My Belly as a Magic 8-Ball

Two posts in one day? Within just hours of one another?! What gives? Well, mommy dearest made an appearance today (ostensibly for me to give her my opinion on which outfit she should wear to a wedding tonight) but then she stayed for 90 minutes, which felt like 4 hours to me. God help me, that woman exhausts me!

Mind you, I am huge now and not feeling energetic as it is. As soon as I opened the door, I knew she was upset. (Is she ever anything else?) I asked what was wrong and could tell that it was going to be a long, drawn-out answer, so I quickly followed up with, “Wait, let me go to the bathroom first so that I can actually listen to you.” On the toilet, I prayed for patience and for God to be merciful and not let this visit last too long. I swear, I just don’t have the strength.

I came back into the living room two minutes later, and she was sitting on the love-seat, sobbing into her first Kleenex. “What’s going on?” I asked, trying to sound sympathetic, “Does this have to do with that guy you were seeing?” My mother is the queen of bad internet romances – among other things – and this latest loser was probably (to the best of our guessing abilities) married or otherwise unavailable and just toying with her poor, badgered heart. The rehashed details of their 3-month courtship came tumbling out as I tried to hurry the story-line along. I’ve heard it all before… and not just once or twice.

One of the first things she said was that she couldn’t take it anymore and that life was not worth living. The specifics of my consoling her – trying every angle I could think of – are largely unimportant. Although, at one point, I did say, “You know, it’s very hard for me to see you like this, especially at nearly eight months pregnant when I have a lot of stress of my own.” (This was something my husband had urged me to convey to my mother in the hopes that she would not be so selfish as to burden me with her nonsense. Oh, how he underestimates the power of pure narcissism!) She got visibly upset and said, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth.” And she said it in a melodramatic, “I’m about to jump off a bridge now” kind of tone of voice and I knew I had even more repair work in front of me.

I honestly can’t even recall the words I used or even what message I tried to impart… but somehow, at some point, I got through. I convinced her to be angry rather than sad and not let some meaningless loser affect her passion for life and dictate her emotions, blah, blah, blah. It seemed to strike a cord, and that was all I was trying to do – just get her out of that funk for a minute. I think I even had her laughing a little through her tears.

After about an hour of all that crap, she turned her attention to me and the baby (not necessarily something I wanted either). She sat next to me on the sofa and put her hands on my belly. It happened to be at a time when the baby was moving, so she delighted in that. She lifted up my shirt and kissed my belly – something I absolutely cannot stand – so I told her she could talk to the baby over my shirt. She seemed annoyed. That made two of us.

And then, she turned my belly into a Magic 8-Ball. My mother, who is ever-obsessed with any form of divination to the point of utter ridiculousness, informed me that my baby was sending her “messages” through her movements. I rolled my eyes and briefly reveled in how much fun recounting this story to my husband would be! So, mommy dearest would whisper secret questions in her unique pseudo-dialogue with my daughter. My daughter would move. And my mother would smile, knowingly, and nod her head – in a display that was designed to show me that they had a special connection I simply could not understand. (I know this is how she feels, especially since she’s said asinine things to me like, “The psychic told me you’ve only had 3 past lives with the baby, but I’ve had 5!”)

Before she left, she made me give her a fortune card reading, saying that she absolutely needed it, that it was like a drug to her. That, I believe! So, I reluctantly pulled out an old pack of reading cards my friends and I used to play with as teenagers and gave her the best reading I could. She seemed satisfied and I was finally able to send her along her merry way.

Now, I’m even more tired, hungry, and I have a headache! Thanks, Mom! (Can you believe this woman wants to be in the delivery room with me?!) Thankfully, both my birth plan and my doula have been given strict instructions to keep her out!



2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Daryl
    Aug 25, 2012 @ 16:44:03

    I become exhausted just reading about your interactions with your mom! I don’t know how you do it. Surely you were some kind of saint in at least one of those past lives!!


  2. msfertility
    Aug 25, 2012 @ 16:49:04

    Hahahaha! I love it! The other day, my husband and I were talking about what it was like to be raised by my mother and he said, “I’m just amazed that you didn’t turn out to be a serial killer!” 😉


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