Classic Sarah Pregnancy Story

I don't know how the rest of you are, but when I'm pregnant, strange things start to happen. It was not bad with Carson, but when I was pregnant with Annie, I had all sorts of weird dreams, food aversions, and the like. Probably the most odd thing was that once I'd cooked a certain meal for dinner, I could not eat (or even think) about that food or meal again for weeks. There is one thing--a pork medallion with sour cream and chive sauce with sesame seeds on top--that I still cannot think about. I thought it was all pretty strange, but I'm assured that this is normal for pregnant women. And there are probably weirder things out there than I have to deal with.

But here's my gripe: Isn't it bad enough we have to grow to triple our size (I know that's not really how big we are, it just seems that way), be moody, and not to mention go through the delivery process? Why must we also be subject to the strangeness that only adds to why others in our lives find themselves wanting to avoid us? Beats me.

So, here's my latest classic example of weird. (and funny, I guess, now that it's two days later and I've gained a smidgeon of perspective since then)

It was Saturday and we were headed to our little buddy Dillon's b-day party. I decided to BMOB--it was one of those "gotta have the diet Dr. Pepper from the market" days (see "tagged" blog). So off we went to the Market. I went inside to procure the drinks. There were three pre-teen/teenage boys ahead of me at the drink-filling station. So I waited (patiently at first, not so much as the minutes lagged on). I began to notice things about these boys: they were dirty--which I at first attributed to their age, but later, when I was thinking about it, I thought of our cousins Zach and Dallin who are this age and I've NEVER seen them look or smell anything remotely like this. Maybe their parents have, but I can't imagine them being this poorly groomed. But alas, I digress. . .

Anyway, I started to notice their dirty fingernails. And untrimmed fingernails, I might add. Their clothes were dirty, hair probably unwashed.

And then it happened. . .

Right there in the middle of the Vine Street Market, I began to gag.

Yes, you heard me right. I began to gag. I tried to keep it to myself, but I kept thinking about how they were touching the buttons I was going to touch, occupying space I would occupy. These are not normal thoughts (but as I said, strange things start to happen when Sarah is pregnant). One gag lead to another. I did not know how I would control it. I began to think, I should probably go to the car and ask Ryan to get the drinks, but it seemed at this point I'd been in the market already 20 minutes (probably only 5 at max). I didn't want to lose my place in line. So anyway, there I stood, with my hand over my mouth, gagging away at these disgusting pre-teen boys.

And then the next emotion hit. I started to look at their clothes and think about how their mommies or daddies probably bought them and how much their parents love them, and how awful for those parents that I was standing there thinking their precious children were soooo gross. Who did I think I was? I've been known to skip a shower here and there, and sometimes my fingernails are long and dirty. Of course I DO try to wear clean clothes. But nevertheless, I started to feel sooo guilty.

And then I began to cry. I thought to myself, "you've GOT to be kidding me! Get ahold of yourself! What is wrong with you?" Again, I tried to hide it and for a good minute or two, I stood there waffling between utter gagging disgust (and trying to hold in where THAT would lead us. . .) and crying silently out of self-hate and despair for the horrible judgments I was extending to someone else's precious children.

It was awful. I really don't know why I stayed in the Market.

But finally, they left and I stepped forward to take my turn. Remember, they'd been there awhile and it seemed to me that it took them forever to leave. Well, the same could be said for the stench that accompanied them. Now I'm pregnant, remember, so some of this odor's apparent potency could be blamed on that, but holy cow! Whatever or whomever was to blame, it was awful! I really don't know how else to describe it. I thought I would die. So once again, I'm gagging one second, and then thinking about how hurt their parents would be if they knew some snotty pregnant lady was gagging at the smell of their children and my eyes teared up again. I was barely hanging on at this point.

It was at this very moment that my friend Frank (who I didn't know was there) stealthily stole up behind me to scare me. His sudden greeting was to be the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.

I started bawling. It couldn't be stopped. So there he stood looking quite startled (and perhaps frightened himself) as I blubbered my nonsensical story to him. I think it went something like this: "I'm pregnant Frank, and these kids took forever. They were smelly *sniff sniff *and dirty *sniff sniff*, but they have parents who love them, *sniff sniff* and they bought them their clothes, *sniff sniff* and I felt bad and . . ."

I'm shaking my head now just thinking about it.

I'm sure he thought I was crazy, and then went home and told his wife she was never to be pregnant ever again! Or maybe he just shook his head and laughed to himself, "hah! pregnancy!" Who knows! His wife did tell me on Sunday (with a smile and a giggle) that he told her about it. So apparently, he wasn't too traumatized. That's good!

So I got the drinks and returned to the car. Ryan just gave me that "NOW what?" look. I started to tell him the story and started bawling again! In fact, I couldn't think or talk about this event for several hours without breaking into tears. Good grief!

I wonder what the next few weeks and months will bring. . . . . . .