One thing that kind of astounds me is the fact that children are people. I guess it really shouldn't be all that surprising, considering that I discovered *I* was a person around the age of two and a half or three. But I'm still kind of blown away by the age at which a person becomes a person...
See, I'm really pretty sure that there's a person inside me right now.
Websites, books, and doctors refer to him/her as a "fetus," but I SWEAR to you, this is a person. A small one -- not yet half a pound -- but a person nonetheless.
One fascinating thing about very, very small, young people, is that they know what they want and need. For those of you who have never been pregnant, it may seem like I'm on crack, but I assure you, this is absolutely true. For example...
Apparently, the little one has been busily working on making him/herself some muscles. In order to do a good job on that, s/he has been snatching all the good muscle-building vitamins right out of my system, leaving me with foot cramps and weird spasms in various leg muscles. My mom told me to eat bananas. But I didn't WANT bananas. I wanted orange juice and potatoes. I swear, at least once a day, I've had a craving for orange juice, and/or potatoes. So, eventually I caved in and started eating potatoes. And drinking orange juice. ALL the time. The cramps and the spasms have mostly gone away. Apparently, now I'm getting enough potassium -- the muscle-making vitamin -- to keep both of us happy. I swear, it's like somebody poked me in the ribs and said, "Mom, eat a fucking potato or I'll give you a foot cramp."
That's just WEIRD.
At the moment, basically all I want in the world is some gravy. I KNOW that if I don't eat it, or something pretty close to it, I'm going to get a weird ache, pain, or discomfort. If gravy is what the little one wants, s/he WILL find a way to acquire it. I suspect that a small steak will do.
I know already that there's no end in sight to this little person's requests and demands. This is a somewhat frightening thought, but also sort of cool. It means s/he's really a real person...
Now, orange juice makes sense. And potatoes make sense. And I guess even gravy makes sense, kind of... But there are some things that I just can't figure out. There are moments when I absolutely MUST HAVE something that there's no medical or scientific explanation for. Jolly Ranchers, for one. At ten o'clock at night. Especially the orange ones that are supposedly peach-flavored. I've always liked the red ones way more than the orange ones.
But it's not just foods...
I lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling, for two hours this morning, trying to distract myself from a particular craving I was having...
Think about drowned earthworms, Helena... Think about gas prices. Think about shitty beer and bad local bands. Think about your beloved Art Theater burning down. Think about your brother's stories about helping old fat ladies get out of their bathtubs when his ambulance gets called in. Think about Wal-marts and roadkill. Think about Albuquerque, New Mexico. Think about the scream a rabbit makes when it's being savagely chewed up by a pack of coyotes.
Well, of course, that didn't work, because coyote-and-murdered-rabbit noises always send shivers up my spine. Which reminded me of exactly the thought from which I was trying to distract myself.
Dammit all, I lay there on the floor thinking about NOT thinking about sex for TWO HOURS.
If you tell somebody: "do not imagine an elephant sitting over there in the corner," what's the FIRST thing they're going to imagine?
Blah.
But how can I explain to my hormones -- which have gone into overdrive on apparently ALL fronts -- that sometimes these things just aren't convenient? Like, for example, at ten o'clock this morning...
You can't talk sense into a hormone.
Finally, I gave up, went downstairs, and made myself some potatoes instead. The potatoes were good, but not exactly satisfying. If you know what I mean.
Dammit all to hell.
I have to go to the grocery store now.
~Helena*