my life would probably be a better sitcom than “according to jim”

i feel a little better about the whole “prenatal depression” thing. i sat jared down & explained that i’m not feeling great emotionally & part of it is guilt about not keeping up with what i usually contribute in terms of housework & dinner. if it was just me living alone, i’d let the place get grimy & i’d order dinner in every night, but it’s different when you live with someone. there’s a built-in expectation of accountability. it’s the part of living with a partner that i probably hate the most. i am more tolerant of jared’s occasional messes than i am of my own shortcomings & the guilt that accompanies them.

anyway, jared said he was perfectly willing to take on more of the housework & to make dinner for us every night, provided that i don’t start making special requests all the time. i told him maybe i could still make dinner like once a week. my one dinner this week was stuffed shells, which were fucking delicious. jared always makes yummy food too, but we have different wheelhouses. he’s good at 1001 ways to prepare braised chicken or pork loin; i’m good at various noodles with sauces.

i also feel a bit more cheerful because the public pool like three blocks from our house opens this weekend. they have morning hours everyday for people who want to swim laps without interruption…& i found out they allow water walkers then too! for people that are not 87 years old, water walking is like jogging, but in a pool. it’s popular in water aerobics classes. i really like it. i have been wondering for a while if it’s appropriate to commandeer a lane at the pool just for water walking. the city is selling cheapo early bird summer passes–$60 for all the pool visits you can cram in between memorial day & labor day. jared & i are each going to get one. water walking is going to be my summer pregnancy exercise & jared’s going to keep me company by swimming laps. because he is a legitimately halfways athletic person who engages in real exercise, & i’m sophia petrillo.

mostly i think the whole prenatal depression thing is a manifestation of my obsessive-compulsive tendencies. i seriously just feel shitty because i can’t keep up with my to-do lists. it’s like they’re having one last hurrah before they get thrown out the window in the face of a newborn baby. i’ve been in therapy for this shit for twelve years & it all basically boils down to two ideas: “be mindful” & “be kind to yourself”. i suck at both of those things. but i think they are both pretty important goals for a pregnant lady-soon-to-be-new mom. at the risk of sounding like a giant hippie, of course. i swear i’m still not planning to give birth on a tie-dyed futon mattress while listening to bob marley.

so, i mentioned in a previous post that i had my first sonogram last week.

i think it has my…blob-like qualities!

for anyone reading this who is not familiar with how sonograms work: they ask you to come to the appointment with a full bladder because the expanded bladder functions as a kind of window through which sound waves are shot that help create an accurate image of the uterus, & the little creature living inside the uterus during pregnancy. so you go in having to pee really bad, & then the tech smears some burning hot goo on your lower abdomen, & then whips out this device that looks like a, shall we say, electronic back massager (wink!), & grinds it into your abdomen. you know. right over your bladder. when you really have to pee.

i had the foresight (& doctor office-related experience) to schedule my sonogram for 9am. pro tip: always try to schedule doctor appointments, airplane flights, etc for as early as you can stand, because there’s a smaller chance of delays that way. i really did not want my appointment to be delayed when it hinged on how desperately i needed to pee. i wanted to get this shit over with.

starting at 8am, i began chugging water. at 8:45am, i told jared we should get on the road. jared took this as his cue to wander into the kitchen, slice himself about nine pounds of cornbread, & eat it really slowly. it was probably only one slice, cut in half, but to me–no lie–it looked like he’d hung a horse trough overflowing with cornbread around his neck & proceeded to peck at it like a chicken. i was like, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” & he said, “having some cornbread. it’s my breakfast. i can’t go to a sonogram on an empty stomach.” i told him, “my appointment is in ten minutes,” & he said, “so? we can’t be a little late?” so i was forced to explain the way sonograms work & the fact that i was on the verge of exploding with urine & no we could not be late because if he was the cause of even thirty extra seconds getting between this pregnant lady right here & the sweet relief of finally being allowed to pee, i would put a poisonous serpent in his sock drawer. & he was like, “OH! i didn’t know! okay, let’s go!”

then i had this vision of myself nine months pregnant, timing my contractions & being like, “okay, they’re a minute long & four minutes apart, i think it’s time to go have this baby,” & jared putting on a lobster bib & settling down at the kitchen table, saying, “okay, let me just polish off this nineteen-pound roast turkey. it should only take me like six hours.” like, DUDE. save your burgeoning career as a competitive eater for some time when i don’t actually need your help.

also hilarious: when i invited jared to go to the sonogram with me, he said, “cool. we’ll get to hear the ‘whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.'” i told him, “i’m only like five weeks pregnant, it might be too early to pick up a heartbeat,” & he said, “that’s the heartbeat? i thought it was just the sound the machine made.” his go-to was to be excited about the sound the machine made! the heartbeat didn’t even occur to him! it’s seriously like i am living in my own shitty sitcom pilot sometimes.

Published by Ciara

Ciara Xyerra wrote zines for the better part of two decades. She has a brilliant & adorable preschooler named Ramona & sews as much as she possibly can. She lives in Lawrence, Kansas with her boyfriend. She enjoys catching up on "The New Yorker", meatball subs, keeping it cranky, intersectional post-third wave feminism, dinosaurs, & monsters. If you have nothing nice to say, she recommends that you come sit here by her, so you can say not-nice things together.

One thought on “my life would probably be a better sitcom than “according to jim”

  1. I almost pissed myself laughing at this post. Sorry if that’s schadenfreude. I just pictured the whole thing in my head accompanied by a shitty laugh track and produced by Chuck Lorre and everything awful and sitcomy that implies.

    I’m really bad at being kind to myself, too. God, even typing that made me roll my eyes. So I just try to bury all emotions, laugh at myself, and use sarcasm. It’s worked so far. Or at least I tell myself that.

    But really. Give yourself a break. Nine months is a long fucking time and you’re bound to go through ebbs and flows of joy and sorrow and everything in between. You’re human. (I think.) It’s all part of the ridiculous human condition.

    Then again I have never been pregnant so have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about. But being pregnant seems like a Big Fucking Deal, so give yourself permission to freak out every once in a while.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: