Donde pongo el ojo pongo la bala.
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THAT Person

It’s been months since I’ve posted, and not due to a lack of things going on in my life. Really, it’s been more because of multiple conversations I’ve had over the past four years with people, to this tune…

“When you get married/get pregnant/have kids, just don’t become that person who only talks/tweets/status updates/blogs about any-of-the-aforementioned-things!”
“Oh, no, absolutely! No way.”

Except… that’s exactly who I am. I am totally that person. That person who, when you ask them what’s up in their life, mentions the most important and dear things to them? Yep. That’s me. Sure, I also have rich intellectual and cultural experiences and challenging professional moments… I read a lot of good books, watch a lot of amazing movies, work on wonderful translation and interpreting projects and conferences (and sometimes, some mind-numbingly boring ones), experience amazing things (like final shuttle launches and tropical vacations, dinners with friends and breath taking sunsets)… but the most important things in my life are definitely my husband, this soon-to-be-born-baby, and our family in general.

I never thought that would be me or that I would be happy about something like that. Go figure.

I don’t have volumes to share about my experience being pregnant (lucky you). I love this baby already, but I haven’t been the biggest fan of being pregnant. I am a huge fan of the miracle of pregnancy, of the statistical improbability and unlikelihood (and yet pure science) of each human being being formed exactly and perfectly imperfect as they are. But I could do without the vomiting, the sweltering heat at all times (even when it’s cold for others), the swollen extremities, the lack of sleep, the random bouts of exhaustion, the little hernia next to my belly button, and the Braxton Hicks contractions (that make me think there is no way I will ever push this baby out, please don’t make me, please? because if those aren’t even the real thing, Lord, just SHOOT ME NOW).

Despite all that, my mood has been generally happy. Happier, in fact, than just normal. I don’t know if it’s due to reading how much the mother’s mood affects the baby, but I just feel like I’ve never felt before. I do get really easily annoyed by things and people on Facebook (but really, who doesn’t?) and by certain people in general, but that’s relatively easy to deal with.

George hasn’t had it bad: I’ve had pretty much no real cravings, at least not a single one involving making him drive somewhere late at night to get me a random item of food that I’ll no longer want once he makes it back home. The worst thing he’s had to deal with is the one that still makes him laugh (but only after I’ve snapped out of it — he’s no dummy): THE UGLY CRY.

Yes, the ugly cry is still alive and well. Except now it’s even more random. Like a couple of days ago. We were lounging around, replying to our Draw Something opponents, when I started poking him and tickling him because of something he said. By the time he stopped laughing and looked back at his phone, he moaned, “MAN! I wasted three bombs while you were bothering me!”

Bothering me.

Bothering me.

I cannot even explain what happened in my brain in less than a fraction of a second to take me from hyena-like cackles to snotting, hiccuping tears. IT WAS NOT RATIONAL.

“I *hic* am so sorry *hic hic* I bother youuuuuuuu. I won’t *hic* bother you anymore!”

All the while, my rational brain is watching this display, trying hard not to laugh in the middle of the hiccups, and wondering who that crazy lady is. George just tried really hard not to laugh, hugged me until I came back to the real world, and his laughter finally exploded when I said, “Get this baby outtttt offfff meeeee!”

That is what you are doing to my hormones, Baby. Making me even more crazy than I already knew I was. So. No pressure… but I kind of need you to be hilarious and full of surprises and to sleep through the night all the time and get straight As and never rebel as a teenager. Deal? Awesome.