My husband does improv. It was one of the facets of his personality that drew me in to know more. On our first date, he told me about taking the leap and going to Chicago for two weeks of classes at Second City. This from a man, dressed in a suit on a Tuesday night first date, after a day working as an engineer at one of Silicon Valley's large tech companies. Since I started with "my husband", I've revealed that the first date did indeed go well, very well, and led to subsequent dates. Including a fifth date that, I think spontaneously - although it might have been calculated, now that I think about it - a date that spontaneously included us participating in improv. Live, on stage, on a Friday night. Yes, it was a small crowd and I might have been the only one there who didn't know it was the audience participation show, but I remember making the split second decision to dive in. "If you don't do it now, he'll NEVER suggest something like this again." And I do love the spontaneous, playful, creative side of life, even if it doesn't dominate my day to day.
Fast forward just over four years later and we are expecting our first child, this summer. My husband is well versed in improv, but I've dabbled a bit since we met. Enough to know the central tenets are things like "I suck! And I love to fail!", or, yelling "Tah-Dah!" after what one might call a "mistake" in regular life. Another is "Average - go with the average idea". The essence is to take what your improv partner gives you, don't block them or reject them, use the phrase "Yes, and . . ." as opposed to "Yes, but . . ." and expect that failure is just another chance to iterate. Go big, go wild, be absurd and create worlds that your logical mind might never intentionally explore.
I calculated today that we are 106 days from the due date. Spectacularly close, which shouldn't be surprising given the very pregnant belly that goes with me everywhere, the new familiarity with Pepcid and the recent shopping trip for "comfortable" shoes to support my swollen elephant feet.
Now that we're in 25 week land, we're getting the "have you selected a name yet?" question repeatedly. I have a name that I call our baby girl, but we haven't decided yet as a couple. A name that we both like, one of the first we discussed, is my leader and my husband agrees. But we feel like we need to do due diligence and consider the hundreds of other possibilties there could be since the one we like is from a movie. But I feel like we do know the name.
After my ob/gyn visit last week, I checked out the after visit summary. So many new terms are coming at me with this pregnancy and I haven't really even dived into the details of the actual childbirth, but today's What To Expect When You're Expecting email dove into the topic of a medical procedure or allowing for natural tearing. So, I feel like I have a general sense of the details. That, and friends are starting to share some of their real feelings about childbirth. I think if I imagine being drawn and quartered, or another similar torture method, I might start to be gettting close to what the experience is like.
I digress, in the after visit summary, I had to search one term, but another was all to clear. The notes said "Elderly Gravida". Now, "gravida" was new to me, but "elderly" is clear. I'm three weeks shy of 41 and do not intend for the word "elderly" to be used in my description anytime in the next several decades. In fact, my 74 year old mother would balk at being described as elderly. Turns out "gravida" is pregnancy. There's geriatric pregnancy, mother of advanced maternal age, and I'm sure, many other terms I haven't yet learned.
As I look at the list of things that I'd like to happen before the baby comes, paint the medicine cabinet with Rustoleum, empty the upstairs closets and deep clean, I know that I'm going to need to continue to embrace what my partner offers, whether it's the partner of my husband or the "partner" of this pregnancy, with a great big "yes, and . . . ".
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