How to be Pregnant Like Me

Last week, I managed to engage in email dialogue with a few fellow alumni about a project we're working on. (I say "managed" because my brain has been mushy for weeks now, unable to focus on a good book, an unanswered email, you name it.)

Somewhere in there, I mentioned that my activity would be limited in coming months due to, um, the anticipated arrival of two new human beings in this world who will need all of my attention.

What follows is a copy of the email reply I got from my friend Mike, followed by my reply to him, in which I explain what he would need to consider if he wanted to be Pregnant Like Me.

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Mike's response to my news:
No kidding, she just throws it in there, among the alumni council, Manolo’s perspective, a glossy postcard and attending meetings in Montezuma.
;-)

Pregnant, with twins, no less. That is friggin' monumental, Karen. You win the prize for Person I Know Whose Life Most Drastically Changed in Six Months (without actually dying or contracting some horrible disease).

Congratulations! Bravo!! That is amazing.

It’s odd. I see people (. . . well, women, actually) around me getting pregnant, and it’s beautiful, hopeful, blah, blah, blah. It really is, but it doesn’t penetrate. Somehow it’s different with you. Perhaps it’s the result of too many conversations, late at night, sharing perspectives. I know it’s been many years since we’ve actually spent any meaningful time together, but you’re as close as it comes. If I stand on my tippy-tippy-toes, and turn my head just right, and if squint my eyes in just the right way, it feels like I’m pregnant, too. Like I have hope, and not just duty, or fear to act for the future. And like there’s some little f***er kicking me in the side, and I’m actually happy about it.

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Here's my reply, posted here because I've got to learn how to make double use of my efforts, so now is a good time to start:

Hi, M,

Well, now I know what I'd like inscribed on my trophy!

Juan will need a trophy, too, of course-- perhaps with an added wing-ed figure on top... for after all, my changes are in the context of my culture, whereas his... oh, my... his are like having moved to Saturn (if it were life-sustaining) on top of everything else. He's really taking it all in stride, not freaking out, being a total grown-up about it, and helping me all the while (like helping me put on my socks, since reaching my feet is becoming a... feat), and until recently not being allowed to work. He's an amazing, gentle man, true to his surname.

Ah, but you get a trophy too! That's the one for Most Creative Response to Having Received News of a Friend's Pregnancy. If I stand on my tippy-tippy toes, I can imagine YOU pregnant!

But if you're going to continue imagining my state of affairs, here's what you'll need to know to really empathize. In short, here's How to be Pregnant Like Me.

1) Rearrange your organs -- like where your internal organs are now? Well, forget that-- now it's time to stick them in the corners-- between ribs, next to your lungs, down in your left jeans pocket-- wherever you can find room for them so that the expanding water balloon in your belly can keep growing.

2) Crush your organs -- now, turn on your left side to sleep. Stay there for a couple of hours, and then wake up with a vague sense that you've not been using your (fill in the blank: stomach, liver, pancreas, left kidney, epiglottis) for quite some time, that said organ has fallen asleep just like your leg does on occasion. Sit up, and feel the weird sensation of blood returning to that deflated organ, relief, nausea, tingling and general 'discomfort'. Now repeat, this time on your right side.

3) Start weeping... and don't stop! -- this is more of a first-trimester thing, but very much worth experiencing to get the whole hormonal effect. It's not enough to cry, no... you must WEEP. In PUBLIC. And for any reason-- anything that moves you in the least. Gratitude is what really did it to me--- I'd try to thank someone for something simple and then I'd be weeping, to their bemused horror. Say things like "don't worry, it's just hormones that are making me weep uncontrollably right now"-- or try to say this, but know that you'll get so choked up, trying to explain it just makes you cry more. The person's eyes get really wide, and they smile sympathetically as they start looking for an out...

4) Make eating your duty -- don't want to eat another steak? Tough luck-- those babies need protein. Lots of it. And 3,500 calories per day (the recommended intake when you're carrying twins). Suddenly, you need to eat as though you were scaling Mt. Everest. (And don't forget, Mr. Stomach is tucked away under Mr. Sternum right now, which makes eating a "challenge".) That's why ice cream is good (not tons of protein, but lots of calcium!), as it's soft and cool.

5) Live in the present -- it's about the best you can do when your short-to-medium term memory has been crowded out by your repositioned organs. Following through on emails? Forget about it. Putting together a linear chain of actions to complete a task? hahahaahahaha. Just turn on the DVD and give in to your reality: your brain is, and may well continue to be, mush.

By the way, the little f***ers (as you so colorfully refer to yours) have started kicking, and through that magic thing called the sonogram, we get to WATCH each one kicking and yawning and generally having a good time.

At our last visit, we also got to see (well, have interpreted for us by the angel who was our sonogram technician) the genitalia of these little people, so we now know! Worth mentioning here that it's not just a "penis" or "no penis" diagnosis-- it's more like "See those two parallel lines? That's the labia." and, "See that out-pointing triangle? That's the penis." So we're getting the best of both worlds with this pregnancy: a girl, and a boy. We couldn't be more fortunate.