I’ve known I’m pregnant for three weeks today. Twenty-one days to adjust to the idea of how much my life will change next spring. Three weeks is not really enough time to process that kind of information, really. Perhaps that’s why gestation of a human being takes thirty-eight weeks.
My emotions swing from one extreme to another. I am, of course, very happy. Quietly, peacefully happy. That is to be expected since this was what I was trying for. Less expected are the other emotions that have me wondering what the hell I’m doing having a child now, at my age, with my background, with my independent nature. I know it’s just fear that sets me on that path of questioning. Fear I won’t do it right. Fear I’ll lose myself, the person I’ve been for my entire adult life. Fear my kid will grow up to hate me. Fear I’ll screw it all up. Silly, I know. Or is it?
Regardless of how far women have come in the world, we still are expected to be the nurturers, to provide the bulk of the parenting responsibilities, to “know” how to do it all. I don’t know how to do any of it. I’ve never even changed a diaper. I’m supposed to know how to do that, right? Jay is the father, but he isn’t expected to know anything. That hardly seems fair.
I have months to work all this out in my mind and heart—and years of practice to get it as right as I can. As I told a friend, I don’t really have any good role models for the kind of mother I want to be. My mother certainly wasn’t one and I don’t see anyone who is doing it the way I want to do it. Of course, that means I have to make my own path and do it my way. I’m used to that. I don’t know yet what kind of mother I’ll be, but hopefully I’ll be a good one without losing myself.
Another week down, though it’s still so early in my pregnancy it doesn’t seem possible I’ve known for over two and a half weeks. I’ve been doing so well with not having any symptoms beyond the sore breasts and fatigue and mild cramping. It’s almost too good to be true. I’ve actually been enjoying this being pregnant thing.
Then, this afternoon, I saw red.
Just a little, but enough to startle me. Where did that come from? Why? The cramping continues, intermittently, a little more intense than it’s been in previous days. Or am I being paranoid? I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. But I worry.
As I always do when I’m concerned about something, I turned to my greatest comfort—the internet. WebMd, Pregnancy.org, What to Expect—they offer me what I need most—facts, statistics, information. They reassure me that what I’m experiencing is normal for the first trimester and the odds of it being something more serious, a miscarriage or ectopic pregnancy, are not likely. Probably.
For a year or so now, Jay and I have been contemplating moving out of our little suburb in Chesapeake and into Norfolk’s Ghent or West Ghent neighborhoods. Actually, I think Jay just goes along with my whims as I contemplate being able to walk to the neighborhood coffee shop, movie theater and a couple of my favorite restaurants. Being able to ride a bike down tree-lined streets (instead of making a continuous loop in our subdivision) or go for a long walk and end up in a wildlife preserve appeals to me, as well. And did I mention the coffee shops? A Starbucks and an independent right there within walking distance. A little slice of heaven just for me. Oh, and Jay would be very close to work, too.
I had lunch with Jae and Nick today at one of my favorite places and then we went for a walk to hunt down houses (and work off lunch). For the first time, I really considered something else that’s within walking distance of West Ghent— an elementary school. I never really noticed it before today, though I’ve walked that neighborhood many times. But now I have a reason to notice it.
It was easy enough to envision walking Junior to school in the morning and then hopping on my bike (that I don’t own yet) and heading to the coffee shop to write. It was easy to imagine having Nick’s daughter Cierra come play in the backyard while my little one (and Jae’s little one) try to keep up with her. It is easy to see us living in West Ghent, amongst the Obama 2008 signs and neighbors who walk dogs in strollers and kids who leave their toys in the front yard.
I love where we live now for the backyard and the trees and the wildlife who visits my back door. But I’m so over living in the suburbs where everything requires a drive . Still, we’ve lived here for eight years and it is home, though my heart longs for a house with character and history. I don’t really have a big incentive to move— coffee within walking distance isn’t really a reason to pack up the belongings and move across town. And unless they take down all the trees behind my house— which I worry they will eventually— I still have my favorite things right in my backyard. But now, envisioning that morning walk to kindergarten and the afternoon walk home… that feels like the right incentive to find the place we really belong.
Barista Boy #1 (doesn’t know I’m pregnant): What would you like today?
Me: A venti decaf black and white mocha.
Barista Boy #2 (knows I’m pregnant): You’re having decaf? Oh! Right! Decaf!
Me: Yes. It’s decaf from now on.
Barista Girl #1 (knows I’m pregnant): She’s having a Starbucks baby!
Me: Who will probably smell like coffee.
Barista Boy #1 (clearly confused): That’s… weird.
(later)
Barista Boy #1 (now knows I’m pregnant): I’m sorry I said it would be weird if your baby smelled like coffee.
Me: It’s okay.
Barista Boy #1 (so earnestly): I’m sure it’ll be a cute baby and no one will make fun of it for smelling like coffee.
Me: I think you should quit while you’re ahead.
What’s it all about?
Life. Love. Writing. Editing. Sex. Books. Romance. Movies. Friendship. Photography. Teaching. Coffee. (Lots of coffee.) Travel. Feminism. Academia. Insomnia. Memories. Experiences. Rants. Raves. Reviews. Babies. Pregnancy. Motherhood. Insanity. Musings of an insomniac writer. Want to know more?
