F
foehammer111
Guest
I saw this on NASCAR.com, and thought I'd share. I laughed so hard at the Kyle Busch part!
My face looks like a camouflage paint scheme on the Fourth of July. My backside rivals the width of a Cup hauler, and my midsection is the diameter of a Goodyear Racing Eagle.
What am I?
A pregnant NASCAR reporter!
When I returned home from Chicagoland Speedway this week, my husband asked if I had sprained my ankles at the track. Calmly, I replied: "No, they are just swollen from walking up and down Michigan Avenue on Friday while it was raining in Joliet, Ill. And by the way, I'm toting an extra 30 pounds to house your first-born son, but thanks anyway!"
Oh the joys of procreation. Let me tell you, the experience has produced some humorous and unforgettable moments on the job. Of course I'm not the first to be forced to waddle around the Sprint Cup Series circuit for seven months or more, but I thought my anecdotes might be worthy of sharing.
First off, you must understand how confusing it is for race car drivers -- and other male members of the sport for that matter -- to decipher whether or not you're actually pregnant or just gained a lot of weight during the offseason. Their eyes go from your stomach to your newly, naturally acquired D-cups in rapid succession all the while trying to decide whether or not to say, "Congratulations, when are you due?" or simply walk away in continued confusion.
Those married with children, however, handle the news like a neighbor.
Dean Mozingo, hauler driver at Hendrick Motorsports, whipped out a wallet-size portfolio of his own brood and promptly offered me an unlimited supply of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when he first saw my baby bump.
But no one had the grace of Richard Childress, clearly a veteran in dealing with delicate and hormonal women in the midst of a troubled first trimester.
"You wear it well, young lady," Childress said to me at Pocono Raceway. Perfect timing as I had just learned I could no longer fit, literally, in the drivers' meeting. Usually, at 110 pounds, I could squeeze into any nook or cranny where I may have needed to hear important or breaking news.
On the bright side (if there is one when your rib cage expands to the size of Danny O'Quinn Jr.'s), my newly acquired circumference has allowed me to throw my weight around, so to speak.
During driver news conferences at the track, media members clear a path for me to stand front and center, and for me that usually puts me eye-level with the driver's belly button. However, I soon learned that front and center at a Dale Earnhardt Jr. news conference is not the place to be when you're pregnant. First let me say, thank God for reporter David Poole.
Anyway, at Martinsville Speedway this season, about three months into my pregnancy, I was in the front of a scrum with dozens of reporters interviewing Earnhardt. Only a tiny hole of daylight remained above me.
My arm was burning from holding my digital recorder in the air and a random spell of claustrophobia began to set in. With no real good way out -- Earnhardt was forward, and dozens of large people holding broadcast cameras and microphones were backward -- I dropped to me knees and tried crawling out.
Stuck with little air, I finally saw a pair of rather large khaki legs and tugged on them. It was Poole, and he pulled me up to safety.
The conversation I had with Tony Stewart in Charlotte, you could say, was highly flammable. He and I chatted about gas -- and I'm not talking about the Sunoco variety he puts in his Chevy.That was the only real danger I've experienced thus far while working in the Cup garage. But the conversation I had with Tony Stewart in Charlotte, you could say, was highly flammable. He and I chatted about gas -- and I'm not talking about the Sunoco variety he puts in his Chevy.
Pregnancy makes me feel vulnerable, and Stewart at times makes me nervous. I just never know what he is going to say. Those two emotions combined for a very chatty Raygan Swan, who sounds like the Micro Machine man when she's nervous. And yes, I began to ramble about ... pregnancy constipation! For good reason mind you.
A few weeks before during a fashion show in Indianapolis, Stewart's sister shared with me that MiraLAX was a great product, and I rambled to Stewart how it saved my life -- or at least my digestive tract, anyway. I should've been mortified, but the longer I talked, the more colorful the conversation became. Being the good and compassionate man he is, Stewart didn't run in horror. He just smiled and admitted that sometimes he passes gas in his car.
Wow, what a nice guy! Maybe I'll send him a baby announcement or give him some form of naming rights. Nah.
Kerry Tharp, NASCAR's communication guru, did suggest I name my son Chase since he'll be born in September. I just can't do that to him. I really want my child to love, or at least like, me for the first 18 years of his life.
Overall, the encounters at the track are getting easier. I have learned that if I want attention, and I mean pronto, all I have to do is lean forward a bit and hold my stomach. It worked on Carl Edwards and his motorhome driver, Tom Giacchi. They ran to may aid last weekend fearing I was in pre-term labor or something as I was walking to the media center. I explained it was only Braxton Hicks, but I appreciated the concern.
Maybe if I play that card in front of Kyle Busch in one of his post-race sprints from the media, he'll stop. Sadly, I'm afraid my water would have to break on his shoes for him to even think about stopping.
But that's OK because everyone has been extremely kind and supportive, and I couldn't imagine being pregnant on the job in a more accepting environment.
I love that everyone tells me how much I glow, even though it's clearly sweat beading above my brow.
I love that everyone tells me I'm not big and that I'm all baby, even though I can no longer purchase undies at Victoria's Secret because they don't make XL.
And I especially love when people tell me I look cute with freckles when really they don't understand that my skin is suffering from pregnancy mask and hyper pigmentation. Bless their hearts!
And bless the baby, because this could be, to put it in NASCAR terms, a one-off deal!
