As I’m sure you can tell from my pregnancy posts, it has been a tough 8 months for me. I’m sure by now you have also figured out that I am a very “Type A” personality. If this term is unfamiliar to you it basically means that I am ambitious, impatient, frequently take on more than I can handle, always trying to beat my past record etc. I want everything and I want it now. I am a workaholic and nothing I do is ever or will ever be “good enough.”
I understand that I will never be satisfied. Until the day I die there will be things on my to-do list. I want to learn everything, experience everything and see everything. It is very difficult for me to slow down and just be. This whole having a child thing was planned to the last detail, I was supposed to stay working in recreation, set a butt ton of money aside to help with maternity leave and then husband and I would both take some time off with the baby and buy a house before Christmas.
As always, nothing goes according to the plan (if I had I would have had a May baby and not still be pregnant first of all….) During early pregnancy, I was asked to leave my job due to the illness and fatigue I was experiencing. They stated that I was now “unable to fulfil the mandates of my job.” The stress of dealing with the union and labour relation boards was keeping me up at night and husband and I decided it was best for me to throw in the towel over risking hardship to our child. This event started the pregnancy with a bad taste in my mouth. 6 weeks into a 40 week process and I was already being penalized and receiving set-backs for the choice to have a child while also running to the bathroom to puke several times a day. Soon, as always, several more set-backs occurred resulting in me spending 4.5 months of the pregnancy unemployed. Finding a job while pregnant is no easy task. Thus, this girl who loves to be at work has spent 4.5 months sitting at home. I’ve cleaned and organized a bit but I find myself getting restless with these tasks quickly. Before I knew it I was napping 3 hours a day while watching my IQ drip away the tv blared Jerry Springer and Maury day after day. Worse…when husband got home from work the only thing I had to discuss with him was how many tests were required to find the real baby daddy. Awful. Just months ago I was talking to him about the exciting research I was a part of in one of the social psychology labs at school and how the study was going according to my hypothesis, and the paper I wrote which my professor offered to help me try to publish. I went from Grade A student and workaholic to feeling like a dumb useless wife who slept 12+ hours a day. I find it ironic that they used to think there were too many positive hormones in a moms body for her to feel depression, because if it wasn’t for husband I would have lost my grip on reality and fallen into clinical depression by now, I am quite sure of it.
I mentioned in the last pregnancy post that I was not going to miss pregnancy. I was not getting any joy from relishing the last moments of it. That remains true. But something is getting me through this and it consumes me every day.
I think when a lot of people are pregnant they think about holding their baby, having baby wrap their tiny fingers around their finger, think about the swaddling and cuddles. I am always thinking so much further ahead. I cannot wait to sit down at the kitchen table with my son and help him with his homework. I look forward to playing with his trucks in the sand at the park and taking him to build a bear. I can’t wait to take him to the science center and the summer carnival. I am looking forward to teaching him how to drive, watching him leave on his first date and trying to pry information from him about his first kiss. I look forward to holidays, birthdays and random Tuesdays where husband and I keep him home from school and go to a movie. I look forward to being the crazy mom cheering at the sidelines of his first sports game, or dance recital, or whatever it is he chooses to do with his life. Husband and I frequently joke about how we look forward to grossing him out as we kiss in the kitchen or snuggle on the couch. I am not excited to have a baby, I am excited to have a son. Excited to watch him grow up.
I feel like once baby boy enters the world that I can resume my type A personality. I can obsess over his temperature, breast-feeding and tummy time. I can get back to the gym which is a huge source of happiness for me. I can move on and adjust to life as it meant to be rather than pissing away this “what-if time.” Soon I will know what life will be. And I know I am going to struggle. I know its going to be hard. I know that some nights I will fall asleep crying due to sheer exhaustion and feeling like the worlds worst mother. I know that there are going to be days where I ask husband what on earth we were thinking having a child just as there will be days when I look in his eyes and can’t believe how blessed we are. I’m not in this for a baby. I’m in this for a family of more than my fur-children. When I look back on the last 8 months, and think ahead to the next few weeks (I am seriously so uncomfortable and we are in a crazy heat wave and I lost my only pair of maternity shorts…) none of it really matters. I know this. I know that in a few short years I will want to do this again. Not because I enjoy carrying around a watermelon, not because I enjoy being sick, not even because I will miss the baby cuddles, I will attempt to do this again because even if my son isn’t “perfect”, even if he has autism, downs syndrome, or clubbed feet, he will still be my son. A perfect biological combination of my husband and I.
To say that my husband is the best thing that ever happened to me is an understatement. It sounds so cliché but he is a perfect husband. There is nothing else I could ever want from him. He is the love of my life and my everything. That isn’t to say we don’t ever disagree, we are human, but there is no mountain we cannot climb together. I cannot wait to look at our son and see that he was created out the love we have for each other, know that our blood is always tied through our son and know that his entire existence would not be if it wasn’t for us. That, to me, is a miracle worth repeating, even after an awful pregnancy.