morning, I threw caution to the wind. Got in my car—just my dog and me—and headed
for the hills. Played my music LOUD. Left
my life behind.
cruel world. Hasta la vista. Sayonara. Arrivederci.
so I was only headed down the mountain to the vet’s office, so he could remove
stitches from my dog’s ear, but still. It was a moment.
me to share:
I mentioned that I’m pregnant? Very, very pregnant? And that I have a 3
year-old? A particularly rascally 3 year-old? And a husband who works from
do. And it’s GRAND. But this morning, I got hit with the ornery stick. And
everything about all of it—mostly being very pregnant—came to a boiling point. Remember
that scene in whatever Will Smith movie it was where the asteroid hits the
Earth? Like that.
it started with me waking up and realizing that I. was. still. pregnant.
right? And how could I tell? The aching hips, legs, ankles. The ginormous
belly. Oh, and the fun fact that I no longer possess a jaw line.
then there was the moment in front of my closet when I realized that since it
was going to be a creepy 60 degrees today, I officially had nothing to wear.
That even my maternity clothes weren’t fitting comfortably. And I had to go
back to my hometown. A place where people actually look presentable on purpose. As I’m standing
there, throwing discarded clothing in a pile on my bed that was beginning to
resemble Jabba the Hut (the monstrous pregnancy pillow that keeps me sane each
night giving it an extra lift), there was some lovely background music.
went like this: screaming 3 year-old, refusing to go to the potty. Angry daddy
threatening the screaming 3 year-old. Dog-on-pain-meds-who-can’t-control-her-bladder
barking, for the love of Pete, to be let out of the ever-loving house.
back to me. In that mature clothes-flinging moment, I also remembered the fact that
every single person who has asked when I’m due to have this baby guesses
months early. Months. And when I tell them, they’re surprised. Some, mostly
men, have told me outright I look like I’m well into my third trimester.
the lovely young gentleman (all of about 26 years-old) who sidled up next to me
at the Freshens stand in the Atlanta airport a few weeks ago. Our conversation
went like this:
(looking down at my belly with a smirk. Yes, a smirk.) Having a baby?
How far along are you?
About 23 weeks.
Man, you look more like 30.
Why, you precocious little s%$#.
But I thought about it. “One of these days, Alice … POW! Right in the kisser!”
back to the ornery stick. It hit me hard this morning. I groaned. And moaned. And pouted.
And scowled. And slammed doors. My husband tried to appease me. Nothing he said
helped. My daughter tried to appease me. That just made me feel guilty. My dog
looked at me with learned wariness, from afar.
Mr. Melville. I felt like taking to the sea. Like knocking people’s hats off.
the car on the way down the mountain, I fumed. Thankfully, there were no
tourists in front of me, inching down the winding two lane road at 5 miles per hour. (They’ll get
here about April. Grrr.) I vented to my dog. I tried to think of a way out of my
current situation, but really, there's no cure for being 26 weeks pregnant.
did this to myself. (My husband helped.) I’m not sure I’m doing it again.
only thing that soothed my bitter soul? The sweet, raucous sounds of Brandi
Carlile’s new album, Bear Creek.
got pipes. And songwriting skills to boot. The song on repeat in my car this
morning was “Raise Hell.”
her out singing live on the Craig Ferguson Show:
I’m home now. Calm. (Okay, calmer.) My
dog got her stitches out. My daughter had a good day at preschool. My husband
is still my husband.
my temper tantrum of a morning taught me a little something.
ain’t pretty, but sometimes—just sometimes—mama needs to raise a little hell.
A great time was had by all Saturday at the Aiken County Library! Many thanks to the wonderful folks, including Library Manager Michael Swan and the Friends of the Aiken County Library, who put it all together.
Afterwards, I was interviewed by the Aiken Standard. (And the reporter was a fellow Clemson grad, though much, much younger than me.)
Please note that I usually look better than this. (Okay, somewhat better than this.) I am very pregnant.
One of the highlights of the trip was the fact that my in-laws surprised me by driving up from their home on Hilton Head Island to be there for the event! We had a lovely dinner afterwards at the West Side Bowery, a downtown Aiken staple since the 1980s. Our waiter--a daddy himself--went out of his way to make us feel welcome, and even managed to prevent a full-on 3 year-old meltdown by my daughter by stirring (non-alcoholic) strawberry daiquiri mix into her lemonade so she could have "pink" lemonade.