I’m pregnant. Not dead.

A few weeks ago I was at a punk show at The Replay, and a pregnant woman trotted in and stood in front of me. My first thought was “heck yes!” You don’t see too many pregnant women at shows, let alone punk shows. At the time, the husband and I were making a decision on whether to start a family. So I was glad to see that the social life wasn’t over for at least one pregnant woman in town.

Welp, we’re preggers. Wooti woot! And for the moment, I haven’t been to a lot of shows because I’ve been nauseous like crazy. But by golly I miss the local shows (haven’t been to one in 2 weeks), and as soon as I quit feeling like spit, I’m up and at ’em.

Before you get your panties in a bunch, consider how I attended shows prior to the pregnancy. As mentioned before, I don’t drink. Neither does the husband. We party sober. We don’t smoke. Most of our friends don’t smoke. So we’re never really standing outside on smoking porches. Also, we don’t go to your usual bar where screaming and rough drunks are abound (you know the ones). The Lawrence music scene is pretty chill. And sometimes child/parent friendly (early patio shows, anyone?). I don’t have any worries about getting knocked around. The only drama we ever encounter is the occasional drunk on the street wanting to tug at the husband’s mustache (it’s all curly and awesome!).

With bigger shows, I’m a little concerned, because the bigger I get, the farther back I will have to stand. I seem to recall getting elbowed quite a bit by an excitable dancer at Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and of course there’s the usual butt-kicking and kicks to the head you get at Gogol Bordello shows. Also, a long time ago I was at an electronic music show, and a pregnant girl was getting RIDICULED for being there. She couldn’t have been more than six months pregnant.

But local shows are all gravy. My Summer of local music isn’t over yet. And just because I’ve got a bump doesn’t mean I’m going to roll over and die.

Unless I’m all fat, out of breath and just don’t feel like it. Then screw it, I’m staying in on the couch.