Hale Kilinahe: The Journal

NOVEMBER 30, 1997 I realized today that I can't see my feet. Nobody told me ahead of time that pregnancy would change me forever. Well, they did, but I've always felt like an oddball in a lot of respects, so I hoped that I could just pop out a baby and go back to my life, except with a very small roommate. My life will never be the way it was before, even if I do fit into my size 6 jeans again. My whole body feels weird, as if I've been stolen from my own familiar form and stuffed into this big, puffy cotton-ball suit. I've never waddled in my life. To women who have children, this is an old hat. They've heard it a million times. Believe me when I tell all of you who have never been pregnant that a surprise lurks around the corner every day. On the first day, it's just the pregnancy test results. By the third week, you will be amazed that you're still alive, because you haven't held down solid food for a week. By your sixth month, the sheer amount of food you can consume will move you to tears. Emotionally, I go from teary to bitchy to beaming in three seconds. Mostly, I'm impatient. Which brings me to my job. I know now that when I die, I will go to heaven, because I've worked retail during the Christmas season. I did it last year, too, but I was crazy enough to try it again. It's not even December yet and already, I find myself continuously amazed at how the brains of grown adult people seem to spontaneously tumble out of their skulls. Normally capable people become so helpless and whiny. They can't see the humongous neon sign that says "New Releases." Is it me? Maybe since I work there, I take for granted that everyone should have some store-navigating skills. I try so hard to be polite and helpful, but when middle-aged people begin to whine at me, I just lose all compassion. < BACK | NEXT >