Substitutions

The latest pearl of wisdom that people seem to impart on me is, "Wait until your baby gets here. You won't have the time, energy or desire to date anymore."

This gem appears stranger and stranger as the due date grows closer.

I can follow the logic behind arguing that I won't have the time or energy to date. Hell, I don't have the time or energy to do it now. I certainly don't have the desire to date -- and yet, for all of the freak show, circus act, comedy club, jailhouse rockers I've come into contact with in the past few years, some type of desire for a relationship with the gravitational pull of a small planet seems to suck me back in. Considering my track record over the past few years, this force should be impressive even to NASA.

But how can you argue that having a child will take the place of an adult, male/female, sexual relationship? If a friend was cold, would you hand her a glass of water and expect that to meet the need? If a neighbor was depressed, would you tell him that an aspirin would do the trick? If a co-worker was stressed, would you pinch his ass to take his mind off his problems? (If you answered yes to this last question let me warn you that this may be misconstrued as sexual harrassment.)

The answer is no. I can also personally vouge for the fact that eating a large bowl of ice cream will not make you less bored, less tired, or more motivated to write that report for work you've been avoiding all weekend. I've tested this hypothesis no less than 100 times --- doesn't work.

Those of us who are bakers know that substitutions can get you into big trouble. If you run out of baking soda, adding extra flour won't help --- I know they are both white powders, but sorry, flour won't help your scones rise.

I've also never understood it when people say, "My pet is like a child to me." I've had several pets that I've loved deeply. They were members of my family. I had one cat for 14 years and we lived in five homes together across four cities. But I never once thought to myself, "Now that I have this cat I don't need to have a baby." I just don't get it.

And so, with only a few short weeks to the Due Date, I bash on. Perhaps you parents in the crowd are thinking to yourselves, "Oh, you just wait and see, a baby will fill up your entire solar system". And maybe you're right. And although I can't wait to meet my baby girl and have her add a new and thrilling dimension to my life, I hope I'll never say that she is my entire world. I don't think that would be fair to either of us.

Solo

I'm in Newport for an old friend's wedding. I came stag because its difficult to invite a 'friend' to be your date for an out of town wedding to sleep one foot on the floor with you in your king size bed.

It's never all that much fun to go stag to a wedding where you mainly know just the bride and groom; but, I've decided to make the best of it.

When I checked into my hotel I was very surprised to see that the bathroom was as large as the studio apartment I had in the city. Separate rooms for the toilet, sinks and the combo shower/jacuzzi room. Wild. And when discussing my disco bathroom with the bride's friends from home at the post-party I learned that not everyone has a taj bathroom --- just me.

I had a fantasy about the one single guy attending the wedding tomorrow and how I will invite him back to my jacuzzi for champagne and strawberries (because this happens so often). I then had a reality that this is likely the very last time I will go out of town solo without either a) bringing my daughter, or b) leaving her with a sitter (unlikely). Holy shit.

This last thought is overwhelming in some ways. Let me repeat: I will never again leave town without either bringing my daughter or making child care arrangements.

But when I skip past the fantasy jacuzzi date, and stick to the reality of my life, this is okay. There is room in the corner of the disco bathroom for a changing station.

Nine

Vanessa sent me a text yesterday that read, 'Nine!'. We're no longer counting up, we're counting down. And considering that she has never gone beyond 38 weeks and has gone as early as 36, nine weeks seems like a stretch.

Is it normal for any expectant Mom to think about how her life will change, how she'll handle everything, and what she should expect? I would guess so. My reflections may be slightly different than the average woman living in the suburbs with her husband and her 2-car garage, but I imagine we all go through the, 'What will my life be like?' stage.

I'm looking forward to the day when I can stop saying I'm expecting a daughter and have a startled person glance at my wedding ring finger and then my stomach in confusion. Once she is here, they can just look at my ring finger.

I'm looking forward to the day when I can simply tell a guy I meet that I have a daughter, and can stop going through the 'I'm a single mother by choice using a gestational carrier' schpiel. Really folks, it would be easier to explain a sex change operation.

I'm looking forward to the day when I can stop asking Vanessa what my daughter is doing and can just hold her and see her myself.

I'm looking forward to the day when the boat arrives. I can almost see the sail on the horizon.

Client Meeting

Today I was meeting with a client about a serious topic. And then he said,

"Do you like motorcycles?"

"No, actually I'm not a fan. Why do you ask?"

"I was going to ask you to go for a ride on my motorcycle sometime."

(At this point I'm trying not to look surprised.)

"Well thank you, but I'm not a fan."

(A few moments later he says...)

"Did I make you uncomfortable a few minutes ago? I didn't mean to. Its just that I find you very attractive."

"Thank you. No, you didn't make me uncomfortable at all. I'm flattered. But as you can imagine, we're not allowed to date clients."

I've been doing this job for 14 years - this is a first.

WTF? I looked like hell today.

Copulence, I tell you. This shit is potent.

Worth Every Penny

My Grandfather used to say, "Free advice is worth exactly what you've paid for it." Rock on Grandpa, you're so right.

Many people seem to be lining up to offer me free advice or pieces of sage wisdom. Here are some of my favorites thus far:

"Do everything fun now - you won't get another chance after the baby comes."

"You do realize that your house will be trashed one year from now, right?"

"You know that no Dude is going to come within a 5 mile radius of you until your kid is six." (my personal favorite)

"After this baby comes, if you want to see people they'll have to come here. You won't be able to cart a kid, a diaper bag, and all of that stuff anywhere."

"For the first 3 months you're going to ask yourself why you ruined your life, but then it slowly gets better."

I feel quite certain that the pearls of wisdom will continue to drift my way over the next few months. And then the child raising advice can begin. I wait with open ears, a blank notebook, and a match.

Birth Plan

My gestational carrier and I met a few weeks ago to discuss our 'birth plan'. We are now at 30 weeks (!) and are literally in countdown mode.

Reviewing the 'birth plan' was an interesting exercise for me. If you'd asked me about my ideal birth plan five short years ago, here is what I would have said: My loving husband and I will be there together for the delivery. We'll try natural childbirth, but I've got no problems with pain meds as needed. Yes, I plan to breast feed.

And here we are five years later. I'm a single mother-to-be living in a 2-bedroom condo on the water, trying to avoid sexy ex-cons, bad decisions and parties centered around me that include the word 'shower'. My gestational carrier's last birth experience lasted 45 minutes from first contraction to delivery, concluding in the parking lot of her apartment complex. Therefore, my birth plan reads as follows: she calls me on my cell phone. I throw on glasses and flip-flops - no time for a bra. Grab my keys and drag-race to the hospital -- hope my gestational carrier is there with the baby still in her.

And who says I can't be flexible?

Copulence

Oprah did a show a few months ago about a pheromone called copulence than women secrete while ovulating. Men aren't aware that they can smell this pheromone, but it apparently has a profound influence on their attraction to women.

The show was of particular interest to me. I had several surgeries in 2008 in a last ditch attempt to try to carry my own pregnancy. The final surgery in August 2008 was surprisingly brutal and I vowed it was my last. I took several months of estrogen after the surgery and, sadly, my uterine lining did not improve. I did not begin to ovulate independently and still did not get my period. And by then I'd found my gestational carrier and threw myself into Plan B.

Fast forward six months. I was at my college roommate's 40th birthday party and we finally kicked out the last guests at 3am. I went to the bathroom before hitting the hay and lo and behold - my period. I couldn't believe it.

I was certain that this event was like a lunar eclipse. I'd perhaps see it one more time before menopause. But six weeks later it happened again. And then 4 weeks later. And now every 28 days. You have got to be kidding me.

I read 'Are you there God? It's me Margaret', bought a training bra, and had my ears pierced. It's official. I've hit puberty at 40.

The irony of this situation is not lost on me. Vanessa is 28 weeks pregnant with my daughter and I will be a single mom in a 2-bedroom condo in approximately 10 weeks. Plan B does not include another baby or (holy shit!) a set of twins or triplets.

And so Why Now? I think the answer - and the question - may be copulence.

I am aware this sounds crazy. And believe me I am NOT the girl who thinks that every guy likes her. In fact, I'm the girl who needs an engraved notice from the government announcing that a guy likes me. But I'm telling you, something strange is going on. I'm shooting this stuff out all over the place. With no aim, I might add.

Case in point: last night at the grocery store. My cashier was a 17 year old boy (born in the 1990s) who was all about testosterone and Miley Cyrus. I placed all of my items on the belt and handed him a package of tortilla, asking if he could return them for me. He made a face and said, "I don't know about that, I may have to call the cops." to which I replied, "Oh no, not again."

He said, "Oooh, you get in trouble a lot. I'll bet your husband likes that. You aren't married? I'll bet your boyfriend likes that, doesn't he?"

Excuse me??? Have you finished your math homework???????

Did I somehow bring this on myself? Or, is it The Secret? do I think I'm mass producing copulence, so I'm actually attracting men to me? or is it my new lipstain? because it is really cute.

To be continued...