a year ago
Remember the episode of Girlfriends where Toni tries hard not to talk about her pregnancy because she doesn’t want to be “one of those women?”
And then Joan tell her it’s okay to talk about this wonderful time in her life.
That’s how I have been feeling. Lately, if you’ve been keeping up, my life has become all about this pregnancy which is pretty easy to do since I am still cooped at home on bedrest. I even find myself deleting tweets on Twitter that relate too much on pregnancy. Like, I don’t want to be that girl.
It’s the same hesitation I feel when I post too many pictures on Instagram with my husband, #blacklove, or when I write about being married.
Maybe I am that girl. If such a girl even exists because what is so wrong about being in the moment and celebrating a pretty momentous time in my life?
Maybe this is just me projecting my insecurities about becoming someone’s mother. Maybe I’m afraid I will lose my identity once I have a baby straddled on my back.
The truth is, I had plans for this pregnancy. I planned to work until the kid popped out. I had plans to run around the city (in close proximity to the nearest bathroom) and do all the things I love before I am stuck at home for a few months. Shit, I planned on doing prenatal yoga to keep up some semblance of exercise.
This pregnancy has been nothing at all as I imagined. Being put on bedrest has been a clusterf*ck, honestly. My nesting urge is in overdrive and I can’t do anything but glare at the unfinished baby room. Yesterday and today have been the first real nice days in April and the furthest I could go was my front stoop.
I have been in this place before, where none of my plans fell neatly into place and I was left scrambling for other options. However, I survived and lived to tell the tale.
So I am working on managing my expectations and realizing that this is probably the first real test of motherhood; throwing all plans out the window and just going with the flow.