by Glynis Astie
I glanced at her furtively. “Really?” I was instantly hit with a strong fluttering sensation in my midsection. Last week I finally figured out that said fluttering was not gas as I had originally thought, but movement of our baby. (The pregnancy learning curve is MUCH larger than I thought it would be.) It seemed the baby agreed with his/her aunt. I had no choice but to fall in line.
She nodded. “So, suck it up, and let’s get this shit done.”
I raised my eyebrows at her. Profanity meant she was deadly serious. I wasn’t going to win this one, but this didn’t mean I had to like it. I pouted as I asked, “Will you take me to dinner afterwards?”
She held my face in her hands. “Absolutely.” She paused. “If you behave.”
I quickly removed myself from her grip and swatted her behind. “That was uncalled for!” Well, perhaps not entirely, but it was rather rude.
Kate smirked at me as she pulled me into the den of juvenile iniquity.
After two hours of poring over nearly every item in the store AND in every available catalogue (Kate is nothing if not thorough), I didn’t want to see another pastel color for a very long time. Even after we left the scary baby store and settled in for dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant, Kate insisted on going through our preliminary list of baby necessities.
All through dinner I was given additional selling points for each of the products. Honestly, half the items on the list were still a complete mystery to me. I was going to have to keep the instruction manuals handy to have a prayer of making sense of them. Knowing Kate, she was going to quiz me on each item before the baby was even born. This dinner was hard won indeed.
Kate dropped me in front of my apartment building an hour later with several homework assignments. I thanked her profusely for her advice and wearily trudged up the stairs. A quick glance at my watch told me it was only eight-thirty. Pregnancy and shopping for baby stuff was a very tiring combination.
As I reached our apartment door, I remembered Louis was training with Bastiaan tonight, which meant I was free to eat a small bowl of mac and cheese and watch High Society. (Grace Kelly, Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby in the same musical! Anyone else noticing my penchant for beautiful people who sing?)
Yes, I’m well aware I recently ate dinner, but a second dinner is a perfectly legitimate idea. Those Hobbits were onto something! But if you need more reality-based proof—smaller, more frequent meals are all the rage in the nutritionist community at present. Feel free to Google it.
Comfortably installed in my fleece pajamas, I was busy heating up a reasonable portion of organic pasta when the phone rang. I was shocked to see the caller ID showing my parents’ home number given that it was midnight in New York. This couldn’t be good.
I grabbed the phone and practically shouted into it. “Mom? Dad? Is everything OK?”
“Jesus, Duck! You don’t have to yell!”
Even in my heightened state of anxiety, I had to laugh. Pot, kettle, old man. The only reason I haven’t lost an ear drum from speaking with him on the phone is that I have learned to hold the phone away from my ear when he gets on the line.
“Dad! It’s so late! What’s going on?”
He sighed. “I can’t sleep.”
Oh no. My father’s legendary insomnia. There was a ninety percent chance he was currently sitting at the kitchen table eating ice cream. The tell-tale sound of a spoon clinking against a bowl confirmed my suspicion. My mom wasn’t going to be happy. (You do remember his Santa Claus-like build, right? She’s had him on a diet for YEARS now with no visible results—most likely the result of his rampant cheating.)
I had the sudden urge to hug him. “What’s the matter, Dad?”
Silence.
“Dad?”
For a moment, I thought he had fallen asleep, which made me feel both insulted and relieved, but a puckering noise followed by several soft thuds told me this wasn’t the case. This particular sound meant my mom had bought Rocky Road again in the vain hope he would be deterred from eating it due to his intense dislike of nuts. Nope. He determinedly sucked all the ice cream from the despicable nuts before he spat them out. My dad was a very tough nut to crack. (Admit it! I’m a pun master!)
“Sorry, Duck. Just hit a rough patch.”
I snorted. “In the ice cream or your life?”
He chuckled. “I guess you could say both.”
It would seem Bing, Grace and Frank were going to have to wait. I turned off the TV and settled onto the couch with my mac and cheese. With the phone cradled between my ear and my shoulder, I prepared my first bite.
“What’s going on, Dad?”
He sighed heavily.
Uh oh. This must be serious. I put my bowl down on the coffee table and tucked a blanket around me.
“Dad?”
“Well, Duck, marriage is…marriage isn’t always easy…”
I didn’t like where this was going. I had already been through my mom’s divorce from my biological father. I had no desire to go through THAT again. Especially since my dad was more of a father than my biological father ever was to me. I didn’t want to have to shuttle between their houses when we flew back east for a visit. And deal with new romantic partners in their lives. Sydney Durand! Stop jumping to conclusions.
As I fought to control my spiraling thoughts, I could feel my heart rate picking up. Crap! Dr. Bauer would be very upset with me. First the tension with my husband and now the stress of my parents’ marriage problems. How could a crazy pregnant woman handle this amount of drama?
While I practiced my deep breathing, I heard my dad’s voice break through. “Your mother is always so busy. We barely get to spend any time together.” He sounded defeated. “I miss her.”
Phew. Drama averted; well, at least for the time being.
“I’m sorry, Dad. Have you told her how you feel?”
He scoffed. “I’ve tried, but she doesn’t have time to talk. She always has something she must do.”
I remembered my mom telling me how busy the store had become in recent months. While she had hired two high school kids to help her out, she was as much of a control freak as I was and had a hard time not overseeing every aspect of her business. (Where do you think I picked up such behavior? I had plenty of help in the cultivation of my particular brand of crazy, thank you very much.)
Add to this her delight in preparing for her first local grandchild and it was easy to see why she had no time for my dad. The poor man was lonely!
I suddenly had a stroke of brilliance. “Why don’t you ask her out on a date?”
My father rewarded me with a deep belly laugh.
I took great pleasure in rolling my eyes at him through the phone. “You’re never too old to date, Dad. Women like to be wooed.”
“Duck! I haven’t lost my mojo.” What? I smiled at my father’s correct use of slang. “Every time I ask her, she tells me she has too much to do. She’s starting to go overboard and I don’t know how to tell her to take it down a notch. And it’s been far too long since we’ve been intimate.”
Gross! I was dangerously close to dropping the phone, sticking my fingers in my ears and singing, “La, la, la, la, la, la!” Very mature, I know, but do you have any desire to hear about YOUR parents’ sex life? That’s what I thought. Stop shuddering and let’s finish this.
I pursed my lips, willing the revulsion out of my body. “Have you thought about enlisting Charlie’s help?”
“What can your brother do to help? He’s having enough trouble dealing with his own wife! Pregnancy is wreaking havoc on Zoe’s sunny disposition.”
I furrowed my brow. This conversation was getting better and better. It is a horrible thing to admit, but I was relieved to hear Zoe’s inner pregnant beast had finally made an appearance. After the model pregnant woman Kate had been, I needed another woman in the family to bond with over exhibiting outrageous hormone-induced behavior. However, my query must be executed very, very carefully as I doubted Zoe’s behavior had
been kept a secret by accident.
After suppressing a rather large giggle at my dad’s revelation, I outlined my plan for him. Charlie would call my mother and ask her to help plan a small party for Zoe. My mom would fall for any baby-related request hook, line and sinker. My dad would drive her to the restaurant under the pretense of having local errands to run, using my mom’s constant fatigue as a back-up if necessary. She couldn’t fault him for such sweetness, could she?
With the plan in place, my dad’s mood seemed to lighten. “Thanks for the help, Duck. I’ll talk to your no-good brother tomorrow.”
I slapped my palm to my forehead. “Dad! Give the guy a break. He has a lot on his plate right now.” Long commute, hormonal wife and eccentric parents. Maybe living three thousand miles away from them wasn’t always a bad thing?
I heard another belly laugh. “Gotcha.”
Damn it! Why am I always so gullible?
“You’re lucky I love you as much as I do, old man.”
“Don’t I know it! Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.”
I chuckled. “Goodnight, Dad. Good luck!”
I hung up the phone and turned the TV back on. Bing had been waiting long enough! I sighed contentedly as the opening credits came on the screen. I tucked into my pasta and fervently wished life could be as simple as it appeared in the movies. If only we could be that lucky.
Chapter Twelve
The following week brought a nightmare I hadn’t anticipated. I had completely forgotten to research a very important baby-related topic. DAYCARE! I had been so embroiled in my body’s transformation, Maya’s circus of a wedding, the nonsensical employees at my company AND the state of my parents’ marriage that I hadn’t given it a second thought. I had read and thought quite a bit about the development of our baby, but somehow forgot to deal with who was going to take care of my little angel after he/she was born. Did I think Mary Poppins was going to show up at my door? Or Charles would suddenly be in Charge? Or perhaps a representative of Supernanny would fly in to save the day?
Enough with the melodrama! In truth, Louis and I had briefly discussed the topic of childcare a couple of months ago, but the only decision we made was to go with a daycare center as opposed to a nanny. In my capacity as an HR Specialist, I had heard far too many stories of a nanny leaving abruptly and parents being left high and dry. (Have you ever seen a man get down on his knees and beg for the option to telecommute until he can secure another nanny? It’s NOT pretty.)
There are certainly pros and cons to each option. Many parents insist nannies are the way to go because you can leave a sick child with a nanny, thereby protecting your precious vacation time, but I preferred the more stable option of a daycare center. The idea of a bright and bustling place operated by knowledgeable and caring staff members brought me a great sense of relief. Well, as much relief as you can get from the idea of leaving your baby with strangers for the day.
I was also excited at the prospect of meeting a group of mothers with children the same age as mine. We could have play dates! Sam was always having those and they seemed like a lot of fun. Sure, in the beginning, the babies wouldn’t be able to interact with each other. (They’d be much more interested in the toys dangling above them.) But while my little one explored the world unfolding inches before his/her face, I could be getting to know other mothers. While I was thrilled to have my knowledgeable sister to learn from, I knew full well it would be best for me to find other people to commiserate with. People who were a little less perfect.
Have I mentioned how tired I am of the pronoun game when it comes to the baby? (I think I have. I retain precious little information these days.) Only one more week until the big ultrasound! This baby had better cooperate. I was tired of having people refer to our bundle of joy as “it.”
I have been counting down the weeks with so much enthusiasm that Dr. Bauer actually told me to “chill” the last time I was in her office. She needs to update her slang references. The woman is totally dating herself.
Argh! Somebody please slap me! I have to work very hard to stay on topic these days. OK, daycare. In the back of my mind, I knew this was a very important decision; I just didn’t think I had to make a commitment to a specific provider yet. Boy was I wrong!
This morning I was visited by Lyndsey—my least favorite employee in the company BY FAR. (She’s even worse than my former nemesis, Paul.) From the moment she entered the company, she has been incredibly rude to me. She has forgotten to include me in recruitment meetings, neglected to give me proper time to prepare presentations for her research group and has generally treated me like a concierge service. Oh, and she likes to pretend to mispronounce my name. It took three months of corrections to get her to stop calling me “Cindy.”
Not that I put up with her crap, mind you. She may or may not have been forced to retake the company’s mandatory online Discrimination & Harassment Training because there was no record of her having taken it. In my opinion, this particular course can’t possibly be viewed too many times. Let this be a lesson to you. It is not a good idea to mess with your HR person. We aren’t always as nice as we seem. And we know where all the bodies are buried.
So when Lindsey strolled into my office this morning asking for a list of daycare centers, I was a bit thrown since I hadn’t heard a peep about her pregnancy. This is a woman who gladly shares even the most minor details about her life. I still haven’t recovered from the endless lectures about her wedding—which was over three years ago. (There is such a thing as too much information, even for your HR person. We can file harassment claims as easily as any other employee when faced with the debauchery of what I term a “corporate confessional.”)
As I formulated my question, she rubbed her flat stomach gently, flashed me a condescending smile and announced she was six weeks pregnant. Oh God. The prospect of her stopping by my office every five minutes under the guise of “pregnancy bonding” made bile rise in my throat. Focus, Sydney. You still have a job to do. She may actually have a legitimate question in there. My eyes widened once I realized she had already started on her litany. Please make it stop!
After she emphasized the importance of securing childcare well before the end of the first trimester, she decided to regale me with the details of her pregnancy regime. She droned on endlessly about her prenatal pilates (was there such a thing?), her organic vegan diet, a list of books she planned to read to her baby, a list of classical music she plays on a daily basis and finished up with an overview of her research on home births.
When she asked me what I had decided for my child, I promptly turned beet red, mumbled an excuse and shoved her out the door with ANOTHER Employee Assistance Program pamphlet. She must have enough to wallpaper her entire apartment by now.
Oh crap! Who knows what will happen when her pregnancy hormones kick in? I may have to go on maternity leave a bit early…
Fueled by anxiety, I raced home with listings of daycare centers close to our apartment as well as my office. Louis may still be annoyed with me, but he would have to put his feelings aside for the well-being of our unborn child.
I opened the door to an empty apartment. I quickly closed the door and glanced at my watch, noting it was already six o’clock. Louis should be home by now. Was he avoiding me? Suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of dread and loneliness, I dropped my purse on the floor and curled into a ball on the couch. An instant later, tears began to flow down my face. I was completely overwhelmed by everything I needed to do to prepare for the baby and cursed Louis’ distant attitude. I really needed him right now.
Suddenly a wave of heat engulfed me and I began to feel faint. I sat up slowly and wrestled my body out of my winter coat. Much better. I was in the process of willing myself to get up when the phone rang. I crossed my fingers, hoping Louis was calling to tell me why he was running late.
I leaned over and grabbed the phone. The caller ID showed a New York area code, but I didn’t recognize the phone number. Curiosity got the b
etter of me and I picked up the call.
“Hello?”
“Syd! How are you feeling?”
The voice sounded familiar. Come on, pregnant brain, think! I snapped my fingers when the answer finally came to me.
“Zoe!”
She laughed. “Who did you think it was?”
“I didn’t recognize your number. Did you get a new cell phone?”
Zoe sighed. “Charlie didn’t tell you?”
“He doesn’t tell me much.” My brother was a wonderful, albeit forgetful person. Most of our communication took place because his wife dialed the phone and put it in his hand. He was always happy to chat with you once you were on the phone, but actually having the idea to call you was not his strong suit. Truth be told, he couldn’t remember ANYTHING. Even I stood a better chance than he did with my pregnant brain. So. Very. Sad.
Zoe hesitated. “I…I dropped my phone in the toilet, so I had to get a new one.”
I burst out laughing. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I could barely breathe.
Zoe was not pleased. “Hey! It’s not funny! I have become very, um, clumsy.”
“No, Zoe.” I did my best to shut down the laughter. Only a couple of giggles escaped as I said, “I’m not laughing at you.”
“Yeah, right!” Now she sounded extremely pissed.
“I’m serious! I’m just as uncoordinated as you are! I dropped my badge in the toilet this morning.” I started laughing again. “I felt so stupid when it happened and hearing you tell me about your phone, well, it made me feel better.”
The two of us guffawed like complete idiots for at least five minutes straight, each attempting to reclaim the conversation, but losing the battle with our raucous laughter.
Zoe snorted. “Syd, what’s happened to us?”
I wiped tears of mirth from my face. “I don’t know, Zoe. I guess we’re a little loopy. We can’t all be as perfect as Kate.”
