Infectious Pregnancy Stress

I told my parents they were going to become grandparents pretty early in my pregnancy.  I had had complications from a root canal (complications that haven't been resolved almost nine months later), and I wanted to share my fears with my mom.  

It was over FaceTime (COVID). They gasped, and my mother started tearing.

My dad then immediately started doing math.  "So, you're 4 weeks pregnant, and you went to Andrew's place at the end of August?  So that was about 4 weeks ago.  Hm.  Did you drink?"

Before I could respond, my mother chimed in, "don't eat papaya."  I had just eaten papaya a few days prior.  She then turned to Vin and asked about my OBGYN's qualifications.  "Is she Indian? Did she graduate med school with you? Do you know her?"  My mother noted her name in order to Google her later.

My sister, who already knew about the pregnancy, came downstairs to find out why everyone was crying and yelling about tropical fruit. 

"Oh, yea, I know she's pregnant."

My parents then thankfully turned their attentions to my sister, and my mother scolded her for keeping my secret a secret, and my father praised her for the same.  There was a lot going on.  

A few weeks later, my family was to meet in the Berkshires.  My pregnancy was still in its infancy (is that a pun?), so except for some nausea that had just started, I felt (and looked) no different.  When Vin and I pulled into the driveway of the house we rented, my dad ran out in his bare feet to help me with my bags.  "Daddy, I can carry stuff. My doctor said it's fine."  My doctor actually had not specifically said anything about carrying weight, but it's been easier to add that disclaimer when I speak to my parents.  "Are you sure? In your first trimester?"  He asked, skeptically.  He promptly turned and took my bags inside.  And yes, I was sure.

My parents thoughtfully brought a lot of food to the house that they thought I'd enjoy.  "Pregnant women like athanu [achaar]," my father explained, as he showed me the several jars of pickle they'd brought.  "Um, do you have clementines?"  I asked, fearing I wasn't being a fun pregnant woman with weird cravings.  

My parents then told Vin and me to have the master bedroom; my mother told me it might be difficult in my pregnancy to use the hall bathroom in the middle of the night.  It was not, and my efforts to have my aged parents use the bedroom with the attached bath failed.  As we turned on the TV, my mother instructed me to only watch happy movies, specifically citing the movies played on the Hallmark channel, the one channel that makes me hate the entire entertainment industry.  I was pregnant, she reminded me, and stressful movies were not good for the baby.  After my parents fell asleep, Manu, Vin, and I watched a post-Schindler's List Liam Neeson movie before we passed out soundly. 

The next morning, my parents played several Sanskrit chants they had saved on WhatsApp.  My mother advised me to play these every morning.  "Pregnant women shouldn't be stressed.  This music will relax you."  I was eating peanut butter from the jar, contaminating it with my potential South Williamsburg variant of COVID, and looked up.  "I'm happy to listen, but I'm not stressed out.  Do you mind if I just keep this peanut butter jar? I don't think it's safe for you guys to have any since I double dipped."  

My mother continued.  "Think of it like meditation.  Sit on the window sill, look out onto the water, and listen to this music."

I slowly started shuffling away from them, bringing the peanut butter with me.  My sister had woken up, and I needed to discuss royal family drama with her.  My parents then switched tactics.  They pretended to speak to each other, but loud enough for us to hear (they don't know we've always known about this parental ploy; it unfortunately usually works on me, but Manu has developed a skillful type of Teflon auditory system that serves her very well).  My mother first exclaimed, "Abhi, the kids who have stress free parents are always the most well-adjusted kids.  No colic, no fussing, and they themselves are relaxed."  My father agreed, loudly.  "Exactly, Parul.  Pregnant women should not be stressed."

My sister and I couldn't really hear each other over their stress about my apparent stress, so we moved away to another room to discuss Meghan Markle's and Prince Harry's Netflix deal.   

My family went on a hike a few hours later.  I had a good time scrambling up the rocks and finding pockets of isolation where I could remove my mask.  I breathed in cool, crisp air I had not felt in months; I felt as though I'd been holding my breath since the pandemic began.  As I skipped ahead, my parents again reminded me to relax and rest and remain stress-free.

After the trip, I theorized that my parents perhaps wanted me to talk about the pregnancy more.  Besides my tooth pain, I had no complaints, and I thought that could be why they kept bringing up various possible issues - to anticipate my problems and try to solve them.  Deciding to let them in even more, I called my mother, and told her how much I feared that notorious first postpartum bowel movement.

She laughed derisively.  "Rucha, you think way too much about your pregnancy.  You need to go outside and get some fresh air."

And then, finally, I was stressed out.