Ivan and I are expecting a baby in September, and we couldn't be happier about it. Despite the challenges of recent months, we decided that the time was right for us to start trying. We kept this private. I had reason to believe it might take awhile. As it turned out, it took two weeks.
I had always wondered what the moment felt like when a woman found out she was pregnant. I could envision shock, horror, joy--depending on the point she was at in life and whether it was planned. Mine *was* planned, but at the exact moment I looked at the test I felt panic. For a moment I wanted to run away and be five years old again and forget that any of this had ever happened. And then I had to sit down and take deep breaths. And cry. Ivan and I confirmed the names we had chosen and agreed to wait awhile before telling almost everyone about the pregnancy.
But I just couldn't keep it a secret. I was so excited, and I was dying to share my news. I began spilling the beans immediately.
Not everyone has reacted well and I--perhaps naively--was utterly shocked. It honestly just never occurred to me that would happen.
I am feeling so many things.
Today I read that my baby is the size of a blueberry right now and that her face is forming. I cried.
I have been thinking of all the people I love who are no longer on this earth who will not be able to see my child. And I cry.
I am terrified that my friends who have chosen not to have children and I will be increasingly unable to relate to each other and that our life paths will continue to diverge further and further apart. I cry.
Despite our difficult history, I want to talk to my mother all the fucking time. I long for her to hug me and tell me it is going to be okay. I want to talk to other mothers. I want to ask them how their vaginas are doing these days. I want to be surrounded by women. These longings make me cry.
When Ivan is sleeping, I need to touch his bare skin and listen to him breathe. I think about this being that we are creating together, and the enormity of it hits me in the gut and I cry quietly next to him in awe and wonder.
I feel incredible guilt about being able to conceive so easily when I have known some wonderful women for whom this is not the case. The tears begin to fall in big, fat drops.
Everywhere I go and everything I do, I am aware of this tiny life growing in me. I feel so privileged to be able to experience this. It's like a wonderful secret I take with me wherever I go.
I want a rocking chair. I want recipes that make broccoli and brussels sprouts and spinach taste divine to me. I want my aching boobs to knock it off. I want tall glasses of cold milk.
There is so much more to say. For now I am exhausted.