I would love to say that I have a long history of serious troublemaking. Really, though, I didn't ditch a day of high school until the last few months of senior year, when it didn't matter. In recent years, I have been known to say, "But we might get in trouble," as a reason not to go in the back door of a restaurant or duck the ropes while skiing. "By who?" my husband will ask - rightly, because it's not as though we're being followed by law enforcement officials just waiting to haul us in for refilling our iced teas at Chipotle without paying for a second cup. Sure, maybe I stayed out a little later than I should have sometimes, and toilet-papered a few houses, and had a few (okay, more than a few) alcoholic drinks pre-21, and, after the Homecoming dance, I climbed a fence in my floor-length formal dress, resulting in a huge rip up the side of it, and hung out with friends in a condominium complex hot tub that I most definitley did not have permission to be in. But, in general, I was the voice of reason - maybe sometimes the wet blanket - of my group of friends. I don't think my husband, who may have missed more classes than he attended and sported liberty spikes at various times in his youth, would have even given goodie-two-shoes-me the time of day if we had known each other in high school. I would have loved him from afar and he would have thought I was kind of cute but needed to loosen up. What I'm trying to say is if this baby becomes a bona-fide troublemaker, I would not have thought it would be a result of my influence.
Pregnancy, however, has turned me into a rebel. Maybe it's the sheer amount of advice thrown at you from every direction, both from reputable sources (like my doctor's office) and from suspect strangers (like the guy who told me, in the parking lot at the gym the other day, that he didn't think pregnant women should be working out, and his wife was pregnant and SHE wasn't working out, probably, he implied, because she loves her baby more than I love mine.). I've come to find that, if I followed every piece of advice I've been given - even just the advice from dependable sources - I'd be eating nothing but plain rice and non-GMO chicken and organic vegetables, and sitting in some kind of a protective pregnancy bubble like John Travolta in that bubble boy movie. So, in the interests of my sanity, I'm snubbing my nose at the man. I'm taking back the power, even if all I'm doing is eating some raw fish. Please, you members of the pregnancy police, zip the lip - I don't care if you don't approve of my mini rebellious streak, or my shoes or exercise habits or food.
So far, I've kept running (really, slowly jogging), after a nurse told me that perhaps my body was telling me to slow down, and perhaps I should lay off the running. I've gotten my toe nails painted. I drank a Diet Coke. I'm using makeup and lotion and it's not paraben-free and it's probably filled with other horrible chemicals I can't pronounce. I still wear high heels. Past the fourth month of pregnancy, I've flopped down in bed flat on my back. I've lifted boxes (though not much in the last week, with the back aching and all), I've climbed on to the counter to get a glass, I've taken baths alone without my husband there to help me out of them (really - a nurse suggested I only take baths when he was home. Ummm, my husband works 24-hour shifts, and if my back hurts and a bath will help me relax, I'm taking a bath, even if he's at work, probably rescuing other stubborn pregnant ladies who braved the bathtub while alone and fell and smacked their heads on the edge of the tub).
I've eaten lunchmeat (unheated), smoked salmon (also cold), and, once, raw salmon rolls - though, when I bought them at the store, I had a story prepared about them being for my husband, in case the check-out lady grilled me. Yes, my respect for authority is so deeply ingrained that it extends to the check-out lady at the supermarket. Of course, she didn't even seem to notice me or my sushi. I've licked brownie batter containing a raw egg off of the spoon. I've eaten peanut butter at least a dozen times, Maybe four percent of the food I've eaten has been organic. And let me tell you, it all felt good.
None of these things are truly so rebellious. Perhaps I'll deeply regret eating apples dripping in pesticides, or wearing high heels, though I doubt it - didn't our mothers do the same, and sometimes much worse, and still manage to turn out some okay children? I think my tiny uprising emphasizes the need for balance - the fact that, if you follow all the well-intentioned advice you're given, you will soon be living a frozen, paralyzed existence, and how can that be good for anyone, especially people who will soon be parents and will need to have a little flexibility to remain sane? I probably would have been easier on myself in high school if I'd realized that the world would not come crashing down around me if I missed cheerleading practice or got a D on a test. A little rebellion is a good thing. But please, don't tell my doctor. I still wouldn't want to get in trouble.
