"Normal" is Relative

I've never done things the normal way.

It took me nine years from graduate from college, thanks to a mild case of wanderlust and general indecision.  I once dropped everything and moved to Montana because I'd had a nice visit there one time, and wanted an adventure.  While many of my peers got married and had kids in their twenties, I held out for nearly 20 years and did it after I turned 40.  

And while my choices may have made my parents prematurely grey, my life has turned out just fine.  It's turned out perfectly, in fact.

But my penchant for doing things a little backwards has apparently followed me into my middle years, and I find myself in a situation that makes many scratch their heads:  I've spent half of my first trimester away from home, doing a play at a theatre in Myrtle Beach.

During the time that hormones are at their most erratic, when moms-to-be lean on (and confound) their partners the most, when all the weird "what is THAT?!" stuff starts happening to our once-familiar bodies...THAT is when I moved myself 663 miles away in the name of art.

I've been away from home since October 29th, when I left to shoot a film in NC, and in Myrtle Beach since November 8th, the day we began rehearsals for A CHRISTMAS STORY.  Here is what I miss most, in no particular order:

Dean
Walking/cuddling/looking at/cleaning up after my dog
WALKING to run errands
Central Park
NOT DRIVING
Cold, winter-time weather
New York at Christmas
Our neighbors
Seeing familiar faces on the street
Seamless Web
Our crazy old Italian landlords, Luigi and Maria
Hank snoring
Dixie sitting on the newspaper
Tater talking nonstop
Dean (bears repeating)

I've had a wonderful time here, and am grateful to Thom and Mindi Penn for the opportunity to make fun theatre with them.  I'm grateful to my Dad and Linda for turning their condo over to me, and for putting up a Christmas tree to make being away from home a little sweeter.  I'm grateful to Mom and Mike and Sharon and Johnny and Aunt Peggy and Jim and Alice and Paul and all the family who came to see the show and remind me that I'm not here all alone.

But coming home late at night to a pet-free condo, spending  90 minutes a day in the car, and sleeping alone is for the birds.  I'm ready to get back to my normal life.

However unconventional it may seem.

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.