Zack included me and Eric on the google doc detailing all the dinners he’s preparing in the Outer Banks without us, so we slipped in random penis references and are waiting for him to notice.
Because that’s how two people who are about to become parents handle themselves when they’re feeling left out.
Eric decided to add a little friendly fun to this pregnancy experience (as his role has mainly consisted of fetching me things and being the human crane that lifts me from couch/bed/uber/toilet) by starting a family Baby Pool. The instructions were as follows:
Here’s what has happened so far:
1. Dad became instantly confused by the Venmo situation. He doesn’t know how to use it and asked that somebody show him. My uncle, trying to be helpful, suggested “download it. It’s pretty self explanatory from there.” I am certain he lost Dad at “download.”
2. Mom remained silent on the Venmo topic but I already know she’s confused, because the last time I was home the following conversation took place:
Mom: “I need you to show me how to buy Venmo.”
Me: “You mean download Venmo?”
Mom: “No, I know how to download things, thank you very much. But I need you to show me how to buy it.”
Me: “But you don’t buy it, you download it.”
Mom: “I know that.”
And then nothing happened.
3. My mother-in-law texted separately with her own Venmo questions, but I’m still not quite sure where we stand on me being allowed to make fun of her on my blog, so I’m just going to let that one marinate.
4. Zack sent in his due date guess for August 28th, despite Eric and I sending these follow-up emails beforehand:
So either Zack doesn’t read our emails, or he is banking on me being induced the 26th and laboring for 48+ hours. Either way– fuck you, man.
5. Jeremy hasn’t given even the slightest indication that he has read the emails or plans to participate (or is alive). This might be because Eric called him poor (in highlighted font), or it’s simply Jeremy being Jeremy. I’m banking on the latter. He’s pretty fucking aware that he’s poor.
6. In a shocking turn of events, nothing from Steph. We know she read the email and text conversations because Andrew has been actively responding while in her presence, but we imagine that she is this exact level of interested .
7. My 3-year-old nephew The Boog, however, was the first to submit his entry. He thinks the baby will be born on August 10, at 10pm, weighing 10 pounds and measuring 10 inches. He also insisted on paying $10. We tried to explain to him that the entry fee is $5 (and that numbers other than 10 exist), but he told us to keep the 10 and cover Uncle Jeremy’s entry, who he heard is poor.
8. As for our niece, we have been informed that she has some follow-up questions for me and Eric, as she would like to collect a bit more information before entering her submission. She is 3.
So bottom line we only have 2 submissions so far, as this whole fun baby pool idea has derailed into a bit of a shitshow and likely won’t actually come to fruition. To be clear, this post, which I will link to Facebook and tag every single family member in, is not at all a passive-aggressive attempt to spur everyone into action. Because I’m above that.
“I mean, she’s looking prettttttty fat. She’s huge! Her belly button’s got a belly button!”
— my brother Zack, while we’re FaceTime-ing with my mom, reassuring her that I’ll probably give birth early and still be able to go on the Outer Banks family vacation.
My family members wanted to get us a baby gift we’d actually use, so I sent an email letting them know what we need….
Follow up, 3 weeks later:
Dear Camp Robindel,
Sleep-away camp season is upon us, so I’m filling out an application for my daughter. She’s still in my womb. No, I’m not crazy.
It’s for NEXT summer.
She’ll be almost 1 and, much like all the Lermans starting camp far younger than the suggested age, she’ll be fine. But also like all the Lermans starting camp far younger than the suggested age, it won’t REALLY matter if she’s fine or not, the point is more that her mom needs a break. So she’s getting on that plane, goddamnit.
If my kid is anything like her mom, she’ll be a bit confused, under-showered, and questionably lice-infested for the first few weeks, wondering if Ann and Nat are her new parents and if this bunk is just where she lives now. Or, if she’s like her Uncle Zack over at brother camp Winaukee, she’ll wear one Teva all summer, be covered in weeks-old temporary tattoos, smell like the dubious roped-off section of the lake, and spend all her free time, voluntarily, with the camp nurse.
The adjustment will be slightly jarring, but then the first time she receives a “free” foot-long Charleston Chew at canteen without having to write the required letter home (because is this dirty, gap-toothed, bowl-haircut kid even old enough to write? No one is certain), she’ll smile and be like, “Oh, ok. I got this. I’m going to run this place now.”
She won’t even bother to wipe the chocolate drool from her chin. It will remain there, crusted over, for two months.
So reserve a spot in Hemlock for Summer of ’19, please. Top bunk. Don’t even waste your time with a guard rail. Kid’s gotta learn.
Emily, aka “Lerman”
(9-year camper, 3-year counselor. Owner of 3 CR necklaces— 2 actually earned, and 1 because you forgot you already gave me a gold at 9 years, so you gave me another at 10. I did not correct your mistake. I just quietly pumped my fists and gleefully snatched my third necklace, which would be excusable behavior had I not been 19 years old and in charge of roughly 40 middle schoolers at the time.)
My endocrinologist means well but is the oldest person on the planet, with the oldest views in the universe.
Endocrinologist: “Remind me– this is your first baby, correct?”
Endocrinologist: “Wonderful. And how many do you want to have?”
Me: “At least 2. But maybe more, who knows.”
Endocrinologist: “Well, if you want more than that, remember you are 36.”
Me: “I AM?! Well that is brand new information!”
Endocrinologist: “Yes and the clock is ticking. My wife and I had 4, but we started in our mid-twenties.”
Me: “Ok, well. My mom had 4 and started in her mid-30s, so….
Endocrinologist: “REALLY? And how old was she when she had the youngest?”
Me: “Almost 41, I believe?”
Endocrinologist: “And everything is ok with him?”
Me: “EXCUSE ME?! That is extremely offensive.”
Endocrinologist: “I apologize…”
Me: “I will have you know that Zack is the LEAST of our family’s problems.”
Apparently our baby can now fully recognize my voice and maybe even the voices of the regular characters in my life. Here are the thoughts I imagine she is having as she processes information from the outside world:
- My mom has a lisp. Christ.
- My dad keeps saying he hopes I look like my mom. I guess he thinks it’s bad to be something called “prematurely bald” and have something called “stumpy Corgi-legs.” I really hope I look like Mom too, because if I do, Dad said he’s already planned a gift for me on my 16th birthday. It’s called a “rhinoplasty,” and it’s very expensive. I can’t wait to open it! I have the nicest dad.
- My mom’s favorite chair is the oval-shaped white one with the hole in the middle that makes a whooshing sound when she stands up. She sits on it all day. Sometimes I wonder if she has time for a job.
- My mom has a best friend named Sauvignon Blanc. For some reason, this friend went away. I know this because my mom talks about how much she misses her, pretty much all day every day and sometimes even in her sleep. But the exciting thing is that her best friend will be back, quote, “the second this thing (that’s me!) comes of her vagina.” She says they’ll reunite right there at the hospital bed. It’s nice that Sauvignon is coming back just in time to welcome me to the world. She sounds like a good, dependable friend. I get why my mom relies on her so much.
- There’s only one other kid in my mom’s family, and they named him “The Boog.” I am fucking terrified to be named by these idiots.
- I don’t know what a couch is yet but it sounds like something you binge-eat and complain on.
- My mom isn’t thrilled about what I’m doing to her body. I know this because whenever my dad politely asks to take a picture of her, she makes a noise that’s kind of a mix between the frantic wailing sound I plan to make once I climb my way out of here, and the sound of a tortured, vomiting animal. She reassures me that she still loves me, she just wishes she had $100,000 so that she could pay for me to destroy someone else’s body and sanity, but then still get to take me home after. It’s something called a “surrogate” and she does a lot of research about it because she’d, quote, “rather manually drill holes through her eye sockets than have to go through this again.”
- My mom is pretty fucking dramatic.
- My dad’s job is to bring stuff to my mom when she points at it. Sometimes this pointing is accompanied by a whimper or a grunt, but rarely by actual words.
- My dad’s other job is to tell my mom about investments, 401Ks, budgeting and savings plans while my mom sits quietly. She’s so quiet while he does this, in fact, that sometimes I think she’s asleep.
- Mom loves to be asleep.
- There is someone in this family named “Uncle Jeremy.” I don’t really know who he is or what he does or where he goes, but I already understand that at some point down the line, I will be responsible for providing him with food, booze and a place to stay.
- Uncle Zack takes four years to say one sentence.
- Aunt Steph is the one whose voice never changes. She might be the happiest person in the world, or the saddest. I cannot tell.
- Big Steve has all the money. My mom is the best at getting that money. She will teach me, and I will be even better at it than she is.
- This family has a tiny pet bird with a very soft voice. Its name is Charla. Cha Cha for short.
- My mom has this thing called a blog, where she writes down all her thoughts and feelings and everyone in the world can read them. She seems to love to write and to share her writing but I don’t know, man….seems like this might mortify the shit out of me someday. I think that because I’m family, though, she’ll be careful about what she says, and she won’t purposely embarrass me. But the Cha Cha bird says these are “famous last words.”
Referring to tomorrow night’s seder at Steph and Andrew’s house, and the group sleepover that will follow…
(loosely related to A Tired, Dehydrated People )
The sisters Lerman know how to spend a bright, sunny Saturday.