Since the nausea stopped at week 13 (thank you, oh hormone-stabilizing goddesses), I kind of have to remind myself that I am pregnant. Well, no, it’s not that I have to remind myself that I am pregnant – the clothes not fitting/busting out boobs/extreme emotions/gluttonous need for ben & jerry’s help to keep the pregnancy real – but I have to remind myself that there’s actually a person in there. That this pregnancy is not just a 10-month state of being, it’s about growing a person.
Chris remarked last night that he felt like he hadn’t spent much time with this baby. Dude, I told him, I shlep this baby around with me all day and I feel like I haven’t spent much time with it. There have been no daydreamy, quiet moments bathed in soft light where I sit, contemplating the being in my belly. There have been no teary, sentimental serenades. There has been no wide-eyed, wondering discovery of fluttery movements that I finally clue into as my babe trying to tell me to shut the hell up, with teeny tiny fists flying.
In a way, it’s been better than all that.
My first trimester was spent in a hyper-vigilant state that wobbled between fear of losing the baby and fear that I wouldn’t make it to the toilet in time and I'd barf on my desk. The past month and a half have brought back a sense of security – in my ability to be a safe incubator, and in the baby’s ability to grow strong.
It’s true – I don’t spend much time contemplating this little being, and the journey we are on. I have a toddler to take care of. When I was pregnant with Bee, she was the recipient of 100% of my maternal focus. She still is. But I’m pretty sure I’m made up of more than 100%.
This baby is getting everything it needs from me right now, and we have our moments.
Being a mother to Soon to Bee means taking care of myself, nurturing my body so that it can nurture my baby; trying to keep the frustration and moments of rage at bay so the baby doesn’t have to deal with my negativity; trying to get Chris to play with my hair as often as possible so that the baby gets lots of relaxing serotonin. We’re ok without the romantic, backlit daydreams that I simply don’t have the luxury of time to bask in. This baby is getting an experienced mother, a more self-assured mother. A mother that knows it’s ok to make decisions and mistakes and choices that other people roll their eyes at and to eat ice cream straight out of the container.
And I know what those little flutters are now, a whole heck of a lot earlier than I did with Bee. And those flutters come just often enough to remind me what all the ice cream eating is for. We have an understanding, this baby and me. We are getting what we need from each other right now. We have our moments, even if the soft lighting just makes me fall asleep.