Monday, November 2, 2009

It's crazy time

I've been careful not to fall into pregnancy-stereotype-madness. I only use the excuse "But I'm pregnant!" when I really need it. (i.e: when Canadian Tire tried to sell me oil-based primer. Umm... I don't believe oil paint is healthy at the best of times. And I will definitely take my mother up on her offer to strip the last remaining wallpaper border from my house (see: wallpaper bordering, crimes of)). I haven't had any serious cravings, so I can't claim 'Baby wants it!" when I get a hankering for pizza. (Actually, what Baby wants most is mashed potatoes. I'm the one that wants pizza).

I also thought I was doing a pretty good job of keeping a even keel. No major freak-outs. No driving into ditches (a la my friend, mother of 3). All in all, I didn't think pregnancy had changed me much. Apart from my new-found adoration of mashed potatoes, of course.

On Friday, all that changed. My friend and colleague has left for greener pastures in the Big City. Friday was his last day at work, and we got together that night for tunes, drinks (of the juice variety for me) and cake.

I found out I was pregnant in early August. I was 4 and a half weeks along, and I waited two more months to tell the office. (I would have waited longer if it wasn't such a gd small town - I was afraid they'd hear it on the street before they heard it from me). Anyway, I told my boss in private, and she called a staff meeting to announce it to the office. (We are an office of seven women and, until last Friday, one man). Reactions were predictable - the mothers shrilled with glee, there were hugs and questions and best wishes and choruses of "how long have you know?! Why didn't you tell us sooner!" etc. etc...

Friday night, we were reminiscing on the past two years, and my two months of pregnancy-secrecy came up. I was quite proud of myself for keeping mum (I am the WORST secret-keeper in the history of secret-keepers). The women were shocked that they didn't figure it out for themselves. (Though two of them admitted they thought I was getting a little think around the middle). The man? His take on those two months was, "I just thought you were being a really big bitch."

Wow. Let dooowwwwwwwn.

"But... but..." I stuttered. "I wasn't that bad!"

"hoo-ee," he exhaled.

"I APOLOGIZED for the dictionary!" I cried.

The Dictionary Incident happened the day before I peed on a stick. We're an office of writers, and he had passed me some copy to proof. I picked up on a word (I don't know what one) what had been misused. I'm pretty sure it was a synonym problem, where the word sounded right but meant something completely different. (My favourite example? Troupe and troop.  Ie: The troupes moved in for an assault.  Heh heh heh.)

So I marked the error and handed the copy back. Minutes later, he e-mailed "You can troop all you want. I'm going to troupe" (or something. It was a lot funnier when he used the actual word we're talking about here). Except I didn't find it very funny. In fact, I didn't think it was funny at all. I wanted the CORRECT word there, and I wasn't taking no for an answer. I picked up my Canadian OED and stormed across the hall. Pushed open his (glass) office door, slammed the dictionary (paperback) on his desk and shouted "Use a FUCKING dictionary!"

Needless to say, that day didn't end well. It was deadline day, and tensions were running high. In fact, that evening the manager asked me if I was pregnant. I said no, no way. but I went home that night and thought about it, and took a test the next morning.

I knew the Dictionary Incident was out of character, and I decided right then I'd apologize the day I told him The News. That day was two months later, but my colleague hadn't forgotten. Neither has he forgotten all my other hormone-charged bouts of the crazies.

I've apparently airbrused all my insanity from the record, and for that I give myself and absolute discharge.

So maybe there's something to this pregnancy-insanity thing. (see: The Girlfriends' Guide to Pregnancy by Vicki Iovine, Chapter 1). I'll cut myself some slack, and not get too upset when I find myself acting just like the books say I will.

I just hate being predictable.

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