Pregnancy is the weirdest experience.  Such a mix of things.  Wonder, worry, joy, confusion, gladness, discomfort, restlessness, irritation, peace – it’s all in there.  It’s all in me, moving around like my baby.  At times like a kick in my side.

I could write about the moments of magic, when it feels like I’m participating in, or even just looking on at, the making of a masterpiece, one whose movements, for now, are like the wind:  speaking of a force, a dynamo, I can’t see bodily yet, but can definitely watch the effects of.  I can watch and feel my body change to accommodate this miracle, can learn of the mysteries that hormones know well – mysteries about how to make there be milk when it’s needed, how to tune me in to the needs and movements of a vulnerable life, how to make my body release the masterpiece when it’s time for its out-of-me phase, and shrink my womb back to pre-baby size.  There is wonder in all of it.  Joy in joining creation and procreation.

And there’s pain.  I could write about how uncomfortable I’m feeling most of the time.  How much I miss sleeping on my back.  How my knees are starting to ache from all this weight and my left hip throb from the lopsided distribution of it.  I could write about how frustrated I got last week when all of this forced me to admit I can’t do what I want to do in a day – how helpless this made me feel, and angry, and disappointed.  How I cried and cried for fear that the baby would get here before my list of things to do could get accomplished, and because I was just so exhausted I couldn’t see straight.

I could write about not wanting to miss anything important through this time – time with my husband without kid distractions, leisure to rest when I choose, soaking in the wonder of a baby inside – and feeling like time has become a sprinter, and my “presentness” to this experience incapable of keeping up.  I’m frustrated by the ways my fatigue and discomfort suck my mental and emotional energy into themselves, stealing thoughts away from broader or whimsical topics and pasting them onto things like, “I think I need a nap,” or “I’m so hot,” or “Ow.  Ow ow ow.”  There’s a world spinning around and in me, a complicated world, with pressing concerns and topics ripe for thought and conversation, and these are the things I’m thinking.  I have moments of awareness of this broader world, but then long stretches of focus only on my body, my breath, my need for food, for tears, for sleep.

It’s all so weird.  So fine and good and normal, yes.  But weird.  A liminal space, where I’m not sure what my body and soul are doing, and can only dimly imagine who I’m going to be in coming weeks and years, how this baby will change me and the ways I’ve defined “normal” for my life.  Who is this new person I’m soon to meet?  And how do I wrap my mind around the thought that I’m gonna have a massive role to play in shaping him?

I could write more, pages more, but frankly…I’m tired.  I need a nap.  And a snack maybe?…

Sigh.  The weirdness of it all.

This entry was posted on Monday, August 8th, 2005 at 9:48 am and is filed under Motherhood, Bodies. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.