I have a bit of a rant before I get to beta news. Bear with me.
The last word that anyone would use to describe me is the word “flaky.” I’m far from perfect, but I take pride in my dependability and reliability (yes, I am most certainly a Taurus). If you invite me to something and I say I’ll be there, you better damn well expect to see my face on the scheduled date and time. That’s how I roll. I’m the antithesis of flaky. I’m the human embodiment of Head ‘n’ Shoulders shampoo. I have no tolerance for flakes.
I realize that this is not a typical quality, especially in this day and age. Everyone is all, “Yeah, TOTALLY, that sounds like a good idea, we should DEFINITELY meet for lunch on Thursday!” Then Thursday rolls around and the inevitable text pops up, “OMG so sorry, my cat threw up and I can’t make it.” It drives me insane. I know I made an entire list of pet peeves, but by far, flakiness is my number one. Just do what you say you’re going to do, or don’t say you’re going to doing it. It’s that simple.
In case you’re wondering where this rant is coming from, let me tell you about Friday night. I’m part of a book club and have been for about a year now. Call me nerdy, but whatever, I’ve always loved reading and talking about the things I read, so a book club makes perfect sense. We have a fabulous group of girls and have a grand time whenever we get together. But life is busy, and inevitably someone or something gets in the way of scheduling. It’s kind of a running joke – each time we set a date for book club, it gets changed at least four times before we actually meet. But then it ends up being worth it because we have so much fun.
One of our members moved about an hour and a half away, so we thought it would be neat to do book club at her new apartment. It would be a road trip! It would be an adventure! We were all so excited at the prospect. Plus, we were reading The Great Gatsby, so how can you go wrong? We set a date. People couldn’t come. The date was changed. People couldn’t come. It changed again. And so on, and so on, for about two months until we finally decided it would be this past Friday night. I was going to drive everyone because clearly I could not drink. And then…well, you see where this is going. I ended up driving that hour and half all by myself. But you know what? I went anyway.
The girls who didn’t come have become some of my best friends and I can tell you with absolute certainty that they aren’t flaky people. I love them and love spending time with them, plus they are sweet and genuine and caring. If they weren’t, I wouldn’t be friends with them. And both of their reasons for bailing were understandable (no cats vomiting). These friends are not flaky, they just flaked this one time. (And if we’re being totally honest, I will admit to flaking myself for one specific type of event – parties that try to sell me something. Jewelry parties, Pampered Chef parties, Please Buy This Awesome Yet Unjustifiably Expensive Stuff parties. In my defense, I usually RSVP maybe, so it’s not really flaking).
But still, I think the incident speaks to a larger societal problem, especially with my generation. There’s just no dependability anymore. As my aunt pointed out, she’s constantly bombarded with reminders for events and it drives her crazy. She said, “Obviously if I say I’m going to be there, then I’m going to be there. Stop reminding me.” But I pointed out that she’s the exception, not the rule. Most people assume that when you say you’re definitely attending, you’re really a maybe. And maybes often turn into sorry… I have indigestion. I’ll take a rain check.
We ended up having a really good time at book club, despite historically low attendance. There were three of us (me, the host and another friend and book club member who lives close by). The host is a girl who I used to work with who is 24, and is living right outside Manhattan with two roommates. If you ever want to feel ancient… hang out with 24-year-olds. The roommates were very nice, of course, and when they quickly deduced that I wasn’t drinking wine because I was pregnant, there was a lot of shrieking and congratulating. One of the roommates is “like, so totally obsessed with pregnancy and having kids one day,” so she immediately started asking me a bunch of questions. She asked if it was my first and I only paused for a fraction of a second before answering yes. I never really thought about how to answer that question, and in that moment bringing up miscarriage seemed like such a buzz kill. Plus, she was making me feel so delightfully normal. Next, she asked how long I had been married and I answered three years. She nodded emphatically, saying, “Oh yes, that’s perfect then. So you had some time with your husband and now you’re having kids.”
I had to hold back laughter at that one. As if these past three years have just been devoted to “building our relationship” before we started our family. As if I haven’t been consumed with the idea of getting pregnant since day one. As if I haven’t spent every single minute of our marriage worrying about having a baby. As if this baby wasn’t created in a lab somewhere and stored in a freezer. As if we just woke up one morning, decided it was time and magically conceived a baby. Oh, to be 24 and ridiculously optimistic again.
In other news, I had my fourth and final beta yesterday – 14,483. So, still pregnant for now! I’m symptom-free besides some sporadic shooting boob pain and a bout of nausea from waiting too long to eat. My first ultrasound will be on July 8th in NYC (the same day Eric starts his new job, so of course he can’t come) then I just have to make it through two more until I graduate from New Hope. Hopefully for forever. Still holding your breath, everyone? I’ll need it right around weeks eight and nine. Thanks.