This past weekend was a fun one. I headed out to Long Island for a family wedding all by my lonesome. It was the first time I'd travelled without E and C since well before E was born, and of course my mind was racing with all the impending disasters waiting to strike: plane crash, car crash, drowning, choking, terrorists.
The only one I could reasonably cross off my list was the last one--there's usually little chance of terrorist activity on a 45 minute flight from Buffalo to JFK. I hoped.
Anyway, my craziness in check, I made it through the weekend in one piece--and even managed to have some fun. The highlights, aside from my cousin and his new bride's infectious joy, were the mini-lambchops, delay-free travel, family time and my very own king-sized bed, from which I could rise at any hour I chose. Heaven.
E and C had a good time without me, too. I was gone from early Saturday morning to late Sunday night, but by mid-afternoon on Sunday I was ready to be home. It was hot as a fresh biscuit out on Long Island, and all the walking around in the heat made me just a teense crabby. So, I spent a little while by myself lying in bed with the AC cranked.
But I would be lying if I said it was just the heat making me crabby. You see I'm at this weird point in the pregnancy where I can feel the little guy moving with some frequency, but not enough to feel him all the time. So I'm like a pressure cooker during those points between nudges. "Didifeelhimishemovingishethereishealive?" runs a constant loop in my brain, its intensity and speed increasing until the next little thump or twinge. "Wasthathimwasitgasisheokwasthathim?"
It gets a little loud in my brain. And were I afforded every luxury in life, I could simply sit down with a hershey kiss and await confirmation. But that's rarely an option. So I get to a point in the day where conversational skills escape me, I can't concentrate on anything and I turn into somewhat of a t.roll. Until I have affirmation that he's in there, moving.
Sunday afternoon I'd reached my threshold, and a weekend of indulgent eating and not having a lot of time to pay attention to the inner workings caught up with me. I should also mention this little guy seems to have a "do not disturb" window in the late afternoon. Which nicely coincided with the height of my worry.
I arrived at the train station early, plopped down in a seat and turned on the iPod. I tried not to cry. I was tired and hot and bloated and sure that he was dead. As the train rolled on and took me to the airport, I felt him. Here and there. And I exhaled.
This is really, really hard. It was easier when it was earlier. I could check in with my queasies as a sign of everything being OK. But now . . . there's a lot of downtime. And it's rough when my obsessive, worrisome brain takes control. I turn inward, I shut out the external noise, I listen and feel desperately for a sign. It makes me an excellent companion, let me tell you. I get grumpy and short and lose all concentration.
With the exception of E, no one is spared my wrath. Until I can be sure.
Don't even get me started about seeing other pregnant ladies or infant girls when I am this tr.oll.