Week 33: Hurricanes and Old, Pregnant Bitches

I made the mistake of reading this article on Friday, a day before Hurricane Irene hit us. Just to sum it up, it says that there seems to be a correlation between low barometric pressure (which occurs during a hurricane) and an increase in women going into labor. It also mentions that labor often starts at night because the level of the labor hormone oxytocin seems to be higher.

So, other than worrying that the trees outside our bedroom windows were going to smash through like that scene in Poltergeist and impale us both while we slept, I was also worried that Baba was going to decide she wanted to make her move right as the storm was making a mess of everything. I was so nervous about this that I didn’t even mention it to Dan. I was sure that telling him about the whole barometric pressure thing or even saying it out loud would make it happen. Luckily, Baba was not at all interested in seeing the hurricane firsthand and she stayed put.

The other bit of excitement this week was my cousin Juliet’s bachelorette party. It had to be postponed to Thursday because of the storm. Obviously, Baba is always ready to party, but, well, she’s kind of put a damper on that for me. I was ready to go watch everyone drink their fruity frozen margaritas though. It wasn’t easy, but I drooled over the menu, making mental notes of what I would come back to order as soon as the opportunity arose. But, it was the prospect of going to a club with dancing that ruled me out entirely. All I could think of was that scene in Knocked Up where Leslie Mann and Katherine Heigl try to get past the bouncer at a club.

“You old, she pregnant. I can’t have a bunch of old pregnant bitches running around.”

Yeah, that’s me. The old, pregnant bitch. I certainly wouldn’t be running around though. Waddling, maybe, but not running. Anyway, I couldn’t bear the thought of a line of 20-somethings in their tiny skintight dresses and sky-high heels eying me like their mom just showed up. So I just went home after dinner.

Had there been male strippers in little banana hammocks, well, I would’ve dealt with the embarrassment.

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