This coming May my little sister is graduating college (an entire semester before me, did I mention she’s two and a half years younger than me?!). Louie and I have to travel up to San Francisco and out to Stockton. I think we’re both equally dreading it, for the same exact reason. I am the worst traveler in the history of man. I don’t know when it started, maybe a few years ago. I was not always this way, I used to travel from New Hampshire to San Diego once a month for two years. I was never scared of flying or crashing or terrorists or anything.
As a matter of fact, most of my life I was literally scared of nothing. Not burglars, spiders, wild animals… maybe just ticks. They’re disgusting and freak me out big time. Burrowing their heads into your unsuspecting body? Are you KIDDING me? No thank you.
Anyway, my new found fear of traveling is one that gets old. Really fast. Poor Louie, he married a psychopath.
This is our conversation the night before…
So, babe. I don’t know if we can go tomorrow, I think I’m dying. Can you check my pulse? Its really fast and I’m almost positive my heart is going to explode any minute.
You’re fine. We’re going. Go take a shower… you know you can’t smoke on the airplane, right?
Yes, I know… it’s a shame we don’t live in the olden days when smoking everywhere was the cool thing to do. My grandma smoked through all 7 of her pregnancies and her kids are awesome. Plus you could wear a blazer and tie and slick your hair to the side, and you could call me “sugar tits” and boss me around all day and it wouldn’t even be misogynistic.
Where is the Xanax? I know it’s a little early, but you should probably start taking them now. This has been going on for three days, can you just chill out? Everything is going to be fine, sugar tits, now go to the kitchen and make me a sandwich.
-Now honestly, I forgave him instantly. During the week before we go anywhere, he can pretty much say anything he wants to me. The amount of shit he has to put up with is out of this world, and if we get through the excursion without him actually divorcing me- its a miracle. I feel bad for the guy. Seriously, between my crying spells, hyperventilation, chain smoking, pill popping, insane ranting and praying, I would divorce myself if I could.
So after a week of being pretty sure I’m about to die, the day arrives when we are going to leave. Up until this point I have basically only eaten chicken broth, Imodium and Xanax for a week. I’m dizzy, loopy, slobbery and whiney. On the way to the airport I will cry at least once, and ask him why we even decided to go on this trip in the first place at least three times. I’m sure he’s wondering the same thing.
Once we get to the airport I’m cool. Totally fine. I take a few more Xanax when we’re about an hour away from boarding and life is good. At this point, he’s completely ignoring me, pretending he’s my brother or something and I imagine he’s hoping to meet a new woman- one he doesn’t have to take care of on vacations.
Boarding the air plane is the worst. I basically shut down. I’m freaking out, I’m sweating like a whore in church and crying the “silent cry” where tears are flowing but my face is emotionless, like a porcelain doll, a very sad porcelain doll. Poor Louie, such a sensitive soul. Once I hit this point of my freakout he is liable to freak out a little too, my anxiety wears him down and he gets a little panicky. I mean why wouldn’t he? The most influential person in his life is basically going to general quarters and falling apart at the seams! Or maybe that’s just what I tell myself. The doors seal up and I immediately pass out. Louie unfortunately is not as hopped up on pills as me, and therefore sits quietly as I drool on his shoulder.
We arrive, and he pretty much has to drag me onto one of those carts for oversized baggage… (because isn’t that EXACTLY what I am???) and wheel me to whatever car we’re taking to whatever place we’re going. It’s like “Weekend at Bernie’s” with less sex and more crying.
Two day’s later I wakeup feeling refreshed. Louie is drunk and snoring next to me and I can’t figure out where we are or how we got there.
And that is why I hate vacations. Also why we will be waiting until after May to start IUI, there is no way I could carry a baby through an airport, even if it is only in my uterus. I can hardly carry my empty uterus as it is!
If only men could carry babies. Louie would be such an amazing pregnant man. So healthy, never stressed, happy all the time, doesn’t complain about anything- the perfect pregnant person. I bet he would even give birth better than me. I bet he’d never even scream for an epidural, he wouldn’t “purple push” the baby would just glide out and he wouldn’t even break a sweat. So steadfast and dedicated, I bet he would breastfeed for two years without any trouble.
Too bad there is no way to guarantee our kids will have his genes, because honestly, I wish they could be 100% him. Ok maybe 98%- they need a little imagination and humor… just a little.