Confessions of a Reluctant Pregnant Woman

Prologue

I've received a few reader complaints over the years that I tend to "sugarcoat" my life in this blog by documenting only my happy memories. I will agree with this assessment, with a caveat. I keep this blog "G Rated" because my career goals involve working in public affairs - specifically for the government. My desirability as a media liaison depends on my ability to exercise a balance of discretion and transparency. Since I am apparently lacking in the latter, I will make an effort to share more of the ugly details of my life, from pregnancy pains to unemployment woes. I'm not naturally a snarky and bitter person, so I doubt this will really contain anything juicy anyway ;)

The Girl Who Doesn't Like Kids

Anyone who knows me personally has probably heard me make a snide comment about children, usually coupled with the words "birth control." When I looked at children in the past, all I would see was snot, stained clothes, mouths screaming, epiglottises quivering, red faces, fists balled, tantrum throwing and disheveled hair. I basically saw miniature adults with no sense of control or rationality, and I wondered often why anyone would voluntarily take that burden on. The only kids I liked were the ones in my family and circle of friends.

I understood that there was something mysteriously gratifying about raising a functioning human being, but I could not see it from the outside. I would cite research suggesting that childless married couples are far happier than their counterparts, and talk constantly about my DINK (double income, no kids) aunt and uncle, who jet off on exotic vacations and drive sports cars. Although I knew Brian wanted children, I was still not on board with the idea and told him I would like to wait until I was at least 30.

My girlfriend Katie, a gorgeous med student currently in Australia, emailed me after I shared the pregnancy news on Facebook to congratulate me. She said, "A day or two before I found out you were expecting, I was thinking of our conversation this summer regarding babies and boyfriends and marriage. And how you said you just didn't have that mothering instinct yet. You didn't have that 'biological clock ticking' phenomenon." Her email made me smile, because it reminded me of how far I've come from my very dark beginning.

My Darkest Night

The night I took a pregnancy test and received a positive was one of the hardest nights of my life. I started crying around 8 PM and I didn't stop until Brian left for work the next morning. I cried so hard that I got sick, and he could not console me. In fact, the opposite was true - he made everything worse.

The rollercoaster started after dinner. I'd been feeling off all week, so I brought a test home from the grocery store and told Brian I was going to "POAS," which is an acronym I detest that means "pee on a stick." In my old cynical anti-child days, I would make fun of immature women who were trying to get "preggo" and who used idiotic terms like POAS, so it was my way of trying to lighten up the mood.

When the plus sign appeared in that little white viewing window, I slumped to the ground in the bathroom and just sat there for awhile. Brian was watching TV and didn't know how long the test would take, so he probably didn't realize anything was wrong. When I emerged, I met him in the hallway, stared at the ground, and said "Well, I'm pregnant." With his usual puppy dog positivity, he just grinned and said, "We're going to be great parents honey, don't worry."

Brian studied behavioral psych in undergrad, so he has this annoying habit of seeing complex interpersonal problems as cause/effect, black/white. He knew that I was not on board the baby train, but he also reasoned that since there was nothing we could do to change the fact that I was pregnant. (I am strongly pro-choice, but we had already agreed that termination was not on the table.) In his highly objective and rational mind, there was no reason to waste tears on something outside of our control.

...and then there was me. Pregnancy hormones combined with disappointment about my long-term unemployment created a perfect storm of angst, and I turned into a total monster that night. I sobbed for the career that I hadn't even begun, and I cried for the youth that I felt I was losing by becoming a mother. I cried for all of the plans we'd been saving, and I cried for my first year as a newlywed that would be cut short by a screaming, crying newborn. I recoiled when Brian tried to comfort me, and I blamed him for not understanding me.

When the morning came and the sun rose, I posted this photo:



The caption read, "Sunrise appreciation. The view from my bedroom." What I wanted to write was, "The sun has come up and I'm going to be okay." I think my heart needed that night to transition from my old, bitter shell into my new life as a mother.

My Body Has Brainwashed Me

Apparently, pregnancy has set off my biological clock alarm. I am profoundly, deeply shaken to my core, and I blame it on my traitorous body. While my brain still operates pragmatically, sorting through all of the logistical details of preparing for the baby, my heart is hijacking my consciousness. I feel as if I am fluctuating between wanting to laugh with joy and cry with happiness, which basically amounts to me feeling like a crackhead.

The first time it all really sank in was when the baby first kicked. You would think that the enormity of the situation would have hit me much earlier than that, but as we can all tell, I am a late bloomer in the motherhood department. I was 18 weeks along and alone at home, because Brian was on a Navy ship somewhere doing secret squirrel things.

While lying flat on my back with my hands on my stomach, I felt my first Braxton Hicks contraction (a tightening of the uterine wall) and then there was a sudden series of four powerful pokes in my left side. During the first kick I basically jumped out of my skin, and as the following three succeeded it, I burst into tears and held my stomach to try to memorize the feeling and imprint it on my brain.

Since then, I have taken on this really weird Zen-like persona that is very unlike me. I'm normally a high strung, anxious person who worries about everything and takes everything too personally. Now, when I'm confronted by an awkward or uncomfortable problem, I just smile and breathe through it. When I finally get to meet this child, I am going to thank her for being my pharmaceutical-free chill pill. 

But Has Everything Really Changed?

While I may be basking in my newfound softness, I won't pretend that I am a fundamentally changed person. I'm...enhanced, I guess. Instead of wanting to punt a screaming toddler like a football when it's freaking out in a restaurant, now I just want to soothe it and understand what's wrong. Instead of seeing children as an obstacle to my goals, I see them for what they are - a part of the big picture. This little girl will take precedence over everything else I do in life, but she will not replace or compromise my goals for myself. She will be my little sunshine, and I already love her more than anything I've ever loved in my life.