I was browsing over Mike’s Facebook this morning, and came across this note I had written almost six years ago. I had completely forgotten about it, but it is too funny not to share, so here goes…
June 28, 2009. Every morning after prayers, I would weigh myself. The scale always reported back an acceptable 110 to 115 lbs. depending on the workload (the more stress, the more I eat). Last week, however, was different. I registered at 117, then 118, then 119 the next day. I shook the scale, then checked again. Still 119! This can’t be, I thought, but the pants have been getting tighter. Horrors! I must start to diet and exercise.
Then, cuddled up with Mike on the sofa watching my favorite soap, Desperate Housewives, we had a good laugh over Linette’s getting pregnant with twins at 40+. And then Mike teased me, “Maybe that’s why you’re becoming voluptuous.”
That can’t be, I argued. I’m supposed to be menopausal by now. But doubt had started to creep in. When did I have my last period? The last I remember was two months ago. But I haven’t experienced any of the touted symptoms: hot flashes, irate temper, etc. Oh, no!
Over evening snacks in the kitchen, I casually mentioned the possibility of having a new addition to the family to my grown-up daughters and teenage son. I was not prepared for their reaction. Jaws dropped, hands clapped over their eyes and ears, and protests of “What? Are you serious?,” “Mommy, how could you?,” and “Noooooo!” filled the room. After the shock had passed, Bea turned to Cara and said, “I’ll take care of Niccolo. You take care of the new one.”
Cara, my middle child, whipped out her laptop and started to check for menopausal symptoms. She read out the long list. At each point, she asked, “Are you feeling this?” After about 20 symptoms including migraines and aching joints, she concluded that she’s menopausal. Except for migraines which I’ve had since my teenage days, I was clear.
Yesterday afternoon, Cara still could not shake off her feeling of doom, and so she convinced me to go to the drugstore to buy a pregnancy test. We were both embarrassed to buy it, but I finally summoned courage to approach the counter. In the car on the way home, she called her older sister to help me with the test because she said she would faint if it were her. Since the test instructions recommended an early morning test, we had to wait till the morning.
Last night, I attended the birthday party of a dear friend in the village. I confided my worries to a friend who promptly announced it to the group. I naturally became the object of a lot of friendly ribbing, so I retorted, “If this pushes through, you’ll all be ninangs.” This drew another round of ribbing. Imagine our octogenarian friends hosting a baby party? Or a child of six asking me where her ninangs are? We were in stitches all night. Good thing, the conversation moved on Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Vicki Belo and Hayden Kho.
“Don’t worry, Monette, we’ll all be rooting for you,” another friend said as we parted ways last night. But worry, I did. I thought of all the things I’d have to go through again… maternity dresses, pedia visits, all-nighters, pre-school, park and zoo trips… And questions, such as, “Why is the lola accompanying the baby instead of the mom?” Heavens! I’d be 70 by the time debut happens.
Bright and early this morning, I did the test. While waiting for the results, I prayed. Those were probably the longest, most excruciating three minutes I had to endure.
One bar! Negative. Thank you, Lord! Now, I can just look forward to cuddling apos one of these days. That, I wouldn’t mind at all.