Into the Night

31 Weeks Exactly

2:19AM

Enveloped by night's silence sprinkled only with the shuuuuu of the heater and the chup chup chup of my dog smacking her lips as she sleeps, I awaken to find myself at the foot of my bed, staring off into nothing. My expanding belly feels tender and a headache begins to take form, crawling from the nape of my neck, squirming along the right side past my ear. Nine weeks. Nine weeks until moments like this, of stillness will be nothing more than forgotten time. When there will be a miniature being crying, sleeping, suckling, needing me. I dreamt of her last week. There she was standing herself up with the help of her daddy, laughing. Her soft knees bouncing, black hair with tips of sunlight, dark brown skin, and a smile wider than the sky. She looked just like her father and I stood there, awing at how beautiful they both were together, taking in each drop of joy they radiated.

Tonight was slightly different. My headache slightly worse, took me to the living room where I sat in the moonlight that came through the skylights. Passing cars and trucks whoosh passed, the streetlight flickered through my gold curtains. The dreams I just had twisted in the crevices of my brain.

I am sitting on the bed with Cesar. My puppy begins to cough. I pat her on the back and look at Cesar. Olivia coughs up blood. Two small puddles like liquid licorice. I quickly scoop her up, take her carefully to the bathroom, her body becomes weak. I turn on the water in the sink, cup my free hand, fill it and I make her drink some. I do this a few times and place her on the tile floor. I kneel next to her and ask, “Are you ok?” “Yes,” answers this small polish boy who stands before me in just his underwear. His dirty blonde hair, dull and thick on his head. His face covered in light pinkish rashes as though he has dry skin. “My birthday is coming,” he points behind me to a calendar posted under the sink on the cabinet doors. “Which day?” He points again. “April 3rd?” “Yes,” he says. He is very happy. “How old will you be?” “Eight” he smiles. I smile with him. “Yeah, your birthday is coming!”

The cars had stopped and the baby began to kick. I could see my stomach wave in the dim room and rubbed it in circles. It was memories’ turn to bring the other dream I had to light.

I just can’t get my hair right. These bangs won’t do what they are suppose to and this mirror is going to fall off the wall I have it propped up against. The night has fallen heavily and I need to finish getting ready. But this hair! What was that? I ease my way to my bedroom door, and peek out. The living room and kitchen are in a blanket of night. I walk over to the other side of the living room and switch on the light. Nothing. The lights aren’t working. The goose bumps begin to pop along my body, my hair salutes to the fear that begins to pump in me. I walk quickly, but not quite fast enough back to my bedroom door, where the only lights escapes from. My hand is near the doorknob when the door slams. I am grabbing on to the knob with both hands trying to push the door. Something won’t let me in. I have to get into the room. I place the side of my body on the cold wooden door, push and the door cracks enough where I can see my uncle on the other side. Stopping me from coming in. He is wearing his signature black leather jacket, gray sideburns and serious expression. He just stares at me. My uncle died five years ago.

I finally made my way back to bed. Found Cesar and Olivia knocked out just as I had left them and hoped for the same restless sleep.

Rick James, Spike Lee and The Mean Doctor

29 w 3 d

Rick James is Not Pregnant
On one of my hormone-induced sad days, I got ready to go out to dinner, looked in the mirror and cried. My hair has gotten wavy lately and I like it, but on this particular day, the waves in combination with how huge I looked and felt, compelled me to walk up to Cesar and say, "I look like a pregnant Rick James," needless to say he wanted to laugh and he felt bad at the same time. "You do not look like Rick James," he replied. Then I continued with the tears and between those I mumbled, "I am big." "Nothing fits" "I have three chins" "I have a laundry butt" Let me put something out there. I LOVE being pregnant. I am excited, but am I not entitled to have blue days here and there, especially when my hormones are the driving force behind them? So, that whole night, I was down. Felt like hiding in the fridge or the pantry like I was some kind of super freak.


Spiked Punch
Nightmares have found their way into my mediocre, mini-sessions of sleep. Between the leg cramps, my trips to the bathroom and my shifting from one side to the next, I don't sleep longer than an hour at a time, but somehow, these horrid nightmares find a way to invade the only rest I do get. The worst of them all was when I dreamt I lost the baby. It was so real. I was at the doc's office. I went to give a urine sample and when I was trying all that came out was blood. It was in blotches all over the bathroom and I began to freak. I ran out and asked the nurse where my doctor was. When we finally found her I showed her the urine sample that was all red. She told me to lie down and then the nurse began to yell, "The baby is dying inside of you!" I lost it. I sobbed, and screamed and repeated, "But I am 29 weeks! I am 29 weeks!" I collapsed. I then woke up, crying, my head throbbing and it took me a few minutes to realize all was really ok. I have also had nightmares about being kidnapped, violated, lost, and any other word you can find on a true crime show. I know its just anxiety and my mind's way of letting that all out.

The baby woke me up from her kicks and punches for the first time. Once while I was dreaming I was making a film with Spike Lee and when I suggested he "Do the right thing," he punched me in the gut twice real hard. I woke up immediately and realized it was the baby.


What's Up Doc?
It has been said that pregnant woman are a beautiful sight. That the roundness of her body makes her more feminine than at any other time in her life. I have felt pretty good about myself and my ever-growing belly until Wednesday. The day I woke up with a hormone-induced sad mood. The day when people said, "You are getting so huge! You are ready to pop" it effected me more than the days before. I had a doctor's appointment. It was with my regular ob's partner. He wants me to meet all of them. So, I am waiting in the room, hot, slightly sad, and very tired when she walks into the room, looks right at my chart and exclaims, "Wow. You are already over what you should gain for your whole pregnancy. You have to work on this," and then went on to tell me I CANNOT gain more than 5lbs in my last 11 weeks. Stunned, I just nodded. I have gained 33lbs and my regular doctor (who is the head of the practice) said I could gain anywhere from 25-40, so with him I am fine, but this other doctor who can't even bother to wear a lab coat, tells me I am fat. I wanted to cry. I couldn't look at her. After her 5 min checkup, I took the elevator 12 floors down. With each, "ding!" of a passing floor, I heard, "Fat!" "Fat!" "Fat!". I exited the building quickly, and as soon as the frigid air slapped me, I began to cry. Tears escaped only to morph into icicles on my cheeks, small glass sparkling on my face for all to see. I didn't care. Of all the days, why today? Why tell me I am fat today? During my 5 block sobbing session to the bus stop, where people looked at me and then quickly looked away, "Oh, Oh. Pregnant woman crying, don't make eye contact or I heard they can turn you into stone," I wondered what type of mother I already was. If I can't take care of myself now, with my baby in me, will I be able to when she is out? I cried from guilt, I cried from shame, I cried because I was really hungry and I wanted pancakes with whip cream and I was just told I was too big. I returned to work, cried in the bathroom stall before I went to my office which I share with 3 other people. I sat down, began to type, had to get up again, go back to the bathroom and cry again. I cried more because I couldn't stop crying. After a really good cry, I was able to go on with my day.

That night I dreamt with Dr. Spock who kept telling me sadness was an earth emotion and kept referring to me as "captain", Dr. Seuss who recited, "In your jeans, in your shoes, with your waves and chins, there is nothing that you can no longer fit in," and Dr. Huxtable who had the best line. "Have some Jell-O Pudding". Anyone have any?