I’m an elementary school music teacher and found out I was pregnant in late August, just as the school year was starting. I waited until after Christmas break to tell my students. That doesn’t sound like a big deal, but I see every student in the school once a week. That amounts to sharing the news about thirty five times. Before long I felt like a broken record. By the time I got to Friday, those kids probably thought I wasn’t excited at all about the baby.
Telling the kindergarten classes was an eye opening experience to their concept of time. They were excited about my news–when it was time for one class to leave, almost all the kids gave me hugs on the way out, their heads just reaching the level of my belly. One little girl hugged me and then whispered loudly, “I feeled the baby!”
The next time I saw them was a week later. The first question was, “Did you have your baby yet?” They were all astonished to see I was still pregnant. Anything that takes longer than today seems like a lifetime away to a kindergartener. In January, trying to explain the concept of “April” or “in four months” was mind-boggling to them. To them I would pretty much always be pregnant.
Now it’s the first week of March, and I’m starting to agree with them.
I feel like I am going to be pregnant FOREVER. I still have six weeks until my due date. I am big and round, tired and moody, with heartburn and a daughter in my abdomen who is apparently going for a medal in kickboxing. I want to wear a sandwich board with the word “FINE” printed on it so everyone will stop asking me how I feel. (If only someone would just say “Looking good” or ask something different like “Any new updates? What’s your baby’s room look like?” but no…) I realized I must have missed officially telling some of the classes that I am pregnant, (absentmindedness is a symptom of pregnancy they say,) so even now some students come in the music room and burst, “Are you PREGNANT?”
The last week or so has been particularly tiresome. Today I had a group of kindergarteners once again. Someone asked, as usual, if I’d had the baby yet. I thought to myself, do I LOOK like I’ve had a baby? But I said, “Not yet. Not for a long time still.”
We sang little songs and danced around the room. They lined up at the end of our time and I leaned against the wall, winded, waiting for their classroom teacher to pick them up. And then, as they were leaving, one little girl smiled up at me and said, “I can’t wait to see your baby.” I watched her file out with her classmates, and couldn’t help smiling too.
I am right there with those kindergarteners now. I wake up every morning and think, I STILL haven’t had this baby? Six weeks might as well be sixty. I look in the mirror and the 29 year old in there knows it’ll be worth the wait–the last few months will melt away as soon as I hold my little one in my arms. Yet the inner kindergartener in me can’t remember when I had a waistline, sees pants that won’t stay up, and shoes that are impossible to tie. She is the one I hear the most often, and she says it all: “Can I be done now????”