Roadbenders

So. When we last heard from our intrepid hero(ine), she had just returned from an extended stay in the Midwest and was bracing herself for the remaining slog through winter.

Then she went silent.

Usually when I go quiet here, it’s either because I’m in an exceptionally boring phase or because I can’t share what’s going on in my life without overstepping the truthfulness boundaries imposed on me by marriage and other social participation. And I do try to only write what seems or feels truthful here – a tactic that gave me the prolific era of 2005-2006 when I was busy doing interesting things and hard things and therefore had a gold mine of personal narrative inspiration.

At any rate, I’ve been busy coming to terms with the idea that I’m currently gestating and that if all goes well, we’ll have a new family member in late September*.

There are a whole host of issues that I’ve been sorting through in this process. At first, my enormous fear of miscarriage – a healthy fear, because it didn’t show up until after I’d had one or two, and let me tell you, I was perfectly happy with the idea that I might never have children. For one thing, I was terrified of being pregnant again. There’s not a lot that scares me silly, I can honestly say this was one of the few fears in my life that came direct from experience and not from the unknown. I was okay with skipping out on the magic of childbirth and raising a new human as long as it meant I never again had to find myself vomiting twenty times a day then crouching in the corner sobbing uncontrollably from pain.

So that was one issue. Given that this pregnancy kicked off with a month of bleeding, I didn’t have much hope that it would continue. I didn’t even take a pregnancy test until 3 weeks after I was pretty damned certain that I was pregnant. “Superstitious” doesn’t even begin to describe the magical thinking I was entertaining in order to keep myself from imploding with anxiety. Once the fear of miscarriage abated somewhat (I bawled like a big fat sissy when we managed to hear the heartbeat at 9 weeks. Even though I knew I could go in and SEE the heartbeat on an ultrasound at any time, I was superstitious of ultrasounds too), I was terrified that my very normal-seeming morning sickness was going to morph any moment into the hideous hyperemesis that had levelled me in the past.

It never did.

After those milestones were passed, when I hit the second trimester and started feeling better – not great, yet, but not exhausted – then I started waiting for some other milestone before coming clean to friends and family. Movement? A belly? Kindergarten pictures? Initially I thought my reluctance was lingering fear of things going terribly wrong and having to comfort and be accountable to others for failing to carry the pregnancy to term. After we finally spilled the beans, I began to realize that it was simpler than that – it was an identity issue.

I’m excited about motherhood. I’m cautiously optimistic that I’ll get there, that we’ll get there, that I’ll have someone to mother soon. Maybe it doesn’t feel real enough yet (though I’ve been feeling kicks and rolls for six weeks, you’d think the Alien flashbacks would make shit seem REAL), maybe I’m immature, but I still spend more time thinking about how to NOT rearrange our lives too much than planning for the very necessary arrangements that will have to take place if this is all going to go down. I fully and wholeheartedly admit that I have traded one kind of denial for another. In some respects.

Then there was today, when I woke up panicked from a nightmare convinced that the baby was no longer moving. This was entirely irrational, as what most likely woke me up was someone practicing somersaults, but it took me hours to calm down and acknowledge that yeah, I’m still getting kicked every time I play gangsta rap.

After the panic was quelled and after I managed to eat a late dinner and settle on the couch in prime kid squishing position, the kicks and rolls were very obvious. For the first time, I poked my stomach and was kicked back. A few more times. For the first time, I said out loud “Hello in there” and felt a kick in response. Then I started to cry.

*I mean it. LATE September. If I start getting phone calls before Josh’s birthday asking if the kid has arrived yet, I will be very put out.