NOT KEEPING SCORE

There’s only so much poetry (and vicodin) that one girl can take, much less her wonderfully tolerant audience. With that in mind, we’re going to end the week with some big news.

“Big News”
It has finally happened: I’m officially old.

My very darling, and very dear friend from high school called me to announce that, with her very studly, and very capable beau, she is embarking upon that landmark and pinnacle of Adult Responsibility: she’s having a baby.

Actually, she phrased it like so: “We are having a baby.”

Now, bear in mind that this is not the first time I’ve ever been told that one of my peers is pregnant. But note the subtle difference:

Scenario phone call #1: “Hey Shannon! We’re having a baby!” [insert optional squeal/gasp/silence]

Scenario phone call #2: “Hey! Shannon! OhMyGod I’m Pregnant.” [insert optional squeal/gasp/silence]

Subtle, but different, you see? Scenario #1 is an announcement of joy. Scenario #2 is an announcement of “shit!” (Notice, too, the shifting of pronouns. Important.)

So, this very darling and very dear friend from high school calls, uses the “we” scenario, and my immediate reaction is to drop to crouched position, legs spread like a runner’s stance, and splay my arms out wide, one in front and one in back. It is a primal Fight or Flight reaction, as if to be at the ready to make a mad dash for the hills the second any a man approaches me wanting me to have his babies.

I may be weak but I’m fast.

And then “I’m-having-a-hard-time-breathing-oh-God-everyone-is-going-to-start-getting-married-and-start-having-kids-but-I-don’t-want-to-have-kids-and-I-don’t-want-to-get-married-I-want-to-have-lots-of-room-to-breath-and-stretch-out-and-bounce-around-from-place-to-place-like-a-pinball-letting-only-life-dictate-my-whereabouts-or-like-the-wind-own-the-freedom-to-be-calm-or-a-storm-my-only-obligation-to-the-elements-not-some-screaming-little-brat-that-wants-to-suck-on-my-tit!” *

While in that momentary defensive squat, I thought about the moment a couple of years ago when, at twenty-three, the first of my very close friends dropped the bomb that she was engaged. It caused some serious paradigm shifting — I was so affected by the symbolism of it, I even, like, wrote a short “fiction” piece and shit. Heavy, I know.

But she had rocked the boat; it’s kind of like the moment I realized my parents had sex, or that my teachers were “real people” — or even worse: that my teacher has sex with my parent (I had my father as a teacher for two years.

That was crass. Sorry, I couldn’t help it.)

By now you’re probably thinking “come on, Shannon — you’re twenty-five. Lots of people are gettin’ hitched and poppin’ out kids at this age.”

True. I won’t argue with you there, but you must be merciful and understand that I am a neurotic twit afraid of growing up.

However, something interesting happened. I stood up. I put the phone back to my ear, relaxed my muscles out of running mode and brought my mind back to the milestone of pregnancy in my midst.

“Say that again?” I said.

“We’re having a baby”

I thought about watching her belly, over the months, round and swell like a beautiful breath; I thought about high-fiving the father and sharing a knowing glance; I thought about all the fucked up Mexican candy Auntie Shannon would secretly sneak the kid when mommy wasn’t looking.

“Congratulations. I am so happy for you.”

And there it was. The paradigm shift I braced for never came. Only the excitement of watching a friend grow and learn through this process, the excitement of knowing that despite changes in circumstance there is no change in love between friends, and the excitement of welcoming in another member to the group.

* [ authors note: creative license purposes only. Author has no animosity towards children and may want to get married and have kids someday… maybe. ]