Last week I kicked off my eighth month of pregnancy and as I stood sideways in front of the mirror scoping out my growing bump, I couldn’t help but trip out. Just under two months until everything changes forever. Once the baby creeps out of the depths of my lady bits, life will no longer be an individual pursuit. I will be eternally connected to another soul, one that I happened to grow in my body like a crazy Sea Monkeys experiment.
Being knocked up during a pandemic has been interesting. Because of my history with infertility and multiple miscarriages, my doctors advised me to be incredibly cautious during this time (aka hunker down in isolation with baby daddy and my giant doggo named Donut). In a time that is usually celebrated with baby showers or random old ladies gushing as they place spindly fingers atop your enlarged belly, my experience felt a bit more subdued.
People are scared to approach strangers during COVID and most would not dare acknowledge a potential pregnancy when it could actually just be a little extra pandemic pudge that’s gotten out of control with the switch to business casual sweatpants and couch snacks between Zooms. The first public attention I got while pregnant was at the dentist’s office at seven months, mostly because I wasn’t able to get x-rays, and yet, I left feeling seen and excited.
My husband and I have been taking virtual childbirth classes offered through our hospital and are learning how to swaddle from illustrated diagrams instead of practicing wrapping up a fake baby with creepy eyes like a burrito. The realities of birth during COVID have been surprising. Masks will be required during labor and delivery, and only one support person is allowed in the hospital. I’m not too shocked by this though–if there is one thing years of infertility taught me, it’s that things rarely go as planned with pregnancy and children. Best to disregard expectations and just go with the flow if you want to retain any chance of happiness.
I’ve surprised myself with how much I love being pregnant. For years, I wasn’t even sure I wanted kids and had a running pros and cons list (the pros eventually won). As much as I want to meet the little dude, I really want everything to slow down so that I can continue to enjoy this special time in my life. I love that my body is changing to accommodate my first child and that it is the physical representation of how I define femininity–strength, courage, love, generosity, joy, and openhearted-ness.
I’ve always been independent and have never been scared to be alone. As much as I love spending time with people, I equally enjoy my own company and the feeling of solitude it provides. It’s rarely felt like loneliness to me, which could be why I never hesitated to go on solo trips when I felt the calling to travel.
This is the first time in my life that my unique and individual human experience has been shared. I have a hitchhiker in my uterus who reminds me they’re right here with me with every karate chop and Bruce Lee impersonation.
It’s surprisingly comforting and feels like I have a built-in confidant and co-conspirator. It’s like we have an ongoing inside joke that no one else understands–life as just he and I know it.
Whenever I start to feel overwhelmed with how quickly the due date is approaching I try to get back to the present moment. I have a bad habit of stressing out about stressing out in the future and it has never been helpful. Yes, I have a large to-do list of everything I need to get done before shit hits the exhaustion fan, but worrying typically doesn’t boost productivity for me.
Being self-employed, maternity leave isn’t really an option for me unless I want to risk my business going under. Work doesn’t stop just because you push a person out of your crotch. We have several clients who are depending on us to continue to service them and meet important mid-summer deadlines. With a May 5th uterine eviction notice in place, this will likely be pretty challenging. Considering we are a two-person team, my husband and I will be adding new hats to our ever-growing collection–milk machine and diaper dude.
Occasionally, I accept the invitation for the shitty pity party thrown by and for myself, and although it can feel briefly satisfying, it usually doesn’t take long for me to realize the appetizers are stale and it’s time for me to unassumingly sneak out the door before the piñata drops. I know from experience that when things don’t go the way I want them to, they always lead to something greater in my life with time. A lesson, a change in the trajectory of the path I’m on, or a hidden opportunity, is always just beneath the surface. The limited time off post-baby is happening for me. I just can’t quite see why yet so I need to trust in life and do my best to enjoy the journey just as it is.
If I get anxious I know that I am living in the future and time-traveling like that just makes the days go by faster. Breathing deeply, putting my hands on my belly, and feeling my son move brings me back to the now. All is well. Everything is exactly as it should be. And because of this, I might as well appreciate and enjoy the moment exactly as it is since being gratefully present is what it’s all about.