Dear Baby: When I Was Pregnant with You...

As my due date creeps ever closer (now one day away), I've been thinking back on my pregnancy, and feel there are a few things our little guy should know about this very special time in our lives.

You, Baby, should know that:

1.  If I had it to do all over again, I would tell people you were actually due two weeks later than the date the doctor told me. Having people ask, "are you still pregnant?" stopped being a novelty around week 38.

2.  There was a direct correlation between how close I was to my due date and the number of exclamation points your maternal grandmother used in her emails.

3.  Your father always set out my vitamins for me, read all the good childbirth books, went to tons of classes and built baby furniture like a superhero. Plus, he took the dog out first thing every morning so you and I could keep sleeping.

4.  I found myself watching "Days of our Lives" more often than I care to admit. In fact, it is on the TV as I type this post. You will never watch this show. Nor will you ever watch "Game of Thrones."  Ever.

5.  You moved around ALL THE TIME, which I loved, because you were telling me you were healthy and happy. Your dad and I liked to watch you make ripples across my belly when you moved, especially closer to our due date. At 3:00 a.m., however, I loved it a tiny bit less.

6.  We decided to keep your name a secret until you were born. That way, people wouldn't have a chance to complain, ask why we chose it or suggest other options. Also, it was kind of fun to watch your grandparents squirm.

7.  I went to lots of prenatal yoga classes, because they not only made me feel more stretchy, but everyone there was at least as big as me. And that felt good in a different way. I think the Germans call it schadenfreude.

There are lots more things you should know, not just about the time I spent pregnant with you, but also about how we live here in NYC. You'll learn them pretty quickly, but for starters, you should know that as a family, we recycle. We make and attend theatre. One of our cats has repeatedly threatened to suck the breath out of you, but she's a known liar, so don't worry about her. The British lady with the visor down the street isn't as mean as she seems. Your godparents are amazing people.

And we cannot wait for your arrival.

We love you already.

To Share or Not to Share?

I had a costume fitting today.  Two fancy movie costume designers were measuring me, pulling beautiful vintage dresses and coats for me to try on, and making idle chit chat while I stood there in my underwear.

And NO ONE asked if I was pregnant.

Apparently, my waist is still the same size it was pre-pregnancy, although my hips have gotten a couple inches...more ample.  My chest has gotten "healthier" too, but I'm not hearing any complaints about it.

Here's my question:  Do I have to tell people I'm pregnant?

I recently met with two lovely agents, who told me they'd seen my reel on my website, the very site you're reading right now.  To me, that suggested they'd read the TITLE of my blog, and already knew of my condition.  Last week, I asked a commercial casting director what his experience has been working with pregnant women, secretly hoping he'd say, "It's the BEST!  We can't get enough!  It's so hard to find real pregnant women for the LOADS of commercials that call for someone with a huge belly.  Putting a pregnancy pad on a really beautiful, talented actress just doesn't cut it."

But that's not what he said.

He said, "It's a problem."  And went on to explain that CDs want actors who can work NOW, not in 4 months or 6 months or a year.  That made my day!  I didn't want to cry AT ALL!

Tomorrow morning, I have an audition for a theatre's upcoming season, and the shows I'm interested in are in the fall, after the baby is born.  If I wear something to the audition that conceals my growing belly, do I have to say anything?

On the flip side, I have another audition tomorrow afternoon, with some very cool people whom I already know and respect.  I DID tell them, and explained I wouldn't audition if my pregnancy wouldn't gel with the vibe of the show, because I didn't want to take an audition slot away from an actress who might be better suited for the role.  And they said, "When would you like to meet? That sounds VERY intriguing."  Which really WAS cool, not the sarcastic kind of cool from before.

I don't have a wacky answer for all of this.  No funny tagline for this blog entry, no clever way of working it back to whatever I said at the beginning (hallmarks of my blogging.)  It's just a "hmmm" moment I'm sharing.

The bottom line is this:  I'm so excited and proud (I almost typed "round") to be having this baby, I feel a little strange NOT telling everyone, like I'm doing the little bundle a disservice.  But Mama's gotta work, and if somebody wants me to play Liz Lemon's mom in a flashback on "30 Rock," then mum's the word.

Pun intended.

(Examples in this post are purely hypothetical.  I am not on "30 Rock."  Yet.)

Slowing it Down

I hate Slow Walkers.

For me, getting from Point A to Point B is a sport, and I've prided myself on being an Olympian in this event.  I look beyond the slow walker, scoping out the available spots, and planning my sling-shot navigation of the busy sidewalks.  I quickly gauge my speed and size and complete complex mathematical equations to quickly determine if I can dodge Fat Man with Suitcase and scoot in front of Foreign Tourist with Map, before slamming into Mountain of UPS Packages Sitting in the Sidewalk.

It is My Thing, and I'm great at it.  At least, I used to be- before I was pregnant.

Now, I have become the very thing I despise.  One of the most startling discoveries I've made in recent weeks is that my stamina has gone out the window.  While most people may not even notice I'm pregnant (though I do- none of my regular clothes fit anymore), my body sure as Hell knows, and reminds me when I get a little too full of myself.

After a few blocks of hustling and dodging, I get light headed and overheated, and I am forced to walk at the same pace as our elderly neighbor, Irene.  Actually, Irene is faster.  I can't lie.  I find myself keeping to the right on the sidewalk, out of respect for the fast walkers who are likely cursing me.  My timing is all off now, too- what used to take me 10 minutes now takes significantly longer.  And the stairs coming out of the subway?  Puh-leeze.  No more jogging up those bad boys.  I make good use of the handrail, and try to keep moving.

I started going back to the gym this morning, and have to slow it down there, too.  When some hardbody gets on the elliptical next to me, I can't secretly race her anymore.  I am forced to focus on my own workout- and on Kathie Lee and Hoda- and not compete with those around me.

Maybe that's the problem I'm having.  I'm no longer a contender.  I've had to pull out of the race, a race I was mastering, and now I'm an amateur.  A hobbyist.  A sideline commentator.

But I'm also Making a Human Inside of Me.  And that's a pretty good reason to slow things down.  At least the other contenders have a fighting chance now.

Wait...WHAT?

I'll wait a second while you re-read the NEW title of this blog.

Still with me?  Good, because from here on out, this blog is going to be really, really fun to read.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am pregnant.  With a baby.  Together, Dean and I have created a human being that lives inside of me, wakes me every two hours to pee, and refuses to let me wear my skinny jeans. And we are thrilled.

In the past few weeks, we've informed our families and some close friends, and the reactions have ranged from tears of joy to spit takes to uncontrollable laughter to stunned stares, and one report of someone actually falling out of their chair.  And those are just reactions from me and Dean.

Answers to your most pressing questions:  We're due in June, and we don't know if it's a boy or a girl yet.  We WILL find out, because otherwise I will explode.  We have chosen names, but won't be sharing them with anyone until the BIG DAY.  However, feel free to send suggestions, because we like a good laugh and could be persuaded to change our minds for something really good, like Bookcase or Hortence.  We're staying in NYC and are keeping our current apartment because it's awesome, it's near the Best Park in the World, and Hank would be devastated if we moved him away from his doggie girlfriend, Fenny.

My friend Kim pointed out that I completely started my life over at 40, and she's right.  In the past 2 years, I got married for the first (and last) time, changed my career, moved to New York, and NOW...am expecting a baby.

I realize our child will graduate from high school in 2030, and it freaks me out, because I have no idea how we're going to teach it to drive one of those flying George Jetson cars we'll all have by then.  Rather than dwell on the possibility that I might need a walker to attend the child's wedding, I'm going to embrace the fact that as we raise our child, I will have TWICE the life experience to draw from as a lot of first-time moms.  And when I get super depressed that my bras don't fit and I can't button my regular pants anymore, I smile and think of how adorable Dean Poynor will look walking around with a Baby Bjørn strapped to his chest.

Before I go eat Second Breakfast, I want to share one of my earliest blog posts with you.  It's called "Babyville."  It's even funnier now.

Guess I drank the water after all.