I have an alter-ego, like Beyonce.
We’re awesome like that.
Hers is named ‘Sasha Fierce’ and she supposedly comes out on stage and helps Beyonce to be brave and strong and…well, fierce.
Mine is named ‘Small Elephant’.
Small Elephant is neither brave, nor strong, and certainly not fierce. And she only emerges every two years or so when I am looking, feeling and acting, well…like a small elephant.
You know, when I’m pregnant.
I first became acquainted with her when I was pregnant with my first child. It was Christmastime and my Mom and I had planned a beautiful Christmas tea for my 3-year old niece, Abigail. It was sparkly and glittery and dainty and pink and there were petite-fours and red slushy punch…and I was so excited.
I decided to dress for the occasion, wearing a fancy black maternity dress and even did my hair up in a pretty bun.
But when I went to look in the mirror at the finished product, I almost burst into tears. Because no matter how hard I had tried to look delicate and fancy for our tea, I was still twice my normal size and had the look in my eyes of a sad and scared deer-in-the-headlights. In my painfully self-conscious mind, I looked exactly like one of those little cartoon elephant ballerinas who prance around in a pink tutu; she might be wearing a tutu, but she is still unmistakably what?…
The image stuck with me, and although I have grown up a lot since that day 6 years ago, I still like to refer to the pregnant version of myself as “Small Elephant”.
Because, while I initially wasn’t a huge fan of this roly-poly caricature of myself, I have grown to love her. She’s funny. She’s a basketcase. She’s transparent. She has super-hero-sized taste buds and emotions. She is me…but on steroids, and she is totally out of control. And she walks around with powdered donuts in her robe pocket.
Seriously…what’s not to love? (Don’t ask my husband that question).
And so it is with gladness that I lunge back into the realm of Small Elephant, and, as tumultuous as our time together usually is, I look forward to sharing her adventures with you over the next year. Until then, here are some of her (our?) stories from her (our…) last visit.
This is already getting weird.
(Warning: the following posts were written before I knew that blog posts should be under 1000 words. My bad…)