Losing My S
Mom called me today to see how my speech went yesterday. I had to present a Song of Expectation. I am not the most seasoned public speaker. And I should have known that I was headed for trouble when I felt weepy on about three different occasions during the morning service leading up to my part. They were all pretty standard stuff, like passing the peace. I am sure that there were a few people thinking who is this person and why does she have tears in her eyes.
I inherited the ability to cry at the drop of a hat from my mother. On the other hand, I have been known to be a little detached and able to hold things together. When we were freshman, Shannon liked to say the country song “She Never Cried When Old Yeller Dies” was about me. So I am not always a complete mess in life. But with the increased level of hormones, I was primed and ready for crying. Plus my cold from the last week also had my sinus open and ready to flow.
As I gave my tiny little speech, I considered looking up mid-stream and thanking my hormones for making me so emotional. But I kept my head down and somehow made it through. Usually I am much better with speaking, but for some reason announcing to a room full of people that you are pregnant is a little overwhelming. I made it back to my seat, only to want to crumple and sob in the pew. Henry and I exchanged a few notes about why I was crying. My only answer was “I am pregnant and you have a gazillion extra hormones surging through your body.”
Eventually I asked him to leave the room to find me a tissue. I had a huge gathering of snot on the end of my nose. Uggh! What a wreck. The irony is that as part of the three essays for my tobacco project, I wrote about growing up at my childhood church, I was allergic to the dusty brown shag rug. Each Sunday I would find myself trying to not lose my snot before the end of class. Sorry, I know that is really gross. But the irony was not lost on me. Maybe I should have left that memory buried. Forget being totally open and honest in your art.
When we left Sunday’s service, I told Amy that I was not speaking again until after I gave birth. Later, I thought of one way I would consider another pre-labor appearance: If I could leave the stage through a hole in floor and then be wheeled out in a large black box by a huge entourage so that no one can see me. Just like Prince at all of his concerts.
I do have a few upcoming workshops at Paper Source. My cut-off date for teaching is St. Patty’s Day until resuming again in the fall. I am pretty sure that I can keep it together as I talk about setting eyelets, embossing and double-sided tape. At least, let’s hope.
This is my speech from Sunday. On the surface, not a real tear-jerker. Oh well…
As we enter 2009, I can say with great confidence that I will accomplish at least one of my New Year’s Resolutions – motherhood.
Late this spring we are expecting the arrival of our first child, a daughter, who is also the first grandchild for both sides of our families. When I told my mother I was expecting, she seemed shocked. I asked her if she had given up the hope of being a grandmother.
Needless to say, this baby represents renewed hope, excitement and an abundance of love for our families. Just like the promises written in today’s passage of Jeremiah and the promises shared throughout Advent.
Plus I imagine that once she arrives, our daughter will bring a lot of hard, but meaningful, work.
I selected “This Will Be Our Year” as a song that represents Henry and I entering into this New Year and extremely different phase of our lives. After eight years of marriage, we forge ahead together on this life-changing journey called parenthood.