I walk slowly and carefully as to not spill the two very full beers on my food tray. Unfortunately, “graceful” and “pregnant” are two adjectives that rarely go together, and I look down in dismay as beer sloshes over the sides of the red Solo cups. I try balancing the now flooded tray on my protruding belly, but that just makes the sloshing worse.
I look down the path at the picnic table Hubs and his dad have scored for us, and I hope there is still some beer left in the cups for them by the time I get there. As I slowly make my way past table after table of families, I hear someone shout, “Oh my God! Is that beer?!” I glance up, and I see a woman glaring at me with a mixture of astonishment and disgust. Without even breaking my stride (er… waddle), I roll my eyes at her and reply, “Yeah, and they’re both for me,” in my most snotty and sarcastic tone. Her jaw about dropped right off her horrified face.
This event occurred a few weeks ago when Hubs, Quinn, my in-laws and I went to a family amusement park for the day. We stopped for lunch at little water park area that served food and, much to Hubs’ relief, beer. While I was glad to have put that nosy, judgmental woman in her place (I mean honestly! Did she really think I would just plunk down with my humungo belly and chug a beer right there in the water park?), I was kind of disappointed in myself for letting her get to me.
I’m much more irritable this pregnancy than I was the last time. Maybe it’s because this one has been physically tougher on me. Or maybe because it’s summertime and a thousand degrees outside, and I’m perpetually overheated. Or maybe it’s simply because it’s the second time around and much of the excitement is diminished because it’s no longer a new experience.
Whatever the reason, I’m pregnant and I’m salty.
Last week, Q and I were driving through our neighborhood, and a grown man a bicycle was riding right down the middle of the road. Cars were parked on both sides of the street so I couldn’t get around him. I lightly tooted my horn but he didn’t hear me because he had headphones on. Instantly, my head filled with infuriated and impatient thoughts.
Seriously, how dumb do you have to be to ride down the middle of the road wearing headphones? You must be a special kind of stupid. If natural selection is a real thing, then I should be allowed to mow this f**ker down with my SUV.
A few deep breathes later, I unclenched my jaw and loosened my grip on the steering wheel. The idiot finally noticed me behind him (as well as two other cars), and he moved over. He waved and smiled sheepishly at me as I drove by and pointed to his headphones as an explanation. As if that made it okay. Moron.
The good news is I found a cure for my P.I.C. (pregnancy induced crankiness). It’s called aloha! That’s right. Hubs, Q and I have returned to the Hawaiian island of Kauai, and it’s been a glorious week. (This is Q's third time on Kauai. The kid is so spoiled and doesn't even know it). We’re staying at the same bungalow we rented last year (don’t worry, there haven’t been any break-ins this time), right across from the beach.
I’m not exactly rockin’ a bikini bod this year, and watching Hubs drink mai tais and Coronas with lime makes me salivate jealously, but that’s okay. A couple virgin piña coladas and my toes in the sand are all I need to make my spirits lift higher than the waves.
I’m having a blast playing on the beach with Quinn, and watching Hubs and Q splash in the water melts my heart. When I get tired, Baby Dragon and I plop ourselves into a beach chair and let the ocean breeze melt our cares away. I even have a nice tan that extends beyond the flip-flop lines on my feet.
Now the only thing salty about me is my hair after taking a dip in the ocean. Ahhh….