It's been a long time since I've posted on this blog. I took a break while I was finishing my thesis for the MFA program at OSU. I know you can't "run out" of words to write, but I was having a little too much fun writing this blog and sometimes neglecting the much less fun work of editing stories, some of which refused to do what they were told.
Since I'm pretty sure all of my followers are also my Facebook friends, it will come as no surprise that I am pregnant. It's weird being pregnant after many years of, well, not being so. What's weirdest is that it's not so bad. When I was in my early 20s (before therapy and antidepressants), it was pretty bad. I was still living in a lot of fear, fear of the type that I believed every pain meant death was imminent and, as convinced as I was that I was going to be a different kind of parent than mine had been, I was equally convinced by the "cycle of abuse" literature that assured me that, no matter what, abused kids grow up to be abusive parents nomatterwhatnomatterwhat.
Although I've heard a lot can happen during those crucial teenage years, so far so good. Not to say it hasn't been a struggle. Those aforementioned anti depressants and therapy came in real handy when I discovered that "the cycle" (I hope you can imagine the voice I'm using when I say this) CAN be broken, but old habits of thought and self abuse die hard.
When I was in my early twenties, on top of believing every last pain meant imminent death, I also couldn't stand to be touched. I didn't think this applied to babies until I had them. Sometimes it was ok-- I could sit with them. But, for the most part, having a tiny baby on my lap felt like suffocation. Like if I didn't get up at once I wouldn't be able to breathe again. I somehow found a way through this. Don't tell anyone, but I don't fear being touched anymore. In fact, sometimes I ask my kids for a hug and they refuse, because they're too cool for me now, and that's the best part about babies. They're not too cool for their mamas.
So how is being pregnant different now? Well, for one, I haven't thrown up once. What the hell, self? I ask said self. But I'm also not worried about it. I'm tired, but when I'm tired I take a nap. And then I wake up and move on with my life. In my 20s this nap taking led to deep despair. Clearly, people who take naps are bipolar, will soon be addicted to prescription pills, and the only next step is lying in the basement, terrorizing your children, screaming hourly for 3/4 of a glass of milk. In summation, I feel pretty good. I feel a little nervous about certain things (like where's the baby going to fit on the motorcycle I don't have? Will he or she be lonely because he or she is so much younger? Will he or she suffer from the illnesses and allergies my youngest daughter does? Will he or she be sickly?), I'm more just curious. What will this baby be? Whatever it is, we'll deal with it. We're experts in damn near every kind of childhood illness I had never heard of before babies at this point, and, most importantly, I know how to remove plastic hearts from noses, rocks from ears, what to do with facial wounds, and the warning signs of concussion. I feel pretty all set.
Of course, being pregnant in your thirties is different than in your early 20s. For instance, I find that when I cross my legs for more than five minutes I can't walk right without holding my hip. Our first ultrasound picture is pinned up on the fridge next to my daily insulin regime. I go to bed at 9. OK, I did that before I got pregnant. I'm just old.
