Before I start this, I want you to know that I am excited to have my baby girl in November. I already love her, even though sometimes she’s a major jerk and kicks my liver while head-butting my bladder and has nestled her head on my sciatic nerve. I love her little kicks and her cute little movements. She’s my girl. A girl I made with the love of my life.
Truth be told, I was more mentally prepared to have been infertile than I was to be fertile. What’s that all about? Right before my wedding I was told that my ovaries had shrunk to the size of raisins and that I might not get my period again (at 33) and I may or may not have problems getting pregnant. I know that’s vague, but it was pretty devastating news right before we walked down the aisle. The month after the wedding my body started working again – thank goodness – however I was still unsure as to what my chances of having a baby truly was. It was that period of time when I learned that I truly wanted to have kids one day. But, I accepted the fact that it might not be possible, and I was going to lead a brunch filled life filled with trips, adventures and comedy material. I was OK with this.
So, we went into this “trying thing” thinking it would never happen, and if it did, it was going to be a lot of work. To our surprise we got pregnant right away. Probably because we were so relaxed about it, because we didn’t really think it was possible. It was quite shocking actually as I wasn’t quite ready because I just accepted my childless fate. We assumed we’d have to try for a year, and then I’d get on fertility treatments. So when it happened right away, we were shocked. Happy, in love, but shocked none-the-less.
Now, seven and a half months in, when people ask me if I’m excited, which of course I am, I also want to tell them that I’m worried about all that I’m giving up; my freedom, independence, my body, my time to be creative etc. And, I always feel like I’m letting them down by not jumping up and down with excitement. I can’t tell them that I’m worried that I’m going to completely lose myself. That I’m scared that I’m not going to be able to take my comedy courses anymore and have time for creative side projects. That my husband and I aren’t going to be able to go on our many romantic getaways anymore. I worry that my job is going to interfere with my ability to be a good mother. And the fact that I want to focus on myself still will make me a selfish mother. That as much as I can’t wait to be a mom, I want to ensure I make my husband and our marriage a major priority too. Because, lets face it, babies turn into kids, kids turn into teenagers, teenagers turn into adults who move out. It’s the person you’ve partnered with who will (hopefully) be by your side until the end of your days, when you’re old and grey. You’ve chosen each other to spend your life together. And I’ve chosen a magical one for myself. I don’t want our marriage to get lost because we stopped focusing on each other to solely focus on our children.
I just wish I would have had more time. I wish that I had more time at my job that I’m starting to get really good at. I wish that I had the mental capacity to finish the writing projects I started before I lost brainpower. I wish that I could go for dinner and have several glasses of wine and a rare tuna steak. I also wish I enjoyed being pregnant more, or at all even. Besides feeling her kicks and when I get to hear her perfect little heartbeat, every other moment I despise. The heartburn, the nerve pain that’s more painful than anything I’ve ever felt, the fact that the only way I can take a poop is with a daily laxative, the swollen feet, the weird dark nipples and the excessive extreme emotions. I, 100%, completely hate being pregnant.
I’m fearful that my feelings towards being pregnant reflect what I’m going to be as a mom. What if I’m a terrible mom? Sure my husband and my friends say I’ll be great (I’m pretty sure they have to say that), but what if I’m not. What if I’m not ready to not be the center of my world? What if I’m not ready to give up my dreams or put them on hold because my life will revolve around this little pumpkin that I’m cooking? Can I still be a good mom and still put my marriage and myself first? Who will I be after my life has changed completely?
I worry that I should express more excitement and that I should answer with a giant smile and tell them that I just can’t wait. And how I’ve always only ever wanted to be a mom and now my life is complete. But the truth is, for me anyway, being able to have this beautiful baby, is the cherry on a pretty spectacular Sundae. Not the entire Sundae. And yes, I can’t wait to smell her and hold her and see her smile for the first time and have her grab my finger. I can’t wait to dress her in cute little tutus and leather jackets. I’m excited to see what kind of weird outfits she picks out on her own. I hope she’s confident and smart, and a little bit sassy. I hope she’s a weirdo and I can’t wait to get to know her. I know that I’m so lucky we created her and that I have a wonderful partner who can’t wait to love her and feed her and take care of her.
I know that my life is going to forever change, and that I’m going to love her in a way I can’t understand yet. And that I may look back at myself and think what was I so afraid of? How could you have so much anxiety around the best thing you’ve ever created? I just don’t want to lose myself, and I think I’m mourning the loss of the Non-Mom. Because, as of November, I’ll be a real mom.