topotales

At the tattoo shop in Rockaway, New Jersey.

Pnut and I get on the plane to Venice tomorrow.  Besides throwing a bunch of stuff into a backpack, here’s the extent of my preparations:

me: Oi ciao recion come ti sta?? Zio beco che merda!!6:37 PM Paolo: me: Paolo: where did you see those??? me: http://nonciclopedia.wikia.com/wiki/Truzzo_veneziano 6:38 PM Chetasboro to nona zogava! Paolo: nonono wait a second this is campagnolo not real veneziano6:39 PM sorry…me: what’s zio beco? Paolo: 6:40 PM God cuckold makes no sense in english me: AWESOME! Paolo: but it’s a good one in veneziano not to be said on the streets though me: Oh, I am SO GOING TO USE IT! Paolo: you are going to get arrested.6:41 PM me: pah. I’ll just say you told me it meant “good morning”6:42 PM me: GESBORRO! Paolo: too many RRRs me: GESBORO, ZIO BECO! Paolo: 6:43 PM me: … maybe you should bring some bail money… just in case… Paolo: I leave you there, wtf me: Fine by me. It’s probably nicer than Jersey…6:44 PM Paolo: better than a Jersey jail…that’s for sure.6:45 PM me: …and without all the fist-pumping… Paolo: just fist fucking. big fists the venetians, you know!6:46 PM me: Oh. my. god. Go back to work.

UPDATE: Pnut made me come back and change all the D’s in this post to Z’s.  Apparently, it really is a big deal.  Sheesh.  Why make up a swear word if you can’t ever use it?  Bloody Italians.

I find myself in the extremely awkward position of wanting to get pregnant.

I don’t particularly like babies.  I’m the woman who, when you bring your new baby to the office, quietly slips out for coffee because I find the oohing and aahing incredibly annoying.  Or, if that’s not possible, I hold your baby at arms length by the armpits, bounce it once or twice, say “uh… yeah, …nice… baby” and then hand it back as quick as possible.  I’ve always found babies rather boring - at least, other people’s babies.  They don’t talk, they don’t do much moving around.  They just lay there, gurgling and pooping.  Once the baby gets its legs under it and starts moving its mouth intelligibly, my interest knows no bounds.  Kids have great imaginations and I am always up for a game of ‘mixing magic potions’ or ’sardines’ or whatever else can be cooked up.  But until then… SNORE.

Also, I hate all those birth stories women love to tell.  The stories about water breaking, labor, stitches, incontinence, etc.  They make me think - are women totally INSANE?  Seriously -WHY- would somebody knowingly sign up for nine months of torture with the grand finale of getting to push a bowling ball out of their vagina?

Point: being pregnant was never something that excited or particularly interested me.  Before this year, if I had to describe my thoughts about it in three words they would be: OUCH, CRAZY, HELLS-NO!

But earlier this year, when I was pregnant, all that stuff just sort of melted away (except probably the terrified for my vagina part). It shocked me that I could be so nonchalant about it.  I’m sure it’s hormonal, but once you actually GET pregnant you don’t really use your brain to think about anything except about how much you love whoever it is in your belly and all the cool shit you’re going to do with them.  And your entire realm of physical existence revolves around the various crazy changes that are happening to your body, and what you can do to manage the madness.

I don’t know what my point is.  Losing a baby made us realize how much we would have loved to have one.  Yesterday morning I had a nice long pee on a pregnancy test for the third day in a row.  I know, ridiculous.  But waiting for actual period day is tough when you’re ‘trying’**.  My heart sank at the one stripe that showed up- and I found that feeling totally surreal.  Me?  Disappointed NOT to be pregnant?  Eight months ago I would have laughed in your face if you told me I’d be in this place.  Yet, here I am.

Since I’m being all open and whatnot, I should add that every week I think “this week I would have been x weeks pregnant, and in x weeks I’d be having the baby”.  And then sometimes I’ll go look in the pregnancy books to see how big that would be.  Also, I am really, supremely, cattily, nastily jealous of other pregnant women in my family (Pnuts sister-in law, some close family friends, a few others).  Mainly because everybody gets all excited about it, and then I think “FUCK YOU, people, my baby didn’t make it”.  One has nothing to do with the other, obviously, so it’s totally irrational, but what can I say- the feeling is there all the same.

I’m not sure all this perseverating is healthy, but that’s the point- I’m in bizarro world.

**My brother finds the word’trying’ both funny and disturbing; when pnut mentioned it: “Thanks… thanks for that.  It’s basically telling me that you’re having a bunch of unprotected sex my sister.  I really don’t need to know that about my sister.”   So obviously, it’s a popular word now.