And now, a story...
When Mary quit smoking she was, in a word, bitchy.
It wasn't that Mary had been a heavy smoker, far from it. She smoked socially and whenever she wanted to be social but found no one available. It passed the time. Mary had assumed that quitting would be easy for her since she had never felt the pull of nicotine in any real sense. What she hadn't counted on was how much she would be addicted to the ritual.
Mary missed the delicate size and weight of the actual cigarette. How she had to hold one in her hand on her way outside to light up, rigid fingers but with a light touch so as not to squeeze it. She missed the first sizzle of tobacco, that light "tssssss" that would usher in acrid smoke mixed with tranquility. More than anything, she missed having seven minutes several times a day filled with a specific activity. It was an activity she enjoyed and her enslavement to it gave her excuses to put off less desirable activities even if only for a few minutes.
Now Mary had all this time to think, to be with herself and with the alien that had taken away her little hobby. Mary had an intruder in her body, one she had sworn to protect even though her anxiety told her that would be an impossible task.
When Mary had discovered that she was pregnant she was, by all accounts, quite happy about the arrangement. How lovely! Babies are wonderful and soft little baby things are so comforting to have around. But beyond Mary's sudden obsession with learning lullabys was an intense fear of failure. She had had no real role models of modern motherhood. She was the first of her friends to get pregnant and imagined she would be alone in that catagory for a long time to come. Her friends seemed to think it quaint that Mary was the first in their crew to succomb to her biological clock. After all, wasn't it Mary that would knock back shot after shot of tequila on a Monday night and declare that she would never, never ruin her beloved career by stopping to do something as base as procreate? Sex, yes. Baby, no.
Her friends knew her better. They would sit at the bar and smile, knowing with absolute certainty that Mary would be the first to go. Her tequila time was limited and they knew it. It was obvious. Mary took care of everyone and it was only a matter of time before she challenged her caretaking compulsion with a 24/7 job. If anyone needed anything, Mary was the go to gal. Even people who disliked her would come to her for help.
In 8th grade science Mary had the misfortune of being partnered with Jessica Milton. Jessica did nothing but taunt her about her clothes, her music, her friends, and her father's job. Working with Jessica had been a living hell. Then one day while bent over a pig fetus Jessica whispered to her.
"Do you ever feel like life just isn't worth living?"
Mary's highly tuned jerk sensor was blazing in her head. You're being set up! Run away! Run away! But Mary just couldn't ignore Jessica's question. Even though images were swimming in her head of Jessica's friends accosting her in the hall making crybaby noises and pretending to slice their wrists with their pencils, she couldn't stop herself from taking Jessica seriously. Mary decided that being a kind person was more important than guarding herself from further ridicule. With a deep sigh, Mary responded.
"Sure. Sometimes."
It was then that Jessica showed her the deep wounds on her shoulder. It was an odd moment, both girls entering uncharted waters both personally and socially. Mary smiled and gently lifted her black peasant skirt to reveal evidence of her own battle with herself. Then she added,
"But this isn't forever. I'll stop doing this someday and you will too."
That was true. At least for Mary. She did stop mutilating herself and she did find the love of her life and she did find herself a career and was enjoying life. Then the alien came.
With the alien came the realization that this kid would be predisposed to being angry with her. Not because of what she does, necessarily, but because of who she is. It's the old parent's curse. I HOPE YOU HAVE ONE JUST LIKE YOU! And hadn't she been awfully hard on her own parents? Didn't she still despise the inequitable union that had created her? No marriage is perfect and no one can bring a child into this world without screwing them up in some way. Now that she was knee deep in this pregnancy, could she accept the fact that she was doomed to fail?
Not only that, but she was already sensing a rapid shift in her friendships. Her girlfriends were assuming that she didn't want to be invited out anymore. They always wore condescending smiles on their faces as if they wanted to treat her nicely before she faded into the oblivion of layettes and mommy and me classes. Something which her friends, admittedly, found useless and boring. Her male friends were quick to make rather unsavory comments about her having more 'junk in the trunk' now that she was mommy-bound. Her co-workers were already salivating on her office furniture asking not-so-subtle questions about her maternity leave. They had seen it before and had predicted that she wouldn't be coming back.
Mary struggled to get out of her rather uncomfortable office chair. She waddled across the room to fetch another chair to put her feet on. In the last week or so, the edema in her legs had become unbearable. As she settled back into her chair and raised her feet she couldn't help but curse herself for being so huge. Her eyes glanced over some headshots on her desk and she began to shuffle through them once more, looking for that perfect face to sell soap. Being fat, even being justifiably fat, in the entertainment industry is a woefully depressing thing. It doesn't help that people seem to think it is cute to walk up to a pregnant woman they know and exclaim, "WOW! YOU'RE HUGE!".
The phone rings and when Mary answers she is comforted to hear Max's voice on the line.
"Hiya Mare. How's my little mama?"
"Hi, Max. I'm okay, my legs are fucking killing me though."
"Sorry. How 'bout I give you a good rub down tonight when I get home?"
"Delicious. What time will you be home?"
"I dunno, maybe 8 or 9:00. Want me to bring home something?"
"Nah, I should probably cook something tonight. I need to watch my salt."
"Okay. I'll see you tonight. Call me if you need anything."
"Thanks, Max."
Mary hung up the phone and smiled. Max is one of the most delightful creatures on the planet. He's a man protecting his seed. He's not always sure how to do it, but he tries so hard. It's hard not to feel a tiny bit lucky with a man like that around.
There was a strange little gurgle inside Mary and she couldn't help but silently wish for this whole business to be over and done with. No sooner had Mary thought this when she either felt or heard (she can't say with any certainty which it was or if it was both) a pop and suddenly she was sitting in a very wet chair.
The clock read 3:14. Mary's water had broken.
It wasn't that Mary had been a heavy smoker, far from it. She smoked socially and whenever she wanted to be social but found no one available. It passed the time. Mary had assumed that quitting would be easy for her since she had never felt the pull of nicotine in any real sense. What she hadn't counted on was how much she would be addicted to the ritual.
Mary missed the delicate size and weight of the actual cigarette. How she had to hold one in her hand on her way outside to light up, rigid fingers but with a light touch so as not to squeeze it. She missed the first sizzle of tobacco, that light "tssssss" that would usher in acrid smoke mixed with tranquility. More than anything, she missed having seven minutes several times a day filled with a specific activity. It was an activity she enjoyed and her enslavement to it gave her excuses to put off less desirable activities even if only for a few minutes.
Now Mary had all this time to think, to be with herself and with the alien that had taken away her little hobby. Mary had an intruder in her body, one she had sworn to protect even though her anxiety told her that would be an impossible task.
When Mary had discovered that she was pregnant she was, by all accounts, quite happy about the arrangement. How lovely! Babies are wonderful and soft little baby things are so comforting to have around. But beyond Mary's sudden obsession with learning lullabys was an intense fear of failure. She had had no real role models of modern motherhood. She was the first of her friends to get pregnant and imagined she would be alone in that catagory for a long time to come. Her friends seemed to think it quaint that Mary was the first in their crew to succomb to her biological clock. After all, wasn't it Mary that would knock back shot after shot of tequila on a Monday night and declare that she would never, never ruin her beloved career by stopping to do something as base as procreate? Sex, yes. Baby, no.
Her friends knew her better. They would sit at the bar and smile, knowing with absolute certainty that Mary would be the first to go. Her tequila time was limited and they knew it. It was obvious. Mary took care of everyone and it was only a matter of time before she challenged her caretaking compulsion with a 24/7 job. If anyone needed anything, Mary was the go to gal. Even people who disliked her would come to her for help.
In 8th grade science Mary had the misfortune of being partnered with Jessica Milton. Jessica did nothing but taunt her about her clothes, her music, her friends, and her father's job. Working with Jessica had been a living hell. Then one day while bent over a pig fetus Jessica whispered to her.
"Do you ever feel like life just isn't worth living?"
Mary's highly tuned jerk sensor was blazing in her head. You're being set up! Run away! Run away! But Mary just couldn't ignore Jessica's question. Even though images were swimming in her head of Jessica's friends accosting her in the hall making crybaby noises and pretending to slice their wrists with their pencils, she couldn't stop herself from taking Jessica seriously. Mary decided that being a kind person was more important than guarding herself from further ridicule. With a deep sigh, Mary responded.
"Sure. Sometimes."
It was then that Jessica showed her the deep wounds on her shoulder. It was an odd moment, both girls entering uncharted waters both personally and socially. Mary smiled and gently lifted her black peasant skirt to reveal evidence of her own battle with herself. Then she added,
"But this isn't forever. I'll stop doing this someday and you will too."
That was true. At least for Mary. She did stop mutilating herself and she did find the love of her life and she did find herself a career and was enjoying life. Then the alien came.
With the alien came the realization that this kid would be predisposed to being angry with her. Not because of what she does, necessarily, but because of who she is. It's the old parent's curse. I HOPE YOU HAVE ONE JUST LIKE YOU! And hadn't she been awfully hard on her own parents? Didn't she still despise the inequitable union that had created her? No marriage is perfect and no one can bring a child into this world without screwing them up in some way. Now that she was knee deep in this pregnancy, could she accept the fact that she was doomed to fail?
Not only that, but she was already sensing a rapid shift in her friendships. Her girlfriends were assuming that she didn't want to be invited out anymore. They always wore condescending smiles on their faces as if they wanted to treat her nicely before she faded into the oblivion of layettes and mommy and me classes. Something which her friends, admittedly, found useless and boring. Her male friends were quick to make rather unsavory comments about her having more 'junk in the trunk' now that she was mommy-bound. Her co-workers were already salivating on her office furniture asking not-so-subtle questions about her maternity leave. They had seen it before and had predicted that she wouldn't be coming back.
Mary struggled to get out of her rather uncomfortable office chair. She waddled across the room to fetch another chair to put her feet on. In the last week or so, the edema in her legs had become unbearable. As she settled back into her chair and raised her feet she couldn't help but curse herself for being so huge. Her eyes glanced over some headshots on her desk and she began to shuffle through them once more, looking for that perfect face to sell soap. Being fat, even being justifiably fat, in the entertainment industry is a woefully depressing thing. It doesn't help that people seem to think it is cute to walk up to a pregnant woman they know and exclaim, "WOW! YOU'RE HUGE!".
The phone rings and when Mary answers she is comforted to hear Max's voice on the line.
"Hiya Mare. How's my little mama?"
"Hi, Max. I'm okay, my legs are fucking killing me though."
"Sorry. How 'bout I give you a good rub down tonight when I get home?"
"Delicious. What time will you be home?"
"I dunno, maybe 8 or 9:00. Want me to bring home something?"
"Nah, I should probably cook something tonight. I need to watch my salt."
"Okay. I'll see you tonight. Call me if you need anything."
"Thanks, Max."
Mary hung up the phone and smiled. Max is one of the most delightful creatures on the planet. He's a man protecting his seed. He's not always sure how to do it, but he tries so hard. It's hard not to feel a tiny bit lucky with a man like that around.
There was a strange little gurgle inside Mary and she couldn't help but silently wish for this whole business to be over and done with. No sooner had Mary thought this when she either felt or heard (she can't say with any certainty which it was or if it was both) a pop and suddenly she was sitting in a very wet chair.
The clock read 3:14. Mary's water had broken.
posted by Bree O'Connor at 1:52 AM
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