listening to awesome neil young, on spring break and procrastinating (not procrastnating! i mean, eagerly waiting for an email from martin so that i can do some more work on our project...)
on saturday, ryah observed that:
(1) i am worried about the baby (true, i am terrified of miscarrying)
(2) i am worried about being worried about the baby (also true, i worry that me stressing out will cause me to miscarry/have a baby with 3 heads/mentally scar the baby in utero)
(3) i am worried about being worried about worrying about the baby (true, i am neurotic and worry that people will start to avoid me because i am so crazy, and then if bad things do happen, i will be all alone.)
everyone says don't worry. i've had just about every version of the pep talk, and every time i hear it i feel better - for about half an hour, and then i need it again. i should just get one of those personal affirmation tapes and just play it on a loop. it would at least free my poor friends and family from the repetition. most people don't even know why i am stressed out; they think that it is because i am busy with school and family. i love school and family. i love being busy.
here is something that i don't usually tell people when we talk about the supposed "miracle of pregnancy":
i didn't want to get pregnant again, but not because i didn't want more kids. i love kids - i love the ones i have and most of the ones i know. i just am not good at the baby-growing. my body is not equipped for it, i fuck it up. i am not good at it, so i planned on sticking to what i am good at instead, concentrating on other things.
truly, i don't want to/can't deal with having a dead baby. the potential for tragedy holds no appeal for me. i've been sad almost my whole life, but now i find myself somehow miraculously happy, and that is how i want to stay. i remember the terror i experienced with jake and sam - i didn't go numb or forget. it is raw inside me.
for example:
jake's head, shaved for an i.v., heel purple from bruising and white with tiny scars after so much blood work. not being able to touch him because his skin was too sensitive. watching him lose weight. waiting for his lungs to stop needing the oxygen saturated air so i could hold him. waiting for his liver to stop needing the uv light so he could have his eyes untaped. and i walked back and forth to the hospital for weeks, just to sit beside him. and he was so small and beautiful and...
i had sam after spending month in bed having contractions every day. he was born bigger than jake but still sick. he had respiratory distress syndrome. he wheezed and whistled when he breathed. his heart stopped every once and awhile and if you nudged him he would start breathing again. i slept at the hospital with him for a week before jake (who was four) started having nightmares that i was dead. after that i walked back and forth every few hours. i breast fed sam; he was hooked up to an iv.
yes, things worked out. my boys did not go blind or have brain damage from the oxygen. they gained weight and grew and didn't get infections or complications. they didn't have any birth defects or congenital abnormalities. today they are very healthy, without a trace of the neonatal unit showing. but i know that it could have gone another way, and it stopped me from having a baby for seven years, even though i would have been thrilled if one fell into my lap.
today, i know that i am not going to carry to term - it's only a matter of how long i can keep my legs crossed. it is february, and i can already tell that things are not going well. i've had a few cramps, and some mild contractions. i mostly don't tell people because i don't want to be judged, and i don't want to be second guessed.
and yes, i know that i should be on bedrest, but i don't know how to make it happen. my doctor says "do you need to be in school?" and i say "yes, i do". what else am i supposed to do? drop out? would you drop out? if you said yes, you are less selfish than i am, because i can't do it. i won't. i am stubborn; that is how i live, and it keeps me going when things are hard. bedrest is a last resort.
so i am quietly neurotic, with a happy overcoat and a fake que sera attitude. in the end, everything will be fine. i will survive (rather than conquer as planned) the school term and in a few months we will all gather around and pinch her fat cheeks. we will unable to imagine life without her, and life will be good again.
