I’m a mover and a worker. I am busy working on things from the moment I wake up until the minute I finally, reluctantly, petulantly pass out in bed (usually with a remote or a book in my hand in a final act of conscious defiance.) You all know how I feel about sleep (a waste of time! Only to use when forced!)
Yesterday I woke up early, dressed, made lunches, got people off to school, and did the dishes. Then I prepped a seasoned baked chicken and veggies in separate containers for easy dinner assemblage later. I got myself ready and Proximo. I whirred up a plain yogurt, banana, and oatmeal smoothie for breakfast-on-the-go. I shoved my sewing machine and laptop to the car with everything else I’d need for the day. After dropping off Proximo, I drove to Salt Lake to Alt Summit. I’d be helping Susan with her workshop by teaching novice sewers how to make a simple envelope pillowcase. Dragging a sewing machine from the Little America Hotel to the Grand America Hotel, along with everything else, was great fun.
I attended the keynote luncheon where we heard Seth Aaron and Mondo from Project Runway speak. They were a lot of fun. (Mondo and I are the same height [when I am wearing 3” heels] but he is tiny, like a doll. They described what shooting days were like: in bed at 2am and up at 6am. So what, I snickered to Allison, that’s basically my normal schedule; I’ve been in training for Project Runway for 15 years. Except now that I’m pregnant my hours are a more reasonable 1am to 7:30am.)
The workshop was really well done; Susan did a great job prepping and organizing it all. My friends urged me to stay at ALT, but it was already 5:15pm and I was feeling atypically exhausted. I decided to go home. I decided it so fast that instead of mingling and mixing with people, I sat down on my sewing machine case in the middle of Grand America and didn’t move. I asked (begged) Amy Hackworth to drive me the block to my car so I wouldn’t have to carry everything back to my parking spot. She agreed because she’s an angel.
Faced with the prospect of driving home in a warm, comfortable car, I stopped by the only place on the one-way route to the freeway: McDonald’s. I felt stupid charging a dollar’s worth of Diet Coke, so I got a vanilla cone, too (because charging $2.36 is infinitely less stupid than charging $1.07, right?) Oh, burgleflickle, 5:30pm on a weekday means rush hour traffic, doesn’t it? 30 minutes into the stop-and-go, I started to feel awful. Really terrible. Hauling all that stuff, eating not enough, trying to do a mountain’s worth of work in just a couple hours, no. Nope. No. “NO,” says the baby, “NO, no, no just no.”
Have you ever vomited while driving on a freeway? It’s my new talent. That and attempting to fall asleep at the wheel. I called everyone I could to talk to so I’d stay awake. When I pulled into my driveway I could barely make it out the door and into the house. I was put to bed immediately, where the children, not having seen me all day, could crawl over me while I tried to not die.
“That was stupid,” I thought. The hardest thing for me to accept while pregnant, even harder than accepting the physical changes, is that I can’t go, go, go. My body will quit. It will drop out from under me. I have no choice in the matter. If I was Courtney I’d write about how giving up that kind of control is a profound experience, but I’m me, so I’ll just say it’s HARD for me to ACCEPT that I am NOT IN CHARGE of my OWN BODY. The consequences of stress, physical work, and trying to do everything, are unavoidable and immediate. This baby has already laid claim to me for its needs, and I am bound to it.