Thursday, October 2, 2008
Your baby now weighs more than a large head of cabbage; your heart has grown more than 30 percent, and you, you...well, how do we say it? You may be feeling...emotional? Perhaps you drop a jar of mustard on the floor; it doesn't even break, just sort of flies and rolls, and you want to yell; you get sort of teary; you feel like when you were thirteen and you want to punch something but your husband looks at you like you're insane, so instead, you choke on your own thick words and try breathing deeply (all that yoga!) but that doesn't work, so you point to your belly and tell your husband you need him to love the baby and to love you and then you make him promise that he will never leave, no matter how crazy or clumsy you get. No, you say, really promise. Cross your heart. You have to. But don't hope to die. Please don't. Promise. Because we need you. And there you are: standing in the light of the kitchen, clutching a jar of mustard and wishing, wishing, oh deep-belly-wishing that you had bought a head of cabbage last week so you could pick it up and forget all of this and try (try, try just a little) to begin to understand the weight of things to come.