Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Estoy Embarazada

I know…you’re thinking, “Oh, that Tizzy is dizzy. She’s not pregnant. She’s embarrassed.”


I’ve come full circle pregnancy-wise with regards to my career. Started out pregnant (Lady Larkin in my high school production of Once Upon a Mattress) and finished pregnant (Mrs. Weston in Paul Gordon’s Emma)—both experiences fraught with tension. My dad actually tried to make me quit Mattress because of the preggers story-line. I stood my 15-year-old ground, sobbing, “I’ve never quit anything in my life and I’m not going to quit now.”

Ah—the melodrama.

More recently? Emma was fraught with tension because it was my last show. I now stand my 45-year-old ground, sobbing, “I’ve never quit you, Career. WHY ARE YOU QUITTING ME NOW?”

Ah—the melodrama.

And now that I actually have the time to BE pregnant, well…my 45-year-old ground is no longer fertile. I honestly don’t think it has been for a while. Maybe ever. What a waste. I am my mother’s daughter and I’ve got the breeder’s hips to prove it. Her longest delivery was…count ‘em…four hours. By the time she got to me they induced ‘cause they were sure she was just gonna stroll down the street and go “Oooh…did I drop something? Oh, how lovely. ANOTHER baby.”

I did think about doing it on my own for awhile. I even recorded a cd of lullabies to lure it into my life.

Commercial Break…Just a Map—A Lullaby to the World is an armchair journey around the globe featuring lullabies from 14 different countries sung in 13 different languages. A portion of the proceeds are donated to charities promoting peace and human rights awareness. Buy it. You’ll like it. Back to our regularly scheduled programming…

My BFF Will actually sent me a turkey baster for my 35th birthday. I hit 40 and realized I couldn’t drag two sorry carcasses up five flights to my rent-stabilized apartment, so the turkey baster went fowl…as did peering into adoption. I have single friends who do it and they are much braver and brillianter than I. I’m chicken. And cuckoo. I know my limits.

Why Why WHY am I telling you this?


I forgot (willfully chose not) to send my pregnancy pad back to Cincinnati. And sometimes I wear it. Like right now. It transforms me—a mixture of grounded sole and soul with head and heart in the clouds. And I think I look great with it strapped on.

Oh, my God! I have a STRAP-ON!

And it’s a wonderful hand-rest, plate-rest, TaB cola-rest—basically it’s my travelling end table. I believe a ukulele would snuggle right in.

And I am NEVER sending it back. I know this makes me a sad, sad pasty-faced girl. I don’t care.

Soooo…I am not embarrassed or avergonzada. I am unemployed and my version of embarazada and I am grateful…for the signs in the New York subway system that taught my faulty cognitive that false cognate.


  1. I think a photo with you in the preggers pad with a TaB resting on your tum would be appropriate here.

  2. I'm completely taken by your voluntary embarazada-ment. And I completely get the "hand-rest" thing, since I have a tum-tum of my own that far too often finds one of my idle hands resting on it. :-)

  3. Ohhh that pregnancy pad. haha.

    and p.s... your career is certainly NOT over! I know for a fact 2 shows that you are in this summer..... neither of which you are pregnant in, might I add.


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