hate asparagus, and up until just a few months ago, I had a whole different plan for life.
In August of last year, having a great job with wonderful career potential, I got married to the love of my life, Matt. We planned that we would enjoy the precious first years of marriage as DINKS. We were going to have lavish cocktail parties, join a flag football team, get out of debt with the Dave Ramsey plan, save some money and possibly take some of Rick Steve’s advice and go to Venice. ZOOM forward to December. It’s my 25th birthday, and I just so happen to swing by Walgreen's for some nail polish and an E.P.T. test: just to make sure. But to my surprise, that second line… which never showed up (I always sort of secretly wished it would show up by accident as a teenager) was right there staring at me with its little pink eyes. Which, to add ambivalence to an already confusing moment, meant that I could not enjoy my favorite glass of wine I had so been looking forward to that week. And for a wine lover… you actually forget the joyous reason why you can’t have your Syrah in the first place, and for just a minute, you pout.
And boy did I pout. But not just because I had to cancel my wine club membership or that I was about to gain some serious poundage: I was scared. See, I was not the woman who ran to the drugstore every month to get a pregnancy test, drove home in hopeless anticipation and cried when it came up negative. I desperately wanted to be a mom, but LATER. Despite the fact that I did jump up and down and giggle when the second faint pink line appeared, this was not the right time. I was not ready. I was freaking out!
Here I am today, eight months later. I’m pleased to say that I’m so excited for my little boy to come into the world that I could pee my pants. Hypothetically, of course… But the drama has just begun.
Example: this morning I woke up with a bloody eye. That’s because last night, I had morning sickness. Yes. Last night… at 36 weeks pregnant. Something that nobody tells you is that you actually get morning sickness again in your 9th month. Hello SURPRISE! One minute I’m waiting for the last hour of my work day to end, munching on my favorite apple… the next… I’m throwing my purse on the floor in a frenzied rush to the toilet. Toilet meets face = eye explodes.
So this is me. Life is changing: for the better I imagine, but changing nonetheless. And these are the stories of my metamorphosis from Hot to Momma.
