Middle of the Night Musing

At playgroup today, it was with great joy that I discovered four of the other eleven other moms are expecting ... almost half! As one after another confessed to me, I found myself becoming giddy with joy. Misery loves company like a pregnant woman loves another pregnant woman. To top it off, I have two other close friends who are expecting. John said "maybe we all have nothing else to do with the economy like it is" but I am amazed that so many of us are willing to bravely march forward in the face of tremendous uncertainty. I do have a phobia that our health system will break down before July 30th and I will go into (gasp) labor. Can you imagine? What if there was no cesarean, no epidural?! I would be just another screaming woman writhing around while people yell "BREATHE" or "PUSH!!!!" The very thought makes me want to schedule something for tomorrow, never mind the poor little person emerging will be four months early.

So tomorrow is my baby spa day and then, on Friday, I am going to Boston with the girls. This means my week is as good as over with church to take up Sunday, the seventh working day of John's work week. I nearly lost it all when I discovered the oil light on in my car today. Now that damn light has been flickering on and off since we bought the car over a year ago, and it is rushed to the shop every few months when it becomes known that the oil is actually low. It spent MLK day there, in fact, bathing in the luxurious care of its Mercedes dealer home, being hand washed and otherwise lovingly checked for this and that while I was stuck at home with my "replacement" Smart Car. Oh ha ha, the "Smart Car" is not so ... it fits no car seats, it feels like it is breaking up at speeds higher than 50mph and each pothole means a ruptured disc in my back. And only ONE lousy person bothered to comment on how darn cute it is, a woman at Dunkin Donuts who ran to get her coworker to check us out. That nearly made the hours I spent vibrating down the Merritt Parkway, surreptitiously glancing in the windows of every passing car to see I was not being noticed, worth it. In general, I spent a few days feeling very very green, yes even disdainfully so. But, other than my fast food friend, NO ONE noticed (refer to my post on Martyr Mothering to see how this affected me). I was so relieved to get my gas guzzling sweetheart back, never mind the fake blood being thrown at us as we smoothly weave in and out of traffic with my toddlers screeching "stop touching me" at eachother in the back.

So, my stupid (sweetheart) car nearly blew not only my baby spa plans (John would insist on not driving it tomorrow so the girls couldn't go anywhere), but it also would have completely ruined my getting to Boston to kill another weekend plans as I don't budge from the house without two armchair sized car seats. Sigh. I am so pleased with the sneakiness that ensued. I drove to our local service station and had "Oscar Desouzas" add a quart of oil. As he did this, he turned an admiring eye on me (I know!) and said "so what ... three months along?". I giggled "oh no, four months TO GO". He then told me he once "knew a girl", which turned out to be his sister in law, who was as straight up and down as his very finger, who exploded into a big puffer fish during the final weeks of her pregnancy. He spoke of this like it would reassure me and I thought "does this man even see me?" As I wondered, he finished his oiling and looked me over carefully "yeah ... real nice ...". I wondered again what on earth he was talking about ... I mean, I'd just tipped the scales an hour before at my doctor office at 146 pounds on a short girl ... not "real nice". But I admit, I felt a little sexy (and scantily dressed in my dress and sweater and clog shoes) as I followed him back to the cash register to pay. As we went, Oscar told me about his woes concerning most women he meets (they just want to set him up on a monthly payment plan ... not good mom material) and we traded truisms about having children (or not) as he rang me up. I walked back to my car and caught him checking me out through the garage windows ... I vowed to stop by the next time my man is not dishing out the compliments I need to feel like a 150 pound supermodel. Oh Oscar ...

So my scheme re oil may or may not work. John will be driving my car all day tomorrow and if it manages to piddle away a half quart or so of oil, that damn light will go off with a loud warning beep. John will swerve it off the road and call the dealer right then and there and I will be stuck this weekend, touring around here in my Smart Car. Maybe I'll drive it on down the the gas station for some complimentary lovin'. In any case, if it burns through enough oil to set off the light in one day, I guess (sigh) I shouldn't be driving it to Boston anyway.