Letting it Be

When I find myself in times of trouble,
mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be. The Beatles....

It's fitting that in this song it is "Mother Mary" who says to "let it be." Just let things go, don't worry about them so much, this, too, will pass. She is a "Mother"-- and once you get to be that, your world changes.

One of the things that pregnancy does is prepare you for being a mom. In spite of everyone wishing me a happy Mother's Day (very sweetly) I'm still not quite a mom yet. I'm still in a liminal* phase between being the singular person who was free to up and go to Paris on a whim, or drink an entire bottle of champagne by myself, to being someone actually responsible for other human beings' well-being. It's a big step, a big change, and there are some things that you go through while being pregnant that prepare you for it.

I've never been seriously modest about my naked self around doctors. I learned in February with my first massage that I didn't mind being naked in front of a massage-lady (obviously there was a sheet, too). In spite of some caution the very first time it ever came up with "flashing my boobs" in New Orleans, I don't really have any reserve where that comes either-- who the heck cares? I know anyone who hasn't seen boobs before will just be excited to see them the first time, and anyone who has seen them won't find mine unusual. According to some quizzes I took, that makes me ready to breastfeed. If other folks have problems, well, they can just leave the room. I refuse to hunker down in public toilets while breastfeeding; I've seen women do that and I find that personally offensive. It's what boobs are for, folks, and even here in the South where it's a bit on the conservative side, you need to get over it. So that's one adjustment-- the fear of public exposure: Gone. Let it be.

Discomfort? I'm not exactly easy to be around at night when it's time for bed. I'm hot, and need the air conditioner turned down so much that my hubby, who usually is the one in shorts and no t-shirt, is all bundled up. I flop from one side to the other depending on which side is going numb at the moment. My hair is entirely too long, gets sweaty and in the way, and I have frequent fond fantasies of cutting it all off, boy short, again. I accidentally spill water on myself (and sometimes Andrew too) in the middle of the night while trying a sip from my re-filled Evian bottle which sits on my bedside table. (They have the best shape for mid-night sipping while lying down... but I'm clumsy). My pajamas are XL MEN'S pjs. And still a little tight around the area I'll call a "waist." But so what? I will get my figure back. Let it be.

I had heard about how complete strangers would want to touch my pregnant belly. Usually from people who were shocked and/or offended by this practice. You know what? Not only do I not really mind, but I find it kind of cute. This last weekend, shoe shopping (cause man are my feet swollen!!) this lady who spoke mostly Spanish came up to me in Payless. She was so excited and happy to see my belly. She said "Oh look at your belly" (mira su panza!) I told her, in my bad Spanish, that I had "Two babies, one boy, one girl" (Dos bebes--and since I couldn't remember boy/girl in Spanish I said that part in English). Maybe she needed to have more things going on in her life but I swear, she was so excited for me that it was kind of fun. People (especially women) give me this "look" lately-- it's a combination of happy smile and sympathetic "glad it's not me". Crowds will literally part in front of me as I walk (waddle) regally through. Freaked out by the sudden lack of personal space? Let it be.

I know that when the babies come, I will be reduced to, as I've said before, the bridesmaid as opposed to the bride. I'm the one who will fade into the background, holding their stuff. The babies will be the stars of the show then. That's fine with me-- they'll deserve it. I may bristle more if people try to touch my babies without permission-- but as long as it seems like genuine happiness and not creepy, I'll tolerate most things. I also don't think that happens so much. I think people know there are boundaries about these things. Plus, I'm sure Maia and Sean, as cute as they will be, will have ways of handling too much attention (baby spit, anyone?)

Only one person has ever sort of creeped me out about my pregnancy. In a bookstore in Louisiana, this guy made a comment about my belly (about two months ago, when it was big, but not nearly as big as it is now.) Just something about this odd single guy's comment, and the tone and attitude, just made me feel uncomfortable. Like he had some sort of pregnant woman fetish, and somehow that vibe came through on his voice. He said nothing untoward, it just set my spider senses tingling. I smiled and nodded and checked to make sure I wasn't in a quiet section of the book store where no one would hear me kick his ass if he tried anything. And didn't encourage him to talk to me any more, moving back towards the coffee shop area and more people.

But in all, I've had a pretty good run so far-- one creepy guy to all the nice, excited folks who make me feel a bit like a celebrity when I go out in public. If I don't feel like doing something (going to the family's lakehouse this weekend to do "summer cleaning" for example) I just don't do it. No excuses-- being this pregnant is excuse enough!

Let it be. No guilt, no worries. Check with me later, thanks. I have ice cream to eat and feet to put up on pillows.

**liminal. A term favoured particularly by post-colonial critics, and which refers to the thresholds, boundaries and borderlines of binary constructions (black/white, masculine/feminine, Englishness/Irishness). These oppositions are often false, producing blurring and gaps which might be exploited in order to deconstruct these oppositions.