Holy cow, I’m pregnant.
That’s the first thought that flashes through my mind every morning once I come to the realization that I’m wrapped awkward and sweaty around a Boppy pillow (the pregnancy pillow that I have a love/hate relationship with) and am so hungry that I could eat own my foot…if I could reach that far and/or had the energy to actually eat my foot. I’ll eat some waffles instead.
It’s an interesting and fascinating process this whole pregnancy thing. I suppose women have been experiencing the ups and downs of human germination for millennia now but I wonder if they ever really got used to it and all of the enthralling and hemorrhoidal details that go along with it.
It feels a little bit like my inner recesses have been invaded and settled by a tiny explorer and the new land has now been decreed as baby Wozniak’s territory of which I have no further control…unfortunately my bladder was also taken in the siege and all authority has been forfeited in that region as well. Or maybe I’ve just been having some really weird dreams lately. Whatever is going on in there, I just hope that it packs it in and packs out and doesn’t leave a trace.Although I’m not too hopeful after having heard horrifying stories of forever altered vaginal visage…not sure how that’s shaping up yet, I’ll make sure to keep you posted (but not really).
As a woman that was never 100% sure if childbearing was in the cards, I find pregnancy to be super uber fascinating and a tad bit horrifying… I mean, I’m just going to keep getting bigger and bigger? Oy. However, I’m also completely aware that what I’m going through right now is a total miracle and at the end I’ll have an amazing little being to show for it. So I’m doing my best to relax and just enjoy the ride…every heartburn induced detail. I just can’t help but get a little weirded out whenever I receive my weekly pregnancy status update and it tells me that this week my heart has become enlarged in order to pump enough blood to sustain life for me and the baby…is that normal? That doesn’t sound safe. Maybe these weekly updates weren’t such a hot idea after all. I think I need some waffles.
The thing is, I’ve just never really been much of a baby person or child person for that matter really. The easiest way to make me squirm is to head into a Red Robin on Kids Eat Free night. Ugh. Don’t get me wrong, kids are great but for some reason I’m usually quite ready to hand them back over to their parents, wash my hands, recollect my sanity and enjoy a nice quiet evening at home.
I figured this out pretty early in life actually. After reading one too many Babysitters Club books, me and my friend, Angie, decided to create our very own Babysitters Club. Complete with flyers, cold calls, and a top secret office in Angie’s basement, our club came in with a bang and fizzled just as quickly when I realized I was more interested in being in a club than in actually babysitting other people’s children…eew.
Contrasting this aversion to babysitting and animal balloon-filled dining establishments, however, I can also pinpoint certain instances throughout the course of my life where I experienced something I can’t describe other than a deep longing to know the person that I was destined to have the honor of mothering. It’s almost like a knowingness that one of the most significant people in my life was going to be my future child. I can’t really explain it, but the first time I felt it, it sure shocked the hell out of me.
I remember it quite vividly actually. I was in college working part-time in the kids shoe department at the Dillards Department Store in the Greeley Mall. I would have much preferred the women’s department but somehow got stuck sizing stinky little kids feet instead. It was the holidays and a cute little family had just come through my department. In a whirlwind of fuchsia sparkled ballet flats and mini penny classic loafers, the adorable pint sized shoe shoppers left with huge smiles on their faces and big thank you’s happily hand in hand with mom and dad. The little girl in particular was completely respectful, she asked me lots of grown-up questions and seemed to have a bit of an old soul. I thought she was a completely awesome kid and I was actually sad to see her go. I would have loved to keep chatting.
That’s the first time I knew that I wanted that someday. I wanted the craziness, the love, the implicit trust, the little hand in mine, the patient explanations and the deep relationship that only seems to come from a parent-child relationship. Since then I’ve known quite a few kids that have made me feel the same way, namely my nephews and nieces.
However, like any good Libra there have been circumstances since that night in Dillards Department Store that have left me indecisive and wondering if that is really truly what I want in my life….screaming children in elevators, frazzled mothers wandering the grocery store, a Sunday afternoon free to spend however I choose…I tend to go back and forth, but deep down I always knew that I wouldn’t be completely satisfied without it.
I’ll figure it all out someday…
Welp, someday is now and I honestly couldn’t be more excited to meet this little person that will perfectly combine the physical and mental traits of me and my best friend, yet beautifully weave in their own outstanding and unique qualities.
I wonder if I’m going to be good at it, if I’m going to have the patience, the unconditional love, the right answers to all of the questions. The idea of shaping and molding a human being brings up a lot of insecurities. I mean, I don’t even have all of my own shit figured out, let alone becoming responsible for somebody else’s. Besides, aren’t mothers supposed to politely and succinctly answer all of life’s important questions while whipping up a quick smiley face gluten-free cranberry torte for an after school snack? If so, I might be screwed or maybe I just watched too many episodes of The Donna Reed show while growing up.
Needless to say, a domestic diva I am not, somehow I’ve always been better at making the house messy than I have been at cleaning it up, my crafting skills are practically non-existent and usually result in fingers glued together and my cooking is hit or miss. I could keep going when it comes to how my brain rationalizes how I don’t quite live up to the classic ideals of what motherhood consists of.
But despite the fact that I am not a domestic goddess, I think I’m pretty fabulous when it comes to lots of other awesome things….I’m a positive thinking, always on time, and a walk the dog every day type-of-goddess. I do have lots of other things going for me so even if cold cereal finds its way onto the dinner menu more times than I would like or my holiday centerpieces resemble a peppermint stick explosion, I’m pretty positive I can still be a good mom.
I’ve got the basics covered – a loving and compassionate nature, a big heart and am willing to learn from my mistakes. Not only that but the love, loyalty and fascination that I feel toward this future little person I think will more than make up for my lack of crafting skills. That and I’ve got an amazing person on my side and in the trenches with me and for that I’m grateful. I think my husband and I going to fill in each other’s gaps beautifully.
As my body continues to change and support our growing little person I’m realizing that I am capable of amazing things…more than I ever thought. My body naturally knows what to do and I’m confident that I’ll follow suit. Pregnancy is proving to be a wild ride but I’m so thankful for the opportunity and excited for what the future holds.
But in the meantime I think I’ll eat some waffles.