mercurial scribe

On this day, the first day of my 12th week of pregnancy, I have come to the conclusion that there is a big difference between embracing pregnancy and embracing motherhood.

I, for example, relish the thought of cooing at my Little One during the 1:30, 3 and 5 am feedings (like it’s ever two hours on the dot!). Diaper changes? No problem… I can always crack jokes about nuclear poo and the needing (perhaps even the wearing) of a hazmat suit. The cost… well, the cost does scare me but so does the price of gasoline and I manage. You see, I helped raise my little brother, did the babysitting/nanny thing and I loved it. Really. And after dealing with my brain disease and the elements of a psych ward, I feel I’ll do just fine under the sleep deprivation and crying - just like in the psych ward, but this time the source of both is 1) cute and 2) something I helped make.

But PREGNANCY? This I’m having a hard time embracing. In fact, I have nightly attacks of anxiety which I have to breathe and talk myself down out of…

“Why?” you ask. “Aren’t you happy you’re pregnant?”

Honestly, I’m absolutely over the moon I’m pregnant! I seriously wondered if I was even able to have kids after one of the many doctors I’ve seen explained he suspected I had Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS). Then, after a very unexpected miscarriage 2 1/2 years ago, it left me believing that I probably couldn’t bear my own children. Though that broke my heart, Justin and I had always wanted to adopt on top of having our biological children, so at least I knew we’d still have kids in our family. So when I saw that little line on the pee stick saying yes indeed I was pregnant, my heart leapt from my chest. A kid. I’m having a child! I wanted to shout out and laugh I was so happy, but I had to calm down so I could tell Justin!

But then the realities of pregnancy set in. The relentless nausea, the moving organs (I’m very short waisted so the only place for this kid is go is out), the sudden bouts of sickening hunger, the general feeling like something is not quite right in your body. All very weird and disconcerting, even to a person who’s experienced a nice array psychotropic drugs. Frankly, it’s all these small, uncomfortable changes that freak me out about pregnancy, these changes I can’t help and can’t do anything about.

You know what else? I’m not even worried about labor! In fact, no epidural for me, thanks. I know everyone says I’ll change my mind, but I can assure you, I won’t. They don’t know me. I’m pedigreed from the most stubborn lineage you can imagine and I have quite a pain threshold. They rebroke my finger after a week of it set incorrectly without pain killers when I was 10 because I refused to get a shot (I HATE needles). Besides, labor is pro-active! I get to do something, have an influence on how it goes. The severe pain doesn’t frighten me - but what does frighten me and gives me nightly anxiety is the mere thought of another 5 months of nausea, stretching skin and muscle, constipation, peeing every half hour, Braxton Hicks and swelling. I’m getting all clammy and light-headed just writing about it.

The other thing that freaks me out about pregnancy is I can’t see my kid. I can’t hold him/her, give him/her the once over and make sure s/he’s all right. I still haven’t had my first ultrasound yet (waiting on the wondrously quick bureaucracy it is the Cal-Optima organization), so I haven’t seen or heard the heartbeat. Ultimately, I’m afraid because I don’t know if my kid is okay. That alone causes the bottom of my stomach to fall out. Once the kid is born I can see him/her, make sure the Little One is all in one piece and well. If s/he isn’t, I can fix it (usually) because I’m Mommy. If I can’t fix it, I can take the kid someone who can (again, usually). But in utero… it’s all in God’s hands and I can only take care of me (eating well, trying to exercise, getting rest, etc.).

MAN is this a test of my faith!

What’s been so hard on me is that if I complain to people when they ask “How are you doing?!” they respond to my complaints blankly or horrified. I guess I expected they’d be more sympathetic to the hormonal pregnant lady who’s freaking out at her ever-changing body. So a small suggestion you, my gentle readers, is be kind if a pregnant lady complains. Don’t tell her “But it’ll be worth it!” with a stupid grin on your face. Though you mean well, you just squished her feelings and made her feel unheard. Listen, sympathize and tell her something like, “That sucks! How do you deal?” Then let HER tell YOU she knows it’s for the baby and that in the end, it’ll be worth it… but first, hear her out because this pregnancy thing may be magical but still a frightening ordeal too.