If you've been pregnant before you may have learned the hard way that two pregnant ladies won't fit through one doorway. Somebody's got to move. It seems obvious enough from a bird's eye view of two pregnant ladies heading for the same door but pregnant ladies aren't used to being pregnant ladies, they are used to fitting through doors.
Hilarity may ensue.
Once upon a time I was headed into an ultrasound clinic to have a looksy at baby number 3. And there was another pregnant lady standing in front of the door. But hilarity did not ensue. Because that pregnant lady seemed to be put on Earth just to make other pregnant ladies feel svelte and lovely and like they were doing everything right.
See, she was smoking a cigarettte, for starters. And she was wearing a spaghetti-strap cami like you might buy at Walmart to wear underneath other clothing. But she wasn't wearing it underneath anything, she was just wearing that coupled with a pair of jeans. And the cami was way too small for her even before she was, like, 7 months pregnant. And the jeans weren't maternity jeans, they were just unzipped and revealing a very stretch-marked and droopy belly. And she was standing there with her baby daddy who was also smoking and he was wearing a tee-shirt that was way too big for his skinny little self and it said, "I'm with Stupid" and pointed to her. But because the tee-shirt was so over-sized the arrow actually pointed directly to her belly and their unborn child contained within which was, well, disturbing.
Now I'm sure if I wasn't so pregnant that would have just been another thing I can't unsee.
But I was pregnant which always gives me a heightened sense of smell coupled with a low-grade nausea. And so, Dear Reader, I done barfed up a little bit in my mouth. And I had to kind of push this classy couple out of my way and run into the building to get away from the stench of ciggies so that I wouldn't entirely loose my cookies while the lady swore after me and called me something mean.
For some reason this incident has stuck with me.
And reflecting upon it I said to myself, "Betsy, sometimes you wonder if you're at all fit to be raising childrens. Sometimes you worry that you just don't have it going on. You have so very many faults. But I bet you've never made another mom barf into her own mouth a little bit. Good for you!"
This has kept me going for some time now and I've congratulated myself for being able to easily hop over this ridiculously low-set bar. But, now I've gone and done it! I need a new bar! A lower one!
Now I guess you need to know two things:
1) I've been nursing for a long time without a break. Four and a half years, to be precise. And in that time I've gone from being nervous and shy about nursing discreetly in public to just getting 'er done. I guess you could say I've gotten nonchalant about it. I guess you could say I've gotten comfortable with nursing in public.
2) I'm nursing a newborn and a toddler. This gives me quite the appetite. The kind that a slice of cucumber with a rosette of lox on top just doesn't satisfy.
It seemed like a very very very long time before the cupcakes were passed around. Until then, they just sat there smelling like cupcakes and asking me what was new and if I'd eaten any good cupcakes lately. Then finally, after the bride had opened the fourth fondue set (yay! it was from me!), the hostess began to pass those pink yummy num-nums around. She started, of course, in the opposite direction and went around the entire room first.
By the time I got my mitts on a cupcake I was some ravenous. And I ate that cupcake rather, oh...let's go with lustily.
And I ate that cupcake with one hand because my nursing baby was cradled in my other arm.
And when the snarfing was done I looked down to discover that I dropped quite a few delicious crumbs on said nursing baby. So, not being one to wantonly waste cupcake crumbs I began to eat them off of my baby and off of my bosom. And when I was done the cupcakes and the crumbs I looked up to discover that the step-mom of the bride-to-be was watching me in horror and revulsion. And she had one hand clasped in front of her mouth and was shuddering and had obviously just thrown up a bit in her own mouth.
I'm not sure what to do with this.
I can no longer say, "at least I've never made another mom barf up into her mouth a little bit."
I do have quite a bit of information about said step-mom of the bride-to-be. Most of it involves her getting hysterical over things like placecards at the formal brunches she and her husband have hosted for the now grown-up children they'd like to get to know better since they abandoned them when they were toddlers.
The easy thing to do would be to get all judgy on her. I mean, at least I haven't abandoned any of my children lately, right?
But really, I don't know her life. I do know that before we introduced ourselves and I realized she was the step-mom of my friend who I'd heard so much about, she was fawning over my wee baby's frou-frou party dress. Conversationally, I asked her if she had any daughters. And a look of pain flashed through her eyes that was very intense and very raw and she whispered, "No. I have a son."
So instead of being judgy I think I'll just thank my lucky stars that I don't have the same demons she does following me to bridal showers and formal brunches and such.
I don't think I want to set a new bar along the lines of, "Well at least I don't make other moms projectile vomit when they look at me." Or, "At least I haven't appeared in any horrific newspaper headlines, lately." I mean, why tempt fate with such utterances?
Probably the best resolution I could make here is to just not compare myself to other moms at all. Favourably or otherwise. Cause that's exactly the kind of crap that comes back to bite you in the arse, isn't it?