Limes and Limericks

It used to be that we talked about our Friday nights, my new slut dress, the sassy shirt Mr. J picked up. It used to be that we talked about our Saturday morning hangovers, the late afternoon matinee and how silly so-and-so is with their neo-political banter and inane opinions.

Not anymore.

"Little, did you see this new Baby Fridge thingie that Aetna Maternity sent over? It's like a insulated cooler, but there's these elastic things for bottles and baby food. It's really cool."

"Who are you?"

"Serious. I will totally use it when I take the baby hiking."

"You do realize that newborns don't hike, right?"

I caught myself calling Mr. J from my writer's retreat in Michigan last week, "Tracy brought a baby present. Her friend Sarah makes these thingies and they're totally cool."

"When you say thingie...?"

"They're like... burp rags and security blankets, but in really cool fabrics with these taggy things that babies like to touch while they're... burping or something."

"That was really thoughtful. If our baby is going to burp it should do it with style."

"Exactly what I was thinking."

I have to admit that the gifts are what makes it feel most real. You are just going about your day with the indigestion and thickening waist line and suddenly someone hands you a present that your baby will use. You kind of stand up a little straighter, Oh wow. Yes, yes, I will have a human child sometime soon, thankyouverymuch.

Oddly I have been nervous to buy anything at all for our baby. I feel like the moment I acknowledge the lime-sized child inhabiting my body and forcing me to pee at ungodly hours is the moment that the lime will disappear. Dr. Spoon* will move the little ultrasound wand and get a crinkly look about his brow, I know I saw it last time. Huh. That's weird. Then I will leave his office, go straight to a bar and see a man squeezing a lime wedge in his vodka which will make me cry until I vomit. Mr. J will have to hold me over a toilet while I wretch, I will eat potato chips until I'm 400 lbs, someone will have to knock out the back wall of our house to pull me out on a stretcher and by then I'll have boils between the folds of my floundering skin and what use am I then?

Silly, I know.

While fidgeting about my airline seat on the flight from Chicago to Las Vegas last week I happened upon the cutest little stuffed lamb noise maker thingie in the Sky Mall catalog. It was fluffy and lovely and just so happened to make sounds like a heartbeat, rain showers and a whale. Or something. I figured that when the baby comes I can buy him/her (her) the lamb and we'll live happily ever after in our whale womb nursery.

But, not before.

So, I forgot about the lamb and went on about my week holding my stomach as I burped, wincing as I sat down, feeling like my pants were ripping through my flesh and being as grumpy as I possibly could.

Then three of my friends had their babies. All within five days of each other.

Facebook was graced with pictures of squishy baby faces with flecks of grossness still attached. They had furry little arms and pink hats, little boots and all the stuff that sent me directly to skymall.com. I took a deep breath, pulled out my debit card and I bought that lamb.

I think this means that I've overcome my fears to some extent, but poor Mr. J be warned:

I've got the fever and it's not for the flavor of a Pringle.

*Please note that my current Ob/Gyn is Dr. Spoon. My last one was Dr. Mechanik. Serious.