I am getting extremely anxious. Up until now, I have been excited. I'm excited still, but the angst has set in. The birth, after the birth, oh man. I'm just not looking forward to that. I know it will all be worth it, but I'm nervous now. I have a coworker who just had a beautiful baby and let me this book:
It was her intention to keep it going; a friend gave it to her while she was pregnant, she gave it to me, and I will give it to someone I know. I think it's a fabulous idea.
I know you have all read a Chicken Soup book before... sheesh some of these got me through life! Chicken Soup for the teenager's soul, teenager's soul II, teacher's soul I mean there are a million different titles! They are so uplifting and wonderful. If you know nothing about the Chicken Soup books, they are a compilation of stories from different people who have experienced whatever the book is about. For instance, the teen's soul had write-ins from teens, moms of teens, dads of teens, etc. They are comforting and reassuring; the stories help people realize that they aren't the only ones going through that kind of experience!
Reading Soup for the Expectant Mother is remarkable. I have really not gotten too far into it but they are already making me cry!! A good cry! They are real, truthful and extremely helpful. I wanted to share the one that touched me in a lot of ways: it's comforting and the part about loving your husband more and more (even though he can drive me crazy) is so true. Makes me tear up now :)
"It Will Change Your Life"
Time is running out for my friend. We were sitting at lunch when she casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family." What she means is that her biological clock has begun its countdown, and she is being forced to consider the prospect of motherhood.
"We're taking a survey," she says, half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"
"It will change your life," I say carefully, keeping my tone neutral.
"I know," she says. "No more sleeping in on Saturdays, no more spontaneous vacations."
But that is not what I mean at all. I look at my friend, trying to decide what to tell her.
I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of childbearing heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wouldn so raw that she will be forever vulnerable.
I consider warning her that she will never read a newspaper again without asking, "What if that had been my child?" That every plane crash, every fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.
I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a souffle or her best crystal without a moment's hesitation.
I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for child care, but one day she will be going into an important meeting and she will think about her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her child is all right.
I want my friend to know that every day decisions will no longer be routine. That a five-year-old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in the restroom. However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.
Looking at my attractive friend, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years--not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her children accomplish theirs. I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor.
My friend's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the ways she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is always careful to powder that baby or who never hesitates to play with his son or daughter. I think she should know that she will fall in love with her husband again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.
I wish my friend could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried desperately to stop war and prejudice and drunk driving. I hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the treats of nuclear war to my children's future.
I want to describe to my friend the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to hit a baseball. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real it hurts.
My friend's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I say finally. Then I reach across the table, squeeze my friend's hand, and offer a prayer for her and me and all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into the holiest of callings.
So, yes, I'm not the picture perfect pregnant gal, but the picture-perfectness will come in 5 weeks. :) I can't wait to experience this wild ride with the love of my life and our families and friends.
Speaking of picture perfect :) Mal took me out to do some pictures of me at 8 months pregnant!!! Take a look at my absolute faves so far. If you want more, check my Facebook page, or Mallory's blog at www.kearney-clan.blogspot.com :) Thanks again, Mal. I will love them forever :)
No comments:
Post a Comment