Dear Frijole,
One pleasant thing I've found through being pregnant is a small but significant and sensitive community of mothers/mothers-to-be and those who understand them. A group of women who remind each other that just because you don't feel miraculous and grateful for pregnancy and motherhood exactly 100% of the time doesn't mean you're wrong or not normal. Or that you are bad at it and shouldn't be doing it.
Awhile back, a long-distance friend (B.) mentioned that with each of her three pregnancies, she'd at some point felt a very real sense of doom about everything she'd ever hoped to accomplish. She wanted to reassure me that any and all mixtures of emotions I was feeling were valid. I have been finding myself grateful for B. and the other ladies who've shared their perspectives on these darker emotions that come with the territory of generating another life within your being.
The doom is kicking in a bit.
This morning I went to a pediatric clinic to interview a potential pediatrician for you at UCSF. She was absolutely wonderful and kind and supportive and concerned and I am proud to have her as your doctor. (Plus, I cried from a ridiculous overflow of emotions at least three different times during the appointment and she didn't seem the least bit fazed. Ahem.) As I was leaving, she said to me, "The next time I see you, you'll be with your baby!" Honestly, I felt faint.
I mean, it's no secret that you're in there and due to make an appearance soon, but...but it's getting to the point where it's...IMMINENT. And shit's getting REAL. Today I bought DIAPERS! I bought you sweet little striped sockies, too, but those diapers were like big, white smacks in the FACE! I can barely fathom B.'s aforementioned "things I want to accomplish in my life" because--at the moment, at least--I am wondering how I will ever manage to leave the house again let alone anything more complicated.
I find myself thinking weird things, too. Like with the tube of toothpaste I just bought for when our current one runs out. I find myself wondering, WILL THE BABY SEE THIS TOOTHPASTE?! And then the toothpaste becomes, like, this weird beacon announcing that this part of my life--this non-baby-having-allegedly-carefree-form I now inhabit--will be over within weeks. Of course, this week that has also happened with a bird cage, pack of razors, and a bottle of vanilla extract that I don't even own yet. But it's the last bottle of vanilla extract I will purchase as a non-parent! And surely that is momentous.
It's not just that kind of pressure, either. There is also a fair amount of expectation about when and how powerfully the maternal instinct kicks in that women have to reassure each other against constantly. And I appreciate it. Sometimes I hear dramatic things, like, "As soon as I lay eyes on my newborn son, I knew I would die for him."
Holy shit! Is there or has there ever been a person that I felt that way about? There have been a couple who were as close as it gets, I suppose, but if I'm honest...no. No, there has never been anyone for whom I would actually give up my life. But allegedly there will be soon! And how will I respond when put to the firing test? Will I look at the wrinkly, messy, squirming creature and feel that my life and its purpose have been affirmed? Or will I feel...something else? And how will the people around me think of me if I feel something else? How can one know how one will react to such a situation? Is it always so intense and predictable? It can't possibly be!
In the last week, my belly has really begun to pop out and, judging from the transformation taking place within my belly button, like a turkey I am done! I am washing your clothes and getting the last items I perceive that I need. Your daddy and I are spending our last days alone together. I am counting the days until I can have a glass of wine again. The home stretch is overwhelming. Sometimes I feel guilty if I'm not constantly a joyful, grateful earth mother. Which I'm definitely not. You should probably get used to that now.
Love,
Mama
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