It’s a Saturday morning and I have tears in my eyes as I watch a woman with a beach ball under her shirt unroll a yoga mat and stretch into Warrior A.
She’s the most pregnant person I’ve ever seen this close up. Her shirt has given up on life, curling up at the hemline and revealing pink stretch marks over her pale belly. She’s sweating, her dark brown hair pulled into a neat bun. She exhales all of her air with her voice, a loud haaaaaaa that makes the others in the room turn towards her, but she doesn’t give a flying fuck. She’s got other things to think about. Like the fully grown person levitating between her ribs and pelvis right now.
I’m drawn to her like she’s a celebrity and I roll my mat out next to hers.
“I hope this isn’t rude,” I say. “But you. Are. A total badass.” It might be the cheesiest line I’ve ever fed to someone, but I mean it down to the marrow of my bones.
“Thanks,” she says without smiling. “I’m River.” She reaches out for a handshake.
Last night I sat at my counter eating my mandatory after-dinner bowl of cereal and looking at the new ultrasound photos I’d recently magneted to my fridge. That perfect tiny hand, a profile of a sweet little face. The person who, at some point, is going to be eating a bowl of cereal sitting right next to me. Words like natural birth and sleep training floated up out of the ether and taunted me. I mean, my God, I’m going to have to make sure this kid gets a Social Security number. How does one even go about that?
I whipped out my phone and the cursor blinked menacingly from Google’s home page. Go down the rabbit hole, Eve, the internet beckoned. Find out just how much you don’t know. Attempt to panic-research yourself into a knowable future. Ha.
But then a thought occurred to me. I think I might have been waiting (patiently? Yeah, no) this entire time for Ethan to make up his mind and provide me with a little stability. But…what if that stability came from me instead?
What if instead of panic-research, I found a way to prepare myself a little. Because no one else is going to be able to do it for me.
I don’t have questions so much as, ya know, rabid fears. Questions require answers. But fears? They require camaraderie. So. I did google something. One simple phrase: ways to meet other pregnant people in NYC.
There are ten or so of us in this prenatal yoga class. Some are visibly pregnant—though none as much as River—and some who seem much earlier along. We arrange our mats and smile shyly and ultimately wait in silence.
A triangle chimes and a woman in extremely sexy yoga wear floats into the room. She’s got an eyebrow piercing and an exposed midriff the approximate dimensions of a cereal box. I don’t think I’m imagining the collective sigh from those of us in the room who are currently expanding at alarming rates.
“Welcome, welcome,” she says. “I see some familiar faces and some new ones. How are you feeling, River?”
“Million bucks,” River responds with a grunt. She’s the only one of us who isn’t sitting, and I have a feeling it’s because once she goes down she doesn’t come back up.
“My name is Melody,” the teacher says. “And I’d like to start things off with a share-out. We’ll go around, say our names and pronouns and, if you’re comfortable, say how far along you are. I’d also love to hear your intentions for this class, what you’d like to get out of it, so that I can help you get there. We’ll start here.”
We all go around one by one saying names and pronouns and numbers. Everyone is at different stages, but everyone seems pretty stoked about being pregnant. I get nervous when it’s about to be my turn.
River goes before me. “I’m River. She/they. I’m a week past my due date and my intention for this class is to get my damn water to break.”
There’s some nervous laughter (from others) and some genuine laughter (from me). And then it’s my turn.
“Hi, yes, hello everyone. My name is Eve. She/her.” I cover my nerves with a joke. “I’m twenty-oneish weeks along and I feel like I could bench-press a car.”
“Please don’t attempt that,” Melody says, and everyone laughs, including me. “I take it you’ve got that second-trimester energy?”
“Yes.” I nod vigorously. “It’s weird…I didn’t think that I could possibly feel like myself while being pregnant, because pretty much as soon as I found out, I’ve felt like…not me. Exhausted and mood-swing-ish and, well, you all get it, you’re pregnant too.”
Ten heads pretty much nod in unison.
“But then over the last few weeks I’ve started to feel back in my body again…like someone who just happens to be pregnant, not like pregnancy is my entire identity. It’s actually…kinda fun.”
A few of them nod, a few look at me like I’m a complete turncoat, and River gives me a smile like I’m a sweet, naïve moonchild who’s never seen the red mist of battle.
“And what are your intentions for this class?” Melody asks me.
“Oh. Ah…I’m not sure. I…this was a surprise,” I say, pointing to my bump. I get a few chuckles and a few sympathetic nods. “And I’m still getting used to…being a pregnant person. I’ve never spent any time with other pregnants. So…here I am.”
I’m here to claim my place among the other gestators. No more keep-it-to-myself pregnancy.
A secret is only a secret if no one knows about it. What’s a secret that everyone knows but no one talks about? It’s shame.
And isn’t that exactly how I’ve been treating this? Too-big shirts that don’t actually hide reality and not a word to my co-workers? Telling my family at the last possible moment, under pain of Christmas? I spent months not even thinking the word baby. I’ve asked Ethan for exactly nothing. I haven’t sought out any other pregnant people or read anything pregnancy related other than the pamphlets from the OB-GYN. There’s a reason why Nurse Louise is the only person I ever ask about pregnancy.
There’s taking it slow, and then there’s clinging to denial.
And then there’s River on all fours. They’ve stripped their shirt entirely off. Their sports bra is begging for mercy. This person is all tits and belly and sweaty hair. They’re breathing loud enough for it to echo and don’t care if we stare.
Secrets cower at the feet of this badass.
I take myself through the class, pausing and sweating and groaning and smiling. I gulp water at the end of the class and sit with my legs akimbo. I wave to the others and watch out the front window as River waddles down the sidewalk (shirt back on).
I walk home slowly. It’s one of those late January days that’s a complete and utter gift. Warm sun for no reason. Birds, blue sky, the whole nine. I keep my jacket open and my belly out. I go home and wash up and then, finally, muster enough energy for an errand I’ve been putting off ad infinitum.
I take a train to MamaBump, a resale shop selling everything pregnancy. As I stand out in front of the shop—looking in at the maternity clothes and strollers and stretch mark creams and nursing pillows and teething rings—I can see all the little ways I’ve denied that this pregnancy was happening. Really happening. Culminating in a new person on earth.
No more pretending that I’m the same old Eve.
I’m Eve plus one.
It’s time.
Time to show off the bump.
“Oh, finally,” Christina groans when I walk in to work on Monday.
I’m wearing a tight-ish dress (designed with room for a baby bump) and have my jacket draped over my arm. There’s nothing to distract from my shape.
She gestures to my belly. “Can we talk about this at last? I thought my head was going to explode from all the mouth-shutting I was doing.”
“Oh, you knew?” I ask her.
She drops her chin and gives me the eyes. “Eve. Please.”
“Really? I thought the big mustache I slapped over it was a really good disguise.”
She laughs and then kind of sobers. “Are you coming to those drinks tonight? Because Ryan is coming and she’s sort of sensitive about pregnancy lately. I swear all of our friends are having kids.”
I blink at her. I like Christina. I really do. But I’m suddenly struck with the urge to flick her on the forehead. I was expecting a simple Congrats, Eve. Now I feel like a pest for having the nerve to be pregnant in front of Ryan. “Oh. Er…okay? Not going to the drinks tonight” is all I can manage.
The elevator ding-a-lings and a group of chattering co-workers spill into the reception area. I turn and see seven people all staring at my midsection.
Jesus Christ.
“Yup,” I say with a shrug. “Pregnant.”
Half the people come towards me (the women); most of the others awkwardly sidle away (the men).
First up is Bevi. She looks cross. “You should have told me,” she says with her hands on her hips. “I could have been juicing for you this whole time!”
“Oh. Right. Well, tomorrow’s a new day.” I feel scolded.
Next is Lorraine, who looks like Mrs. Claus if Mrs. Claus were thirty-five. “I didn’t even know you were married,” she says. The crucifix around her neck catches the light and nearly blinds me.
“I’m not.”
“Oh. Congrats, then,” she says, and it definitely sounds like she’s telling me Good luck in hell.
Yeah. That’s enough of that.
I turn towards the annex.
“Congrats, by the way!” Christina calls after me. I wave at her and keep going.
Micah and Xaria are already filled in on the news, thanks to Bevi, who scurried along in front of me. They both congratulate me, though Xaria is side-eyeing me in a calculating sort of way. Micah is pulling my chair out for me and…bowing? He may never have been this close to a pregnant woman before. He can barely make eye contact.
It’s a long day of more awkward interactions with co-workers until four-fifty-five pm when the door of the annex swings open and in waddles Marla, our other pregnant co-worker. She looks just about ready to pop. She’s got one hand on her belly and the other carting a little wicker basket.
“Sweetie!” she says to me, a huge smile on her face. Her skin is positively glowing right now. Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones or maybe it’s just Marla. She’s always been a very sunny person. Her locs are twisted back from her face in a high bun and she’s wearing a jumpsuit thingy that I badly want. She’s perfect.
She crosses the annex to me in slow steps and then proudly presents me with the basket. “I went out on my lunch break. There’s a great baby shop about two blocks from here. Do you know it? It’s called Little Bears. Anyhow…these are the only pacifiers my babies have ever liked. This right here is truly the only swaddle you should ever buy. Let’s see…I loved this book when I first got pregnant. There’s a ton of good ones that I can recommend to you, but this one actually prepared me for birth. And these are just some goodies for you. Low-sugar chocolate, a shower bomb, and…what else? Anyhow. I’m so happy for you! You look beautiful!”
I’m not sure if Marla expected to get the crap hugged out of her, and frankly, I have to come in at a pretty extreme angle to accommodate for the two in-uteros between us, but here we are. I hug her as tight as I can, though we’ve never done anything like that before.
“Thank you so much,” I tell her, from the bottom of my heart. And I mean it so much. “I really, really needed this,” I whisper to her.
“Getting a lot of weird reactions?” she whispers back. “Yeah, that’ll happen.”
We break apart from our clinch and then we’re both just standing there, grinning at each other. I look at her bump, she looks at mine.
“Boom,” she says, and gently taps her belly against mine.
I burst out laughing. “That’s a first for me.”
“I just wanted the babies to say hi.” She glances at her watch. “Hmm. Well, I need to get going but let’s have lunch next week? I love talking pregnancy and babies and all that jazz. And besides, I’ve been through this before, so any questions you might have, I’m here.”
“Marla, I love you.” And I fully mean it. She’s just turned my entire day around.
I’m thrilled. I’m filled with helium. I float all the way home.