Curiosity Killed the Catty

I might be an awful person.

The other day, I was leaning on the CLOSE button in an elevator, pretending not to see the woman with the SUV Heavy Artillery Anti-Aircraft Assault Stroller and screaming progeny barrelling my way.  The doors closed just in time, but the experience got me thinking.

No, I do not feel bad deliberately closing the elevator doors on Mommy and whatever was making that godawful piercing shriek - 30 seconds of not losing my mind in an elevator should not be too much to ask. 

I also feel pretty good about going out of my way to park in Expectant Mother parking spots when grocery shopping or visiting Wal-Mart.  First off, how the fuck does anybody know I'm not pregnant?  Second of all, I've had sex before too, and never expected preferential parking afterward as a result.  A parade perhaps, given that it might have been a while in between encounters, but not special parking.

(Clearly, I may be experiencing some misplaced anger toward pregnant people.  Overall, I think I've handled Alex's impending baby-daddy status very well.  Maybe not so much on the day he told me, but it had been a while since I'd thrown up for any reason, so barfing up breakfast immediately afterward wasn't a big deal.  It's important to keep your stomach on its toes anyway - almost like a fire drill for the esophagus.)

Since then, I'm handling it so well, I've even gone on Facebook to see if there are any photos of the happy couple and impending...belly.  Normally, I avoid looking at his photos for the same reasons most people avoid looking at car accidents, but I'm handling things very well, so I thought I might verify that this was really happening. 

And it is. 

Some say growing new life is miraculous.  Particularly for her, who is clearly pregnant, but still appears less pregnant in a tight dress than I do.  She seems to be one of those magical pregnant women whose boobs are bigger, belly is perfectly round, but the rest of her body remains size zero.  I've been more dramatically constipated than this woman is pregnant.  And yes, I just said pregnant five times in one paragraph, and I'm not changing it.  She looks exultantly happy in every photo.  Alex looks very proud.

More than one person has asked me what I'm going to do about this situation.  Frankly, I was unaware that there was anything to be done.  I had no part in this happening, I have no part in whatever happens now. 

What I suppose I'm really being asked is whether I'm finally going to stop talking to him.  This would seem the healthiest option...and yet...clearly more than one person doesn't know me very well.

The fact is, I'm curious. Curiosity can be a good thing, and it can also mean getting your head stuck in a hole or sitting in an ER with something in your ass that has no place ever being that close to a human colon.  It's really only the outcome that determines whether curiosity is positive or negative.

Alex doesn't seem to think his life is about to change in any significant way.  He still wants to know when I'm coming for a visit, as if he'll still have the luxury of time and energy to leave the house and lie about where he's going with a kid around.

When I suggested the logistics of us seeing each other again are probably about to become much more difficult to work around for at least the next 20 years, he didn't share the same concerns. 

"This is me we're talking about, and I'll find a way to see you," was his exact response.

This is indeed, Alex we're talking about.  Alex, who loves to play hockey and ski every weekend in the winter.  Alex, who loves to golf and spend days and nights on the lake in the summer.  Alex, who likes his house looking like a show home, and whose truck is so pristine it still has new car smell after four years.  Alex, who is too embarrassed to ever buy toilet paper in public for fear the cashier will picture him on the toilet.  Alex, who has had more sex than the entire Roman Empire.  Alex, who despite his promiscuity, secretly has one of the most crippling obsessive-compulsive germ phobias I've ever seen.  Alex, who once brought an entire bottle of bleach to the five-star hotel I was staying in because I said the room had a jacuzzi tub and I wanted to take a bath with him.  Alex, who spent an hour scrubbing that bath tub until his hands were raw just so he could sit in it with me without having a panic attack.  Alex, who is about to be introduced to life with a baby.

And so I'm curious as to how this all plays out.  Partly because I'm an awful person, and partly because I'm not.  I  love him, I want him to be happy, and he always said he eventually wanted kids.

Eventually is here, and I'm excited for how much he is going to love that little yard ape.  And if it turns out the kid has his eyes, I could even love it too. 

Before I walk away from him, which I will do eventually, likely in slow motion with something exploding in the background and a wind-machine blowing my hair about fetchingly, I want to know what happens next. 

I want to know Alex as a father.  I want to know if his life really changes, and what he'll do if it does.  I want to know whether he's suddenly OK with germs after the first diaper blow-out, or whether he burns his house down and bleaches the remaining soil.

Yeah - I might be an awful person.