Skip to content

pregnancy fear

The swoon and growl of baby making

I spent the morning with a friend whose 2 boys are the same age as mine–her first is 9 days older, her second is 9 days younger. I love the symmetry there.

She’s rounding out nicely with baby number 3 and told me with a knowing grin that they had the test–it’s another boy and we laughed and joked. She admitted that sure, there’s a pull she feels towards having a girl, but the boy will be just fine, she’d expected it. A couple of times, after running over to distract her middle son from overly smother-hugging another kid, she said, “I must be crazy. I don’t want another baby.” This was the ‘I don’t want another baby’ of the ‘I’ll totally have the baby, but Lord, what was I thinking?’ variety. The anticipation of something you know will be both joyous and hellish. Admitting you might have been overly optimistic before sperm met egg. You can see now that this thing you made will take what you have and then some.

And before that, I stood on the sidewalk listening to another pregnant friend, who also just found out she’s having another boy. I hugged her for a long time and let her have her anguish. I knew how much she wanted a girl. I saw the craving and dream in her eyes as we sat with our boys in the sand one afternoon. Given the teeny-tinyest Godly spark, her energy and intention and manifesting magic would have crafted a fully formed and smartly dressed girl baby right there in the sandbox between us. But instead, she made a baby the heterosexual way, and his penis and scrotum, or whatever comes before those are fully formed, are floating all sea-anenome-like in his watery cocoon. I found a strange comfort in her wrecked grief.

Maybe because it balances out the giddy joy I see in other pregnant ladies that I can’t relate to–rather, could relate to but can’t anymore. Maybe because it carves out ever more emotional territory for all of us in a life that can seem one day magical and fated and the next utterly bereft.

There’s something about that time on the verge of creation when you just open up your arms to the sky in welcome. And then boom. The shift into form–from the hazy fluff of what might be into the sure and solid thud of what is.

imageedit_11_3670945368
“Tiny Roots” by Todd Moon

There’s such a thrill to the idea that you could make a whole, alive person. And sometimes a terror in realizing you have.

Creation is no joke.

Given the chance to root, it so greedily becomes its own thing. Just like we did once, inside our own mothers.

Trembling on the edge of baby number two

Here we are again. This strange, in-between time just before a baby is born.

I remember this trembling-on-the-edge feeling from the days before I birthed J. I felt fiercly protective and nostalgic about my life as I knew it, so I printed out a whole bunch of pictures and hung them over our couch.

Pictures of A and I canoeing the Green River, being pelted with flower petals and rice at our wedding, skiing with family, riding the train to Paris, decked out in orange for Queen’s Day in Amsterdam. After every picture I hung, every nail I pounded into the wall, I would stand back and look at my work.

This will insure that you don’t forget. That you’re not lost after you have this baby. Your old life will be right here, anytime you need it.

couchphotos

I loved looking at all those pictures in my early days with baby J.

See. I’m not losing myself at all. I did all those things. I remember what it was like and how it felt.

Time passed.

J started climbing onto the back of the couch. He would fiddle with the frames, knocking them down. Then he’d pull the nails out of their holes.

I don’t even remember when I took them all down, but I did. I shoved them into a drawer somewhere. (Sort of like this sweet tradition that we forgot about for a few years.)

Before becoming J’s mother, I was really scared about how that would feel—moving into a new phase and leaving the old one behind. At the time, I would have told you that I was NEVER going to take those pictures down. They were my grip on reality. I needed to hold on. But when I carted them off to the drawer, I didn’t even think about it. I was just sick of picking the pictures up with J’s sticky fingerprints all over them and hearing the nails ping on the floor.

At some point during those first couple years, without knowing it, I fully crossed over into my new life.  I didn’t need the pictures anymore.

In the last few weeks, I’ve been feeling that same fierce protectiveness—this time, over our life as a family of three.

IMG_3968

I sent off a bunch of new pictures to be printed. Soon, they’ll arrive in the mail and I’ll tuck their corners into frames and look at them and feel some sense of relief.

There. I did it. This baby can come now. My life as I know it is protected.

Naturally, it’s not. It’s going to change. Radically. And who knows what the future of these pictures will be—whether they’ll still be on the mantle in 2 years time.  It doesn’t really matter, because I probably won’t need them like I do now.

Nothing like being 39 weeks pregnant to remind you on a daily if not hourly basis that you’re not in control. That everything is constantly changing. That the life you know can and will be radically altered at any moment. And you won’t have a choice. You’ll have to dive down under and swim across, to a new place you’ve never been. You can’t go back to where you were.

That’s why I need the pictures.

***

This was originally posted over at Get Born, which is awesome. You should check it out.