So, I’ve been a little MIA lately. There’s a reason, but I’m not too sure how into it I want to get. There is something that’s going on that while it doesn’t directly affect me, is still affecting me. I want to write about, but just haven’t found the right words, yet.
So, instead I’ll regale you with tales of dinner with my Mom and her friend. Mom’s friend JT is a consultant that works with her company. He spends a lot of time in our town because of issues with their work. This suits me just fine, because I love dinner with JT. It’s always a blast. He’s my mother’s age, and quite southern, and also quite gay. This only plays in because he loves to tell my mother stories of his love life and watch her scandalized expression. Last night it was a story about a hook up he had here a couple of years ago that went all awry (the guy he was meeting turned out to be a she…). My mother was properly scandalized right on cue, but not because of the gender switch, no it was because JT has a long-term partner, and JT told his partner all about it, and his partner thought it was hilarious. My reaction was much closer to “how do you spring tits on a gay man like that?” So, I loves going to dinner with JT and watching him shock my mother.
But, naturally the conversation couldn’t stay on his escapades all evening, lest mother should have a heart attack. So, we eventually got around to talking about the more everyday things in life. Mother has a new and awesome career prospect, oh and her infertile daughter’s womb of doom is currently carrying another not dead yet baby. Of course, that’s not how she said it. She said “Oh, JT Sis is pregnant again! Oops, but that’s a secret. You don’t care it JT knows, right Sis?” At which I had no choice but to say, of course not. And that’s true, but I hate being put on the spot like that. So, we started talking about the pregnancy, how far along, how miserable I’m going to be in August when “the whores are a moanin” (no idea what it means, but things like that are why I love JT). Of course, mother pipes up with, “if you make it to August, I bet you don’t complain one peep.” I love that even my mother is constantly on the “if” bandwagon. So, JT makes a forray into a subject matter that I’m sure no self-respecting gay man in his 50’s ever wants to discuss, especially over dinner: what exactly is wrong with your bits, that you can’t manage to hang onto a baby. He entered this subject with the well-meaning, and obviously completely uninformed question of “why don’t they just put you on bed rest.”
The next half hour was filled with phrases like, “well, during my fifth pregnancy they found” and “exercise is shown to build a stronger placenta” and “my body kills them with blood clots, hence the 84,000 pills and 29 shots I take everyday (ok, it’s 12 pills and 2 shots, but who’s counting)” and “if this one makes it til Friday it’ll be the longest surviving, yet!” and “actually, if it’s still alive right now, it’s the longest surviving, yet…”
It was the last of those phrases that alerted me to the fact that normal people don’t refer to whether or not the child they’re carrying is still alive. They just assume that it is. Normal people don’t tell their mother’s friends about drug protocols and how to build a stronger placenta. But, for me, that’s what pregnancy is. It isn’t “oh, there’s a baby!” It’s “well there might be a baby, but these are the hurdles to get there.” They both continued to ask questions, so I babbled on, but it was very much with the realization that I was going too far. I was showing too much of my oddness.
Luckily, JT gave me an out shortly after and we began to dish on people who had left mother’s company and the state of some people’s marriages, who’s fat as a pig, who’s gaining weight and how I’m fat as a pig and need gastric bypass. But, it’s OK if G’s fat as a pig (which he isn’t) because that means he’s happy at home (which he is).
You know, normal night out with my mom and her friend…