A Bump in the Road (34 page)

How is it Friday already? What was I thinking when, in the midst of a manic hormonal episode, I invited my parents over for dinner tonight? Friday seemed so far away when I told my mom to “Be there at seven” in the midst of surfing Rachael Ray recipes online. I found a great recipe for steak with goat cheese crumbles and balsamic vinaigrette, mashed potatoes, and steamed asparagus.

My mom called yesterday to say they were coming at six thirty now since my dad had to see patients at the hospital later that night. Seeing as how I usually don’t get home until five thirty, it is going to be a challenge. But I am using a Rachael Ray thirty-minute-meals recipe so I should have everything ready. Maybe I’ll even have time left over to do some laundry before they arrive.

5:45
P.M.

Don’t panic. Don’t flip out. I’m sure the person whose car is totaled is very sorry they smashed into the other car and ruined everybody’s lives by turning Ogden Avenue into a parking lot.

6:07
P.M.

I’m finally home. I’ll be fine, right? I mean, I’m doing a thirty-minute meal, right? Time to get started.

6:17
P.M.

Why did we have to leave the potato peeler at the Grandalskis last Christmas when we made the sweet potato pie? It’s really hard to peel potatoes with a tiny paring knife. It’s also really hard to peel potatoes using a tiny paring knife when my finger is sliced open.

6:28
P.M.

Potatoes peeled and boiling on the stove. Asparagus steaming in steamer pot thingy we got as a wedding present. Steaks pan-seared and put in the oven. Pregnant lady sobbing hysterically.

6:35
P.M.

My parents are here. Jake pours glasses of wine as I longingly stare at a beer in the fridge.

6:45
P.M.

The oven is smoking. Holy shit!

6:47
P.M.

A pan was on fire. Parents and Jake came running to the kitchen as I threw the pan, steak and all, into the sink and turned on the faucet. My mom looked at me and said, “You put a nonstick pan under the broiler?” Oops. I’m sorry I almost incinerated everyone with my stupidity. Oh, well, we can still have the potatoes and asparagus.

6:56
P.M.

Fark. Asparagus stalks steamed for too long and are now stuck to each other to form one giant globular green mushy mess.

7:15
P.M.

Why aren’t the potatoes done yet? They’re still rock-hard and resemble Styrofoam.

7:17
P.M.

Maybe it would’ve been helpful if I had turned the stove on. That might’ve helped them cook faster.

7:45
P.M.

Potatoes are done. Seeing as how I set the steaks on fire and steamed the asparagus until it became oatmeal, looks like I’ll be serving the potatoes with some oriental-flavored ramen noodles, the only edible thing in our cabinets.

7:54
P.M.

Ramen noodles and mashed potatoes are on the table. Just as we all sat down to eat, my dad’s pager went off and he and my mom left so he could admit one of his patients into the hospital. They didn’t look too disappointed about missing my gourmet meal. I’m
so
not Rachael Ray.

I was cheered, however, when several readers assured me they, too, had once put a nonstick pan in the oven, causing life-threatening emergency situations.

As if dragging Jake out of Champagne Wayne’s Party O’ Losers wasn’t the horrifying highlight of the month, I just read something that totally tops it.

I read on Baby Chat about something called a Lotus Birth. Apparently it is when a baby’s umbilical cord isn’t cut at birth, but instead left intact and attached to the placenta until it detaches on its own several days or weeks later. These parents believe it is more natural and comforting to the baby. They carry the placenta around in a shoebox until it detaches.

How freaky is
that
?

What do these parents do when a visitor holds the baby? “Be careful not to touch the soft spot on his head; support his neck and . . . the placenta so it doesn’t fall on the floor”?

To all pregnant women: I know pregnancy is emotional and difficult, but let’s try to keep it together, OK? Keep those thinking caps firmly in place, ladies.

After my venting about a Lotus Birth, I felt very high and mighty about being a calm, prepared, normal, and all-knowing pregnant woman who totally has her shit together. Yet today, I was knocked down off my proverbial high horse by that bitch Karma.

As evidence, this is the e-mail I sent Julie tonight:

I was wondering if you know where I left my dignity? Oh, really? You mean it just flew right out of my office when I wasn’t looking? Did it say where it was going? Because I’d really like to have it back. No? You’re sure?

I thought today would be pretty easy. A Friday—not too much work to do coupled with looking forward to hanging out with Julie all weekend since Jake is in Vegas for some nerdy technology conference.

I was so, so wrong.

One of the first things I did this morning was e-mail Jake to see how his flight went. It went something like this:

Hey! Just wanted to see how everything is going. Work’s boring as usual. I miss you already and can’t wait to see you! Call me as soon as you get a chance.

Love you,
Clare.

Then I e-mailed Josh, this dude who’s selling us our new, pimped-out yet child-friendly SUV (Sadly not the convertible I wanted. I acquiesced when Jake pointed out the ass-freezing Chicago winter and the possibility of Mr. Skeletor getting launched, car seat and all, from the vehicle if God forbid there should ever be an accident.) to see when we could pick up our new car.

Ten minutes later, Josh called.

Josh: “So, Clare . . . I just got your e-mail.”

Me: “Great. What do you think?”

Josh: “Well, it’s certainly flattering.”

WTF
?

Josh: “Clare?”

Me: “I’m here. Josh, I really—”

I stopped suddenly as I caught sight of my e-mail outbox, displaying the subject of the e-mail to Josh as “miss you!” Crap. I sent Jake’s e-mail to Josh instead. Outlook must’ve automatically filled out Josh’s e-mail address instead of Jake’s when I typed “J” in. I had just told our car salesman I miss him and can’t wait to see him.

I awkwardly tried to explain what happened, but I’m pretty sure he still thinks I have the hots for him. What is also completely disgusting
is he sounded somewhat into a fling with a pregnant lady. It’s too gross to even contemplate. So, I’m just going to forget about it and work on fine-tuning my list of baby items to include in my registry. I asked Julie to go with me since Jake’s out of town. I thought about asking Reese, but I didn’t want to bother her with my own, very insignificant issues considering her personal crises.

Jake was pretty disappointed I picked this weekend to register. He claimed he wanted to help pick out everything for Skeletor, until I whipped out my PowerPoint presentation about
why
we should register for the expensive stroller (biggest reason: it’s awesome) versus a much more economical version, and his eyes started to glaze over. After ten minutes, he said, “OK, go ahead and register this weekend. I trust you. Pick whichever one of those go-kart things you want.”

“Go-kart things?”

“Strollers. You know what I mean.”

10:00
P.M.

Julie was supposed to come over after work. She was supposed to call me when her train got in so I could pick her up at the station. We were supposed to hang out and order a pizza.

She called me at six and I grabbed my keys.

“You here?” I answered.

“Well, um, no.” She sounded a little drunk.

“What?”

“I went out for a few drinks after work, just for
one
drink, ya know. And my coworker insisted on buying everyone a shot of tequila. And then beautiful Hot Dr. Ben showed up—” I heard rustling in the background. “Here, I have one.”

“Julie?”

“What? Oh, Clare, sorry, I’m in the bathroom.” Calling me from the bathroom definitely meant she was drunk. “Anyway, he keeps buying me drinks. But I swear I’m leaving after the next round. Just one more drink and I’ll be on the next train so we can hang out.”

Yeah right. I knew even if she did make it to the train station
after another drink the odds of her getting on the right train were pretty slim and she could end up in Milwaukee.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s Hot Dr. Ben, I understand. Just stay in the city tonight and come out tomorrow morning.”

“No. I’ll be on the next train.”

“Seriously, no. Stay tonight and get fabulously drunk and get some ass.”

“Really?”

“Hell yes! One of us should be doing something worthwhile.”

“OK, I love you and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Use a condom!” I shouted into the phone before hanging up.

It is probably best this way. In the old days, Julie would come out and we’d hang out all night, drinking wine and apple martinis and watching snippets of movies in between pouring more drinks and smoking cigarettes outside. Now, even though we’ve been friends for years, who wants to hang out with a sober pregnant lady or a mom, even a cool one? I know we’ll always be friends, but the thought of us no longer being as close breaks my heart. I’m going to banish those thoughts out of my head and be grateful Julie is giving up her weekend, most of it anyway, to hang out with me in the suburbs and help me register for baby stuff. If that doesn’t equate to friendship, I don’t know what does.

I’m going to go flip on a movie and settle in with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

Julie finally called from the train station around noon yesterday, dying from a hangover. Seeing as how I’d been up since seven due to the world’s fullest bladder, I was ready when she called. When I arrived five minutes later, I spotted her. She had her sunglasses on, Starbucks in hand, and was wearing a maroon sweat suit and gray T-shirt. Her hair was thrown carelessly into a loose knot on top of her head. She
still had on shoulder-dusting sparkly earrings from last night. She opened the car door and sat down.

“Hey.” She grimaced as she closed the door.

“Wow. Good night?”

“Oh my God. You don’t even understand. I am so motherfucking hungover right now but I don’t even care because last night I had the Best. Sex. Ever. Seriously.” She flipped off her sunglasses and stared at me with her bloodshot eyes. “Seriously,” she repeated. “I think I’m still a little drunk. And somewhat chafed. But I don’t care. It was so worth it.”

“At least someone had a good night last night. I spent my evening sitting on my fat ass, eating gummi bears.”

“God, I’m so sorry I bailed on you last night.” She leaned back and closed her eyes and slowly opened them. “I really wo—PULL OVER!” She sat straight up.