by Glynis Astie
While I considered the best way to remove Avery from my body, my father came over and scooped the little scamp into his arms. Instantly, his eyebrows shot up and he wrinkled his nose in disgust.
I quickly examined my shoe and found it to be stain free. I closed my eyes in relief, remembering the loss of my favorite sweater from our last encounter. This kid caused far too much damage for someone so small. I had a sinking feeling I wouldn’t be wearing a fashionable wardrobe for the first couple years of my son’s life. Stains apparently happen. A lot.
“I think you need a new diaper, young man. Where is your mommy?”
I pointed Sally out to him as I felt a very welcome pair of arms encircle what remained of my waist.
“How are you, mon coeur? I am so sorry to be late. My project hit another glitch.”
I turned around and pulled him close. “I’m great, Bluey. My dad rescued me from Avery. He latched on to my leg and planted his rump on my poor unsuspecting shoe.”
Louis grinned at me. “Came back for more, did he?”
I snickered. “Apparently we had some unfinished business.”
“I can easily understand a man’s interest in you.” He kissed me tenderly. “And how did your shoe fare?”
I melted into him. “It came out unscathed, though I can’t say the same for me.”
He scanned me from head to toe. “You look good to me.” He nuzzled my neck. “In fact, you look good enough to eat.”
I swatted the back of his head. “We’ll take care of your carnal needs—and mine—this evening. In case you hadn’t noticed, this is a G-rated party.”
He laughed wickedly and led me to the dessert table. “I suppose I will have to sate my appetite with a very different kind of sugar for the time being.” I hid behind him to shield both my red face and my obvious desire for my husband. Tonight couldn’t come fast enough for my taste.
Two hours later, the party guests had departed and Sam was fast asleep on Kate’s chest, her prized stuffed pig clutched in one hand and her brand new stuffed giraffe in the other. I smiled to myself, thinking of the great adventures they would take together. Sam had an imagination as active as her Aunt Sydney’s, but thankfully in a much more constructive way.
My dad had long since retired to Kate’s guest room for a nap, citing jet lag along with his inability to cope with anything after the parade of “monsters” who attended Sam’s party. He was such a weenie. Or possibly a genius. His claims did exempt him from any sort of cleanup duty. Since Kate and I were exhausted, that pleasure was left to Mom, Louis and Nick.
Sam and Kate were snuggled together on the couch, while I had claimed her oversized chair and ottoman. I felt myself dozing when Kate’s voice pulled me back from the brink of sleep.
“Do you think everyone had fun?” What? Was that uncertainty coming from my perfect sister?
“Are you joking? You’re amazing, Kate. I don’t know how you did all this. Everyone had a wonderful time.”
She stroked her daughter’s hair gently. “It’s not hard, Syd. I’ll help you when the time comes.”
Uh-huh. I could already see the Star Wars themed party in my future—whether we agreed on the name Luc or not. The complexity of such an event freaked me out. (You can’t half-ass such an iconic theme!) In a bid to keep my heart rate low, I quickly changed the subject.
“Can you believe you’re about to be an aunt? Twice?”
She shook her head. “Nope. This family is growing at an astronomical rate.”
I winked at her. “You ready for the next round?”
She stared at me with terrified eyes. “Bite your tongue, Syd! Sam is finally starting to sleep. Life is almost making sense.”
That’s rich! She keeps telling me not to worry, but evidently the thought of another kid strikes terror in her heart. It is time for a taste of her own medicine.
“Relax, Kate! It’s not like it’s going to happen simply because we’re talking about it.”
“Really? How did you decide to take your first pregnancy test?”
“Dad was only joking! It’s not like he made it happen.” I smirked. “We both know how it happened.”
She hugged her daughter tighter to her chest. “I don’t need any other distractions right now. And the exhaustion…”
She glanced up at me, startled by her own comment. “I’m sorry, Syd. I didn’t mean—”
“I know, Kate. I get it.”
She exhaled slowly. “At least you’re two-thirds of the way through it.”
“True, but this is when the fun truly begins. The third trimester, baby! A whole lot of action is about to take place.”
She held her hand out and I leaned across the chair to take it. “You can do this, Syd. You’re much stronger than you think.”
I gazed into my sister’s weary eyes. “I’m starting to believe you.”
“You’ve come a long way in the last two years. I’m proud of you!”
Tears filled my eyes. “Thanks, Kate. I don’t know about a long way, but I’ve definitely made some progress.” As in, my family has finally stopped gathering material for my commitment hearing.
“I just wanted you to know.” She squeezed my hand. “I’ve noticed and I’m happy for you.”
I wiped a tear from my eye with the back of my hand and sniffled in a most unladylike manner. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Kate handed me a tissue. (How is she always prepared? And while holding her daughter no less?) “Make no mistake, Syd. You did this all by yourself.”
I shrugged. “If you insist.”
“I do.” She sighed contentedly. “Baby Durand is going to have an INCREDIBLE mother.”
After Kate’s assertion, I lost the battle with my tears. Louis entered the room to find two blubbering messes. Quietly blubbering messes (we had a sleeping baby in our midst), but messes nonetheless. In the back of my mind I reflected on Kate’s display of post-POST-partum hormones. Is there no end to this thrill ride?
Chapter Eighteen
The further I progress into my pregnancy, the more I understand my sister’s fear of entering this state so soon following the birth of her first child. I’m beginning to think pregnancy is one lengthy exercise in humiliation. As a young woman, I imagined what pregnancy would be like—the beautiful skin, the gorgeous hair, my adorable baby bump and of course, the charming maternity clothes. Little did I know at the time, the wistful perspective was all a big hoax. Unless you are a fictional movie character, your pregnancy will contain some degree of…unpleasantness. That is a neutral enough word, isn’t it? Because I have a far more colorful way to express what has been happening to my body lately.
Since entering my twenty-eighth week of pregnancy, I have officially crossed the threshold into the third trimester. Pardon the expression, but shit is getting real! Not only do I have to visit Dr. Bauer every two weeks instead of every month, there are also a number of alarming things happening to my once well-functioning physique. (Excluding my brain, of course. We all know this has been on the fritz for quite some time.) I must warn you, what I’m about to describe isn’t for the fainthearted.
Here goes. I have to pee at least once an hour. I’m retaining so much water I actually feel like I’m going to float away. (How am I retaining this much water when I have to pee so often?!? It boggles the mind.) The horrible acne I had as a teenager has made a reappearance in the most obvious of places. Heartburn is now a standard issue for me—when I’m lucky enough to keep my meal down. The amount of gas my body generates is so horrific I should be featured in the Guinness Book of World Records. I have discovered hair in places it has never grown before AND I’m pretty sure I have hemorrhoids.
On top of these lovely occurrences, I received a lengthy lecture from Dr. Bauer at this morning’s appointment. While everything else was fine, my blood pressure has been gradually inching up for the last month. She warned me that if she saw even a small spike at my next appointment, she would put me on bed rest. Completely
terrified of being trapped in a horizontal position for the remainder of my pregnancy, I promised to be extra careful and vowed to remove what little salt I had left in my diet.
And the cherry on top of it all? Following my vaginal exam, Dr. Bauer advised me to use arnica cream every night. I wish I could tell you she recommended this for my sore muscles (I honestly feel like I have run a marathon by the end of each day), but the instruction was to apply the cream to my…delicate parts. She informed me this daily practice would go a long way in preventing tearing when the baby is born. After a detailed description of how to HAVE MY HUSBAND apply thecream—which made me blush profusely—I was on my way. My shoulders sank, thinking this would not be the best form of foreplay.
I arrived at the apartment that evening to find Louis deeply engrossed in a phone conversation. After waving a quick hello, I went to the bedroom to change. Once again, my clothes were coated in sweat. I believe I neglected to include the inability to maintain a normal body temperature in my earlier list of grievances. Carrying my little bundle is like having my own personal heater. This is a fabulous gift for Zoe, who lives in New York, but when you are a resident of the great state of California, not so much.
While Louis had no issue whatsoever in keeping the heat off in our apartment, the employees in my company kind of enjoyed being able to feel their fingers while they worked. One of the toughest things about being an East Coast transplant in Silicon Valley is dealing with native Californians’ view of cool weather. God forbid the temperature should fall below fifty degrees; they all complain they’re freezing! What is this, SOUTHERN California? I thought you northerners had heartier constitutions!
To make matters worse, due to the chilly spring we have had this year, our facilities department has over-compensated by cranking the heat to the maximum setting. Consequently, I have borrowed a total of four fans for my office. (And I want MORE!) I have them all oscillating at the same time—while wearing very light clothing and guzzling ice water—and I’m still uncomfortable.
I’m almost ashamed to admit how amused I have become by the people who visit me in my “arctic” environment. They wear their puffy winter coats and shiver through their tales of woe as I have beads of sweat pouring down my face. It is pretty damn comical.
Happily installed in a baby blue tank top and shorts (my new favorite color), I ventured out to the living room to find Louis still on the phone. Hmmm. Who in the world is he talking to? Suddenly the words “mortgage” and “PMI” drift over. Is he talking to a real estate agent again? Given the general stress of pregnancy along with my specific health concerns, the last thing I wanted to do was deal with moving, but if he wanted it this badly, I had to at least discuss it with him. Again. (Broken record, anyone?)
Annoyed with his decision to go behind my back, I was less than gentle with the pots while preparing my low-sodium macaroni and cheese. Perceptive as ever, Louis hung up the phone two minutes later.
“How was your day, mon coeur?”
Apparently, he has decided to play it cool. This should be fun.
I cleared my throat. “The usual nonsense. How was your day?”
He came up behind me and buried his head in my hair. Such a dirty trick! My shoulders relaxed despite my irritation with him.
“Nothing exciting.” He kissed my neck. “What life and death issues did your employees come up with today?”
The bizarre array of problems brought to me by my employee population amused Louis to no end. When he wonders how I manage to deal with such oddities, I remind him that working in Human Resources requires an extraordinary skill set. You have to be part business partner, part psychologist, part babysitter and part cheerleader. Oh, and part referee. We always get called in to deal with the fights. There is rarely a dull moment in my line of work.
I sighed and extricated myself from his embrace. “Paul came to see me today.”
Louis raised his eyebrows. “Penis enlargement surgery?”
I rolled my eyes at him while I set the water to boil. “Pet insurance.”
Paul was one of those employees who really made you work for your paycheck. During the four years of my employment, he had brought me more issues than the remaining one hundred and forty-two employees combined. Ninety percent of his requests, grievances and/or suggestions were completely asinine, but a good HR professional must answer each and every one with diplomacy and tact. I only wish Paul would employ the same methods during our interactions. When it came down to it, he was nothing more than a forty-five year old baby. And an ugly one at that. (The hormones made me say it.)
Louis dug through the fridge and pulled out his standard prosciutto appetizer. “Were you able to defuse the situation?”
I momentarily lost my focus as I gazed longingly at the salty, nitrate-riddled meat. Another moment of wanting food more than my husband. Pregnancy continues to change my priorities. It is a little frightening.
“Syd? Are you alright?”
“Yup!” I quickly wrenched my attention from the contraband cold cut and grabbed a banana.
Louis nudged me gently, a smile playing at his lips. “So what happened to poor Paul?”
I smirked at him, my mouth full of banana.
He drew me toward him, barely suppressing a chuckle. “Did you finally tell him where he could go?”
I shook my head and swallowed. “I need to keep my job, Bluey. I calmly explained to him that the company wouldn’t look at pet insurance again until next year.”
“And what was his response?”
Louis has a solid understanding of how Paul’s mind works. He knew this guy wouldn’t let his dismissal go without a fight.
I clenched my banana tightly as I remembered. “He told me he was impressed with the size of my ‘cankles.’ Apparently I put his mother’s to shame.”
Louis threw back his head and laughed harder than he had a in a very long time. (You guessed it! High pitched all the way.) At least my appalling experiences with Paul were beneficial for something other than destroying my ego.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny! But who thinks it’s acceptable to comment on my swollen ankles? ‘Cankles’ is not a funny term! I could have commented on his man boobs, but I didn’t. I have manners.” I tapped my chest to emphasize my point.
Through his tears of laughter Louis croaked, “Vivian…” Indeed. My boss wouldn’t be pleased with such an infraction on my part.
I huffed. “Between my crazy hormones and the heightened state of irritation I was in due to his…his …IDIOCY, it took everything I had not to bring it up. AND to refrain from ripping off one of his testicles.”
Louis dissolved into laughter once more. He loved when my ranting became violent. He found my vicious statements hilarious, since a) it was so out of character for me and b) he knew I wouldn’t go through with any of it.
Between cackles he managed to say, “Perhaps you’re overreacting slightly, Syd?”
I glared at him. “Pregnant women aren’t impervious, Bluey. I’m used to people acting like I’m slow, stupid, deaf or crazy, but THIS is a new one.”
Finally managing to get control of himself, Louis declared, “That is just Paul being Paul. He has always been a handful.”
“He was nearly MY handful today,” I muttered.
Louis attempted to cover his laugh with a cough and quickly turned to put the prosciutto back in the fridge. He took his time rearranging things in order to finish his silent cackling fit as far from my menacing gaze as possible.
I scoffed at his obvious subterfuge. “So, who were you talking to on the phone earlier?”
He closed the refrigerator door slowly. “No one important.”
I took a deep breath. “Bluey, I thought we had established that I’m not stupid. I distinctly heard home buying terms being thrown around.”
“Fine.” He locked eyes with me. “I spoke with a real estate agent about a house I found in Belmont.”
My heart stopped. I thought he was only investigating
mortgage terms. I didn’t think he had gone as far as searching for properties. I felt a knot forming in my stomach from this new development.
Louis approached me and put his hands on my shoulders. “Syd, I know you want to wait, but I really think we need more room.”
After prying my hands from the counter, he led me to the couch and helped me get comfortable with a generous assortment of cushions. (Pillows of any kind are a pregnant woman’s best friend. Trust me.)
I closed my eyes and practiced my deep breathing exercises. “I’m sorry, Bluey. I’m trying to be open-minded. You obviously have our best interests at heart.”
He picked up my hand and lifted it to his lips. “There is no need to apologize, mon coeur.”
I exhaled slowly, feeling relieved. He was going to drop the subject. Crisis averted.
“I think I have found the perfect house for us.”
I snapped my neck back to scowl at him (big mistake) and paused briefly to massage the pain away. “What do you mean? What house?”
Louis spoke slowly. “The one I was talking to the real estate agent about. In Belmont.”
I stared at him blankly.
He tried again. “It is a twenty-two hundred square foot ranch style house with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a newly renovated kitchen and a huge deck!” He threw his arms up in triumph.
Words continued to fail me.
He grinned from ear to ear. “Does it not sound great? You will love it!”
Find your voice, Sydney! Say something!
“But I told you I wasn’t ready!” OK, there was a little too much whine in that for my taste. Dial it back, Crazy Pregnant Sydney.
Louis dropped his gaze and clenched his jaw. When he spoke, his voice was deadly quiet. “Why is it always about you?”
My jaw fell to the floor. He can’t be serious.
He stood up and began to pace the living room. “We live in YOUR country, near YOUR family, with YOUR culture and YOUR language at the forefront. Last year was all about YOUR dream wedding. Have you ever once thought about what I want? Or perhaps what is good for the baby?”