In my last post, I took a moment to commend those around me who have been sensitive to my unspoken desire to not discuss pregnancy. While there are, undoubtedly, still several people who will continue to extend this sensitivity to me, the group that I sat with in the cafeteria for lunch yesterday was not feeling particularity sensitive.
When I sat down at the table, someone pulled out my chair for me. Someone else quipped "that's not far enough." Ha, ha, fine. So I am big. I actually didn't mind that. But it was a Pandora's box. That one little joke started a 5 minute conversation about me, my pregnancy, and my plans for when the baby comes.
Want to strike panic into my soul? Use that phrase: when the baby comes. In particular, the conversation focused around my plan to discontinue some of my after-work activities for the New Year. I was teased that I could continue, just pop the baby into a carrier and off I go! Little did these people know the distress they were causing me.
Frankly, I fully intend to by too busy caring for the Babe, dealing with any residual grieving relating to C.'s missing place in our life, and trying to settle into a parenting pattern with my husband to worry about extra activities. And I know that if that does not come to pass, I will not be leaving my house. Either way, I will not be looking to save to world in January. I have other plans.
That's not to say that I don't look forward with excitement and anticipation to Babe's arrival. I am just too gun-shy to look at it as a certainty. And it is just too upsetting that it isn't obvious to the world that I don't want to talk about it frivolously with a group of people that I barely know while trying to eat my lunch.
Maybe I should practice a new phrase... "I don't want to talk about it."
Instead, I sit and squirm.