I guess I could have posted the ultrasound picture on Facebook, found a cute baby GIF on the internet or uploaded a shameless picture of what is not-quite-yet a baby bump, but like most parts of the fact that I’m pregnant, I have no idea how to actually handle this. I decided to do the only thing I know I can do: write about it.
What a difference a day makes. One day, your life belongs to you and only you; you can do exactly what you feel like: drink
three glasses of a glass of wine in the middle of the day or shamelessly stand outside your car while pumping gas just to smell the fumes. You can jump on a trampoline and eat as many lebanon (sweet!) bologna sandwiches (or just slices of it rolled with mayonnaise) as you want. You can even vigorously brush your teeth without worrying that you’re giving your unborn child shaken unborn-child syndrome. Not now, though, not anymore. Sushi? I am going to eat the crap out of you in seven months. Wine? Well, until my doctor tells me no, you’re still an option. Vodka? I can’t even think about SMELLING you without getting sick; goodbye forever.
To say that I never wanted to be a mother isn’t the whole truth, but it certainly isn’t without some merit. The truth is this: there are so many things I wanted to do before having a family, too many milestones I needed to hit before resigning myself to motherhood–the place dreams go to die. I had a plan for my life that involved a promotion (soon!) in the military, travel to distant lands and a full-time job that would allow me the time and space I needed to grieve the end of my adolescence. Yes, even at 27, I still believe I am too young to have children.
When my friend Emily ended up pregnant (in all honestly, she was HOPING to find herself there) after six months of marriage, I was shocked. This was the same girl who told me, when we were just 8 or 9 years old, that “ladies get pregnant from french kissing their husbands in bed” (also, they had to be naked). And now she was pregnant!?!? And then she HAD A BABY?!?! And now Stella is a month old and Emily is a mom… just like that. I don’t think I will be nearly as cute of a pregnant woman, as blissful or as comfortable with a baby as Emily is, but I guess people make it to motherhood in tons of different ways.
My way started with a lot of crying and second-guessing myself, it has already involved a very scary trip to Babies R Us and some morning sickness and two ultrasounds (for the record, I am 10 weeks and 2 days pregnant, or–in normal people terms– 2.5 months). There has been a bunch of planning, a good deal of freaking out and too much talking with other mothers who scare the crap out of me with their pregnancy horror stories. Seriously, why do you people do this to me? Do you know how much I’ve been freaking out about body parts ripping, boobs nearly falling off, babies getting stuck under pelvises?!?! There haven’t been many cravings, not too many naps, but a lot of Pinteresting to find the best ideas surrounding pregnancy. If anything will make me feel better about having this baby, it’s Pinterest. What there will not be are pregnancy trackers on Facebook and non-stop status updates about boring baby crap (seriously, if I ever, EVER post about my baby’s poop or can’t seem to stop posting pictures of this baby, you have permission to virtually slap me).
I will leave you with this: the day I found out, for sure anyway (I had been feeling sick for WEEKS, peed on FOUR pregnancy sticks just to have them come back negative), I wrote this letter:
I’m pretty nervous right now, but I will try my best to be honest with you and to write out my feelings, no matter how selfish or crazy they sound, and I will write them until the day you are born. First of all, I guess I’m your mom. Well, of course I’m your mom, but I don’t know that I’m the person I would have picked for you. My name is Amber, and I’m 27 years and 29 days old and I’m pretty terrified and also very selfish. I’m more terrified of you, of what you mean to my life, than I was to go to Iraq, or to college, or to get a divorce when I was 23 or fall in love again at 25. To say that you were unexpected is a little bit of an understatement, I was hoping to have more time with your dad before you came into the picture, hoping to travel more, see more and do more. I was hoping for more than two months of marriage before you showed up, but I know that I can only blame myself.
Speaking of your dad, though, boy did you get lucky. You will love him, he is awesome and caring and kind and he can’t wait to meet you. Tonight will be the first night that I go to bed knowing that you are here, and that both scares and warms me at the same time. I know that your daddy is excited to meet you in seven months, and I hope that, by then, I will be excited too. For now, goodnight little jelly fish, until tomorrow.