Today my brother Tony and I were out shopping for a huge black umbrella, the perfect gift for our grandmother. Don’t ask. We stopped at a leather store, for some reason thinking that they might have a section of nice, nonleather umbrellas. I’m not sure why we thought their store looked like it might carry that sort of thing.

It turned out that they took their leather goods niche pretty seriously, so no umbrellas, but before we left the nice sales lady pointed to my stomach and said “Well what do we have goin’ on here?”

I was excited to share my news with this complete stranger so we chatted for a few minutes. When we left though, Tony pointed out that the woman was actually very rude, and that I should have said “I know! I need to go to the gym!” and run out of the store crying.

I guess he’s right. I would never mention someone’s “condition” until it was exceedingly obvious. It’s kind of like telling a guy that you assumed he was gay — fine if you’re right, but so, so not cool if you’re wrong.

I know I shouldn’t be too anxious to gain weight, but right now I just look like a girl whose mother never taught her to suck her stomach in. Once I’m fatter it will be obvious why I have a gut and people won’t think “man that girl really needs to do some situps”.

The other day I was sitting in my linguistics class in a very uncomfortable, hard, little chair. After two hours of sitting there wishing I had a pillow for my back, I felt a strange sensation in my stomach. Sort of like gas or stomach rumbling, only without the unpleasantness that goes along with those. Just sort of flutter flutter flutter.

After a few minutes, I was sure of what it was. For the next thirty minutes I tried to focus on the class and take notes when really I was just plain giddy. I’m pretty sure if the professor had asked me anything, I would have just blurted out, “The baby’s moving!”, confirming for everyone that I am the biggest nerd ever.

It went on until class was over and I started walking around. Apparently mi parasito either dislikes me sitting in hard, uncomfortable, little chairs, or feels strongly about the field of linguistics.

I keep waiting to feel it again, but it seems that nothing since then has been worth dancing about. I guess I’ll have to wait until class next week.

See, I spend a lot of time worrying. I worry when I feel sick. I worry when I feel great all day, that maybe that means I woke up magically not pregnant. I worry that I’ve only gained 2 pounds in 14 weeks. I worry that I eat too much sugar. I worry that I spend too much time with my laptop on my stomach — it seems like that gives off a lot of like hyperelectric waves or something? I don’t know. All I know is plugging in my laptop makes the phone buzz. Maybe it makes the uterus buzz too.

I worry that all this worrying is causing hormonal stress on someone else's tiny developing brain.

Add to that worrying about money, worrying about getting into classes, worrying about taking two graduate classes while trying to make money, and worrying about all the people I care about and all their problems.

So all last week things just started tangling up in my stomach, tighter and tighter.

But you, know, there are some people in this world who are inexplicably nice for no reason. And they all called me yesterday.
First, I talked to a recruiter who said that he didn’t have any work for me but then he spent nearly two hours giving me awesome career advice. For no reason.

Then my graduate adviser agreed to transfer in the course I want to take, which was a huge relief. And a professor in Texas has agreed to work with me on an independent study course. He’s amazingly nice. Then this random person at the local university offered to do whatever it takes to get me into the course I need here, even though I’m not even a student in her department. She’s just unbelievably helpful and nice, for no reason.

So last night I thought I would sleep a little better, knowing that some things were getting resolved, and that people can be so nice. But instead I had dreams all night about … I don’t know… bleeding or just not being pregnant because I forgot to think about it for too long and all this other stupid, stressful stuff.

Well, I just got back from the doctor and you know what? All that crap doesn’t matter now. Everything’s fine. Everything is GREAT. We heard the heartbeat and a kick. A kick! Almost like there's a real miniature person in there.

They took an excessive amount of blood and poked and prodded and weighed and said I can eat as much pineapple as I want. Things couldn’t be better.
You have no idea how good it feels to put all my frettings — neurotic and real — down for awhile and just feel so, so lucky. Life is so nice to me, for no reason at all.

Hello Tiffany.

You’re tired, and undoubtedly fretting over mistakes you might be making.

But you’ve already figured out the first and most important thing in parenting, which is to love your child more than anything else. Love your child in a way that makes you gasp from time to time because you still can’t believe anything so beautiful exists, even years later, even when they’re throwing up on you or have been chattering continuously since last April.

Be careful, though. Don’t tie knots around the two of you. Don’t be fearful, or jealous, or try to protect them from everything. Try not to panic when you realize — sometimes hourly through the night — that Something Awful Could Happen. Definitely don’t lie awake all night, envisioning every possible disaster that could reach up and take away this person that you need in order to breathe. At least, try not to treat your child any different the next day.

Just don’t make it complicated. Love your child in the simple way that you love the sky, every day.