Last week began preparing for the arrival of a certain someone and this week ended with the ding-dong of the door bell.
Yes after 42 years, my long cherished independence was under imminent threat. My single days cooked. I was 'caving in', going to live with - you guessed it, the Glam Rocker. This was a completely unnatural scenario for me. For years I avoided ever having to live with a significant other. It put the fear of God in me. It spelled compromise, not a good thing for someone as selfish as myself.
"Why?" I pleaded with the Glam Rocker, "Why ruin a good thing?"
He hauled a huge suitcase through the door and began to unpack.
"What are you talking about?"
"I've seen what co-habitation can do. It wrecks relationships. You know most marriages end in divorce."
"I forgot to tell you, my d-papers arrived", and he kissed the tip of my nose.
"See... You, even you are one such victim. I mean, maybe if you guys hadn't lived together you wouldn't have divorced, met me and now be expecting a baby."
"Where are you going with this?"
"Look it's been proven, statistics show women get the short end of the stick cohabiting."
"The short end of the stick?" He raised an eyebrow at me.
"Okay, wrong metaphor. You know what I mean. Men benefit but women end up worse off; shackled by children, doomed by domestic drudgery, careers cauterized (all of which hasten the aging process and heighten neurosis'), not forgetting slow strangulation by social conventions..."
"Like having to... to... Oh god I can so see it. I bet by late next year I'll probably end up buying something from Cath Kidson or join a book club and every month sit sipping a couple of glasses of shitty white wine discussing some turgid... "
The Glam Rockers brows furrowed, "You're not making sense."
"Does the word 'purdah' mean anything to you?"
"I'm not locking you away."
"But see it happens. Haven't you noticed how even, even now when we are out, say at dinner party all the women end up talking to the women and all the men to the men - the sexes divide and there is no more... "
Oh god my party days are over. Things will never be the same again.
The Glam Rocker was in philosophical mode, "There are ways of looking at things." He pointed to a metaphorical glass on the kitchen table.
"What do you see?"
I opened my eyes, I closed eyes. I peeped, peered and stared at this half full half empty scenario. Still, the glass of independence was an intricately cut crystal vessel filled with liquid adventures and the glass before me now was more like a mug, a chipped mug or a plastic sippy cup with dried bits of baby food stuck to it.
The Glam Rocker unfinished packing and I swooned from the shock of it all. I completely folded in on myself. Inertia struck I went into hiding beneath the duvet.
"You okay?" asked the Glam Rocker.
"I haven't quite processed it."
He sidled up to me on the bed and whispered, "The upside my darling is that I'm on my way down under... "
For the past few weeks all he'd been talking about was the promise of going down under. He expected me to jump for joy, writhe in ecstasy. I reminded him I was 29 weeks pregnant and movement was restrictive. Still he was going down and it did bring a smile to my lips.
I began to relax. There were benefits to cohabitation... moreover it was perhaps premature of me to even claim cohabitation, knowing within 24 hours he would be off touring, due back March 2013.
My Glam Rocker was indeed going down under, Oz bound the following morning.
The Bump Says
Don't worry about me, I'm doing fine and if born will most probably survive. But you... lady watch out, cause here come the stretch marks. Get the oil and let the slathering commence. Oh and did I forget to mention the leg cramps and getting up to pee all night.