My dearest Sissy,
I am all apologies for my long absence in correspondence. I could waste your time with countless excuses, but instead I will choose a manipulative approach, by insinuating that you had done something to upset me, and that even though I won’t tell you what you did, I have decided to take the high road and forgive you. See that? Tables turned. Ye ol’switcharoo. You are now the implied transgressor, and I don’t have to take any accountability for my actions. That’s what we professionals call....PSYCHOLOGY. No need to fact check, just take my word for it.
As you know, I am over 7 months pregnant and living the dream life -going to high society balls, going on many montage baby shopping sprees with “Bring Me the Higher Love” playing in the background, and getting honored at fancy lady brunches for my work in raising funds and awareness for prenatal care. All of this is very much happening for me, in the alternate universe I’ve created through one of those sad internet websites where people have avatars and spend all night trying to avoid their shell of a life...well, I have no idea what they do next and whether or not that still is a “thing” -cut to Ava rolling her eyes saying, “that’s so a THING. IT’S AN EPIDEMIC.” Because you’re now one of those people whose always outraged over things that don’t affect you in the least.
Anyway, back to being pregnant, I must just put a few things out there: being pregnant is harder when you’re chasing around a toddler and definitely not as cute. The first time around I was working up to the end, dealing with only adult-type issues, and having time to rest and enjoy the pregnancy. Plus, knowing you’re pregnant from the first week makes one feel it’s been going on for an eternity. I’m definitely entering into Jessica Simpson territory for longest pregnancy EVER. Also, I don’t remember ever being punched in the stomach the first time around, but now I get so many toddler knees to the belly I feel like I should call an abuse hotline. Oh, and another thing! the belly makes visual of small sharp toys under-foot very difficult to catch. Walking in her room is like...(this next line should be sung) WALKIN ON BROKEN GLASS! OOOOOO AND IF YOU’RE TRYIN TO CUT ME DOWN....aw, Annie Lenox. Androgynous. Talented. Female David Bowie. Victor Victoria.
Okay that was just free association, but I think we all agree, that you get the point (insert knowing glance, slow blink).
Last time I was pregnant I was living and working in center city Philadelphia, where I noticed a trend in which pregnant women, including myself, were regularly being hit on and approached by men. I can only equate this regular occurrence to the heavy influence of “cheesesteaks,” “cheese-fries,” and city’s number one consumer of large pretzels (for breakfast). This steady diet, is what I believe to cause pregnancy-like bellies...which therefore led men to not quite notice the difference between women who are actually with-child. This however is only a hypothesis, and has not been statistically analyzed to determine whether the city’s widespread attraction to pregnant women is an accident induced by body-style diet, or whether or not these dirtbags are just really disgusting. We may never know. Anyway, now that I live closer to the burbs of Philly, I no longer experience this in my 2nd pregnancy, and it’s like, “what gives?” I miss the days of being Amy Poeler’s character in the “I’m No Angel” video -
Jackpot!
On another note, I know in this last year I have discussed my difficulties adjusting to Philly’s gritty or “just keep’n it real” attitude, which is a nicer way of saying, “we have zero manners.” I’m not sure if I’m just getting used to it or if things have gotten better, but I just have to tell you that I’ve gone back to shopping at the ghetto target close to home. It doesn’t phase me anymore and my visits there have become unremarkable. I don’t really think the store has changed for the better, as Dean still tries to avoid going there, and just recently relayed a negative experience of having to confront people blatantly trying to cut in front of him in line....but really, Dean works in an ivory tower in Philly, and only has limited interactions with the general public on his train rides home, where he is normally left alone and only gets an occasional “boss-man” comment while he is on his ipad. Not only does the ghetto-ness of Philly not affect me anymore, I am noticing a slight appreciation for the level of unprofessionalism and inappropriateness. Let me relay a recent interaction that actually clarifies this paradigm:
I go to a nice salon to get waxed, and on my recent visit, I had forgotten that getting one’s legs done is no longer simple with pregnancy. One cannot lay on their backs or stomach. So, needless to say, a lot of awkwardness and weird positions were necessary in this ordeal and on top of all of this, my usual woman was temporarily out and her replacement, whom I’d never met had taken over. All of this led to my feeling extremely uncomfortable and anxious. Now as you know, regardless of whether I tell anyone what my degree is in, for some unknown reason I give off an impression to others, that they should relay very personal, awkward, and shameful stories about their lives. This interaction was no different. After making some nice pleasantries about my due date, family life, children, etc, my esthetician relayed some personal gems:
- Her current boyfriend is married. She doesn’t understand why he stays married when he’s obviously not in love with his wife anymore...but he’s got “strong” values and doesn’t “believe in divorce.”
- She met him at a club, where she didn’t care if he was married because it was supposed to be a “one night thing” and she hadn’t done anything like that since she was 18. YES, 18 year olds apparently do that sort of thing, ALL THE TIME.
- She’s starting to develop feelings for him, and her daughter really likes him too.
- His family members and friends really like her.
- (this is where I interjected that her story sounds like the first 15 minutes of a Dateline episode, and that this storyline will only end in her being forced to testify against him in a murder trial of his poor wife.)
- She then relayed various “situations” she had been involved in with previous boyfriend’s
- Discussed life as a bartender at several strip-clubs
- Being propositioned to “punch a guy for 600 dollars because he’s into being knocked around by women, and OF COURSE I DID IT”
- Various cocaine/drug use with local NFL players.
You may be wondering how this experience involves my desensitization of Philly’s “grit” and I’ll tell you why: If you only knew the super-tricky and humiliating positions I had to get into, while only wearing underwear, the compromising physicality involved in this process, you would be MORTIFIED. However, this woman’s stories literally cleared the room of all shame I could possibly feel. I mean, seriously, after reading all those “experiences” that by the way, I CENSORED, what possibly can I be self-conscious about? By the end of this hour-long hairy debacle, I not only recognized this dynamic, but fully appreciated her lack of professionalism and poor life decisions that led me to undergo a very embarrassing experience with general ease. I hugged her afterwards. Thank you Philly. Thank you.
So I don’t know if I’m changing for the better or not, but at least I can see the silver lining now. But who knows, this all could be crazy pregnancy hormones and tomorrow i’ll call you up screaming about being cut off in the grocery line.
Alright my love, it is time for me to clean the house, which will take 10 times as long, due to my restricted mobility and my darling Sofia insisting on “helping” by unfolding and undoing everything I’ve done. Please give my beloved nephews big kisses. I can’t wait to see you in only a month and a half! Sofia is so excited to see “Auntie Sissy” and her cousins. Yippeee!
xoxo,
S
S
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