Some things I've learned through a few months of pregnancy include this: I am crazy.
I mean, this isn't really news, but it's incredibly prevalent now that there are 97 thousand hormones invading my body. I've always been an emotional person and I've always battled anxiety.
However, pregnancy has taken every single feeling or thought I have and magnified them large enough for lifeforms on Mars to experience them. This would be super if all I ever felt was joy, but pregnancy has latched onto exactly two feelings: loneliness and worry.
Inflated, maximized, deafening.
Worry, I understand. There seems to be a lot to fret over while growing a human inside your body. But loneliness? I don't know about that one. I guess it's just a remnant of being in a big, uncomfortable city with a brand new life with new normals and not-so-normals.
Either way, over it.
Announcing a pregnancy that was both unplanned (but welcomed) and (gasp) outside the confines of holy matrimony (SHAME) is strange. You'd think people would realize it's 2017 and also mind-your-own-damn-business and send-your-judgment-elsewhere, but lots of people are unsure how to respond (until we reassure them that YES this is great news).
"Oh WOW. Are you... is this... good?"
Yes. Yes, this is good. Thankfully, most people have responded with nothing but love and joy and celebration without a concern or ill-advised remark in sight.
As they should.
Also, Todd and I will be married in exactly 50 days. Surely that magical document that solidifies our union as a legal matter will absolutely change the biological makings of our growing child into a proper, loved, and accepted child. Because FOR SURE definitely wouldn't be without it...
(Can you feel my eyes rolling?) (They can on Mars, for sure.)
May you sleep better with this knowledge.
But also, I'm going to have a husband in 50 days, you guys. A husband. I get a new last name and no one can call me Bedwetter again or ask me if I've heard "that one Pearl Jam song." These are all reasons for jolly celebration.
Being a pregnant woman is neat. People (mostly my mom and other mom-types) coddle you. They fret over your comfort and over-exertion and amount of rest. I love this, I won't lie. I've always adored being cared for. This does not change while pregnant. More of this please.
I feel a little bit awkward when people talk to me about pregnancy. I have no idea what I'm doing, you guys. Needless to say, I have no idea how to talk about it beyond these rambling words right now. I just nod and smile at the seasoned mothers of multiples like I have any idea what the hell is going on.
Have you ever walked into a meeting, and as soon as you entered the very full room, you realized you walked into the wrong place? Everyone stares at you while you sheepishly reverse your steps out the door? That is this.
Also, I don't find pregnancy to be a blessed, glorious miracle. Getting pregnant sure is. It (clearly) wasn't the case with us, but the ability to actually get pregnant is hard. While it was a surprise, I feel lucky as hell it happened. But pregnancy, itself, feels uncomfortable, and I'm not even halfway through. I felt sick. I felt exhausted. I feel fat, not pregnant. My running suffered. My brain has suffered. And my boobs hurt.
I've been assured that this child is going to be adorable and that'll make up for everything. I believe this. Believe with me.
But this brings me to my next point: I once believed you become pregnant and immediately you look pregnant and it's all adorable and wonderful and people coo over the bump on your belly.
I have been pregnant for nearly 15 weeks and I can assure you I do not look pregnant. In the least. I feel like I've eaten too much pizza, and without clothes I cringe at what reminds me of the times in life I've let myself go a bit. It's putting a dent in my once-positive body image, that's for certain. I only recently regained that positive body image, so this is a tough one. In several months I'll eat my words, but I just want to look pregnant. Give to me the bump, give to me the coos, just give to me tangible evidence of the baby I am growing.
I want the bump. And yes I am terrified of the aftermath of my body once I have our baby, however impatient I currently am for a bump.
Running is hard. I can, so far, comfortably do it, but it's slow. Incredibly slower than just a few months back, and there is nothing I can do about it. It's physically all my body can muster. I'm not mad. I'm incredibly okay with it, but it's still so strange to me how quickly and without warning that happened. Just one day... nope. No more of those Boston-qualifying paces.
I do worry that will never come back.
Yes, we have names picked. No, you may not know them now. In fact, many months ago we sat for hours in a coffee shop hemming and hawing over names for hypothetical babies. Surprisingly (or not), we agreed on names for both a boy and a girl. It was known.
What was not known at the time was that I was already pregnant.
Our timing is impeccable.
Our baby will be adorable.
I would like a girl.
I will, of course, lovingly accept a boy.
But I'd still love a girl. We'll find out in early June.
I said our baby will be adorable, but not all babies are adorable, so I can only hope our baby falls on the fortunate side of the adorable scale. I wasn't an adorable baby. I can admit it, my mom can admit it, it's okay. Let's all be honest here.
Thankfully I grew up into a loving, crazy person.
People are amazed I ran a marathon while pregnant. I suppose it is amazing, theoretically. But I'd already been training for a while and I'm a seasoned marathoner. People, surprisingly, do it all the time. And I certainly wasn't running with a 7-month bump attached to my front end. Nor do I ever, ever plan to. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous as hell.
Running had gotten harder. I was afraid I'd be unable to finish. I was afraid it'd hurt me or hurt the baby. I was afraid I'd be crucified by judgmental people. I had no idea what to expect.
All the doctors said: go forth and marathon. So I did.
Thankfully, it was the most amazing, wonderful experience I've had in a long, long time. I felt great. I felt happy. I felt proud to be there. My shirt read "BABY'S FIRST RACE," and while I felt a little uneasy advertising that to the masses while running a marathon, it ended up being fantastic. So many high fives and cheers. This baby has been celebrated by thousands of strangers along a 26.2-mile path into Boston.
This baby is already cooler than I'll ever be.
I have a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that this baby will make me a mom. I am going to be a mom. I am a mom? Do I get to be a mom already? Does pregnancy count?
The sentence "I am going to be a mom" feels foreign, even though I've always wanted to be a mom. There has never been a point in my life in which I didn't want to be a mom. In fact, I feared I'd never get the chance. Now it's here.
I've been a daughter, a sister, a friend, a runner. Soon I'll be a wife and a mom. Most of the time I'm still trying to process being in my thirties. Life went quick.
Would everything feel super simple if we'd spent time planning and trying to have a baby? If I'd studied and prepared for all that comes along with early pregnancy? If, when I took that pregnancy test, I was expecting and hoping for a positive? I wasn't hoping for a negative, I just certainly didn't expect a positive.
Or is this just the experience for first-time pregnancies? I have no idea. I wouldn't change it, though.
I could use less hormones and less hard feelings, but nothing in my life ever happened as perfectly planned. I've lived a pretty cool life, and now I get to experience motherhood on top of it all. I'm not mad at that.
But before I end, here are some final things that I know: when our baby arrives, I will not love my pets any less. If our baby is a boy, we will not call him "little man." And although I will be a runner and a mom, I will not be a mother runner.
Okay, as you were.
Pregnant and Not Liable for the Things I Say and Feel