Watched Eat, Pray, Love yesterday and had a hormonal meltdown not even 1/16 through, which resulted in snotty sniffles and unintelligible gibberish about “running out of time” while Tony sat beside me, patient and bewildered, stroking my hair.
The nutty: wasn’t because of any grand Elizabeth Gilbert epiphanies (in the form of the delectable Jules) that came snaking out from the screen before me to soccer-punch my sensibilities. Hardly. Like all nutties – and pimples – I think I had been ticking along for a good while, and I probably rented something as rama-rama-ding-dong and self-indulgent as EPL to perhaps find the words and the impetus to throw a dribbly and pathetic tantrum – which I further ruined by repeated admissions that I was probably sloshed with mumsy hormones, sodon’tmindme.
So what set me off? There is the one freaky coincidence – the fact that the author, at age 31, had known her first husband for 8 years and been married for 6 before she went epiphanising. But that’s where the similarities end. Unlike her, I loved turning 30 and it didn’t loom over me like a death sentence. And as much as “having a baby is like getting a tattoo on the face” (irreversible and kind of a big ask, commitment-wise), I think I’m ready. Or at least, more ready emotionally and spiritually than she was.
Still, there is a smidgen of something in all her moaning that I can identify with whole-heartedly. The quest for self. The awful sense of ending something in my life and embarking on something new and wholly irreversible. Have I given my freedom my all? Did I capitalise on my independence? Will I regret the fact that we didn’t do a round-world trip and spent oodles of cash, cashing up on experience instead? Would I have days where I’d yearn to trade in the child for a semblance of my former self and life?
The thing is, I have exactly 15 weekends left before my due date. Less, if you count the fact that I will be a beached whale in June. And I am – we are – investing the last vestiges of our precious couplehood fixing the computer and watching re-runs instead of living big and loud. Stupid, I know. My days are a mind-numbing hamster run of meetings and frustrations and stress and cracking the whip and balls in the air… but in the grand scheme of things, they are not what matter. Not even to the people who gave me the balls in the first place. How Ecclesiastic.
15 weekends, before Tony and I cease to be just Tony and I. Yesterday, I mourned its impending end for the very first time. It’s time to grow up.
13 March 2011 at 8:37 pm
aww hon! great post :) of course Tony and Velle will always be T&V, though those moments of coupledom may be fewer they will be all the more precious! and the love you share for your baby will bring you closer than you could ever imagine. I think you guys have had plenty of big memorable adventures to get you through those ‘closer to home’ years – I mean, what could be more memorable than Weird Al right?! :) It is such a big transition but you guys are more than ready x
14 March 2011 at 1:11 am
Babe I feel for you. I do. Not in the stupid condescending way we both hate. I can’t imagine what being pregnant is like but I can imagine it can get f*****g annoying to have people tell you motherhood is the bomb and life will just get better (although I am sure it will) and expect you to take their word for it. BIG HUGS! BTW (and I say this with extremely caution in case you are a fan) i totally hate Elizabeth Gilbert. She was annoying and extremely whiny. It was an extreme act of forebearance that I managed to finish the book. I kept wanting to shout at her. I also wanted to poke Julia Roberts in the eye during the movie. Love ya and you are look fabulous.
14 March 2011 at 9:47 am
sorry I did not mean to be f*****g annoying, just reassuring.
21 March 2011 at 2:22 am
OMG. sorry I didn’t meant to imply you were f*****g annoying! I didn’t even read your post! I’M SORRY!!!
21 March 2011 at 8:20 am
oh phew!! :) no drama or worries then – just glad my post didnt come across like that as I was just wanting to be positive for the mama-to-be! thanks for clarifying! x
14 March 2011 at 1:05 pm
Gaaah! Okay – no one’s annoyed (at least I’m not – I’ve got great support here! The non-condescending kind. ;p), and no one was annoying. And you’re right, Carol – E Gilbert was a tad moochy and self-absorbed, although I never read the book. Didn’t feel like poking Julia Roberts’ eyes out, though. But I’m a Jules fan.
And in some senses, the rant above and the emo brou-haha thereafter is embarrassing for me because of how completely ungrateful I think I sound. There’s E Gilbert – big house, my dream career, loving husband. There’s me – nice house, ok job, a loving man who makes me laugh and talks to my belly button every night with a gooey smile on his face. Neither of us is entitled to be this self-absorbed when there’s been widespread devastation in Brazil, Queensland, New Zealand and Japan.
Doesn’t make me any less souky, though. :)
17 March 2011 at 7:24 am
I love how honest you are – both to yourself and to the world. I totally think you’re entitled to be a bit souky. While it’s always good to take stock and count blessings, I don’t think there’s any need to compare reasons for feeling a little blue – sure, your house hasn’t collapsed and you haven’t lost power and water, sure there’ll always be someone else who’s worse off -but you’re entering a new phase of your life, I think it natural there’s some trepidation and I think you’re entitled to feel the way you do. And you’re safe – you don’t wallow. Instead you acknowledge how you feel, analyse why you’re feeling that and get on with your life. I think you’re doing brilliantly and that you’ll be an awesome mum :)
And you do look beeyooteefool! :D
18 March 2011 at 5:49 pm
Awww thanks, hon! Means a lot to me. :)