That’s what my husband said when he walked on to our freshly cleaned living room carpet….that was covered in a nice layer of cat puke.
Or there is the wonderful mood my mother was in when she got an unfortunate case of rotovirus the last 2 days we were in Israel. “At least my pants will fit when we get home!”
And best of all is my wonderful amazing friend, who has somehow managed to see the upside of slavery, “Thank God for slavery because it got my ass out of Africa.”
I am apparently surrounded by positive people. People who can find the silver lining in even the grayest cloud. Heck, if you can find the happy in slavery, you can find the happy in anything.
These people love me a great deal even though I am not a positive person. I don’t think I would call myself “negative,” but I do like to think of myself as a “realist.” I prepare myself for the worst case scenario…just in case. I just can’t always find the happy happy joy joy in all the aspects of my life.
Last Shabbat we had a meal with 2 of our friends who had both recently had babies. After 2 hours of seeing them rush around trying to figure out feedings and hearing tales of their nighttime woes, the Negative Nelly (or maybe it was Realistic Rose) popped into my brain. I got scared and stressed. I was sure I wasn’t going to remember anything. Sure that this child was going to be so much more challenging than Princess Perfection. Certain I would spend the first few weeks after the birth just wishing I was pregnant again, when everything was less out of control and more in my stomach.
Now, you don’t need to tell me there is plenty of splendor and wonder and happy happy joy joy in a new baby. I know. I get that the rewards outweigh the challenges. I get that after a few days/weeks/months things will calm down and be back to “normal.” I don’t need to be made to see the positive side of things. I am capable, I just choose not to.
Those first few weeks after my daughter was born were quite the shock. I REALLY REALLY missed pregnant me. My husband waited on me hand and foot, I could just sit around and drink gallons of Slurpees, I could leave the house whenever I so desired. If labor was as much fun as the epidural I would have considered seeing if she would have gone back in. Pregnant was a good time.
But the other part of me, Guilty Gloria, is sad that I spent the first few weeks not living in the present. Wallowing in the past is never cool. So for her I will not try and find the positive-no no, that would not be me- but instead write out the negatives of being pregnant. That way when I am bored and exhausted at 2am and wishing I could be sleeping or guzzling Slurpees I will remember why being pregnant is not always all that grand.
I won’t miss….
*Not being able to bend down.
*My jewelry not fittng…especially my wedding band. I feel so scandalous walking around 8 months pregnant with no visible signs of marriage.
*The iron pills I have to take...or the fiber that goes with it.
*The comments from people who can’t believe I have so much pregnant left.
*My swollen cankles
*My daughter completely loving my husband more than me because I run out of gusto after 5 minutes of any sort of play activity
*Constantly being scared the new child isn’t moving enough
*The desire to eat 4 cream cheese on rye sandwiches at any given time.
*Random abdomen molestations
*The kickball games the future child seems to play with my bladder.
*The constant reminder that all human beings begin as parasites.
Ahhh. I feel like that will come in handy. Especially when I am nonswollen-ankle deep in baby throw up and have to find a way to make a throw rug out of it.