"Hey, I bet they're all uncircumcised."
I rest my case. When in the world, other than the week that your midwife springs about a thousand statistics about the downfalls of circumcision on you in the name of being "fully informed", does one EVER associate soccer with "the cut"?
Never, that's when.
It had been a heck of a week. On top of realizing that we were drastically beyond the halfway point between "Why am I so emotional and where the heck is Mother Nature's monthly gift?" and "Omg there's a baby lying there and it's ours", Kip and I also became more intimate than we ever thought possible with one of our midwives when, in the course of an hour, we spoke in depth about the pros and cons of circumcision and she mimed breastfeeding (still fully clothed, lest you think it was that intimate). I should have known, as we exited the Birth Center wide-eyed and a little shell shocked that afternoon, that there would be no going back. Pregnancy Life and Real Life were on a collision course.
Of course, I'd been experiencing a merging of Pregnancy Life and Real Life for several months at that point. But it was in a cushy and cute sort of way: I noticed babies more; I realized I had a justification for looking at the cute onesies on sale at Fred Meyer; I lost the ability to wear pants without some sort of elastic in the band. All these, with one great exception, were relatively welcome and anticipated changes in my psyche, showing an identity shift from "Cindy" to "Cindy and Bean". I never dreamed I would one day draw a parallel between competitive world soccer and the be-foreskinned status of international footballers. And the day that happened, I realized Pregnancy Life had left Los Angeles traveling 65 mph while Real Life had left New York at 45 mph, and that they had triumphantly collided somewhere around the Red Lobster in Kokomo, Indiana.
But what is this aforementioned "one great exception"?
What is the one aspect of Pregnancy Life that had wiggled its way indelibly into my world like an unwelcome family member intent on squatting in your living room for as long as possible?
It is something which I will blog about in a second installment.
And it's called Superfluous (Usually Plastic) Baby Crap.