TB3 is the size of a Gameboy.
*sigh* Week 19.
I’m beginning to have a love/hate relationship with this pregnancy. (Maybe I’ve always had it, and I’ve just been in denial until now.) This week started with me half-dressed looking in the mirror brushing my teeth and the next thing I know I’m on the verge of tears because it hit me that I’m really pregnant. It’s not a fry baby. Inside is a real, live baby.
There were also a series of vivid dreams. One of which involved a party being thrown for us at the hospital. During said party, we found out that we lost the baby because of my asthma and it was a boy. I had to interrupt the party to get on the mic and tell everyone the devastating news. Also, for some reason we named the baby Amir. Clearly, not a T name. So yeah, these dreams are just weird.
This week also brought two very real realizations with it.
First, I really suck at this self-care thing. I mean this isn’t a new realization as I’ve been unsuccessfully trying for years to take better care of my self and schedule regular retwists, manicures, time to myself, etc.
I once heard self-care related to the care of a vehicle: there’s the “fun” maintenance (carwashes, new accessories, springing for the top of the line interior/exterior upgrades, etc.) and there’s the necessary maintenance (oil changes, filling up gas, repairing broken parts). People like to indulge in the fun part of self-care…the massages and spa time, the quiet bubble baths and reading time. But no one really likes to think about the necessary maintenance – the daily showers, making sure you’re eating three times a day (or in my case a minimum of six), remembering to breathe.
I suck at both. I spent three weeks convincing myself I was fine when I really needed an oil change and some gas, only to look at myself one day this week and wonder when was the last time I got my eyebrows done. Or a pedicure. It’s easy for me to blame it on pregnancy, but the truth is this was a struggle before I was pregnant. It’s just a bigger struggle now because I have a tiny human zapping me of all my energy and cares.
Secondly, for the first time that I can remember I am struggling with what being pregnant, and eventually a child, means for my work.
I do not want to take maternity leave.
I know I have to. I know I would be extremely upset if either of my jobs were to say that I didn’t have a job to return to (which is basically all maternity leave guarantees you) or tried to force me back before it was time. I’d be on my soapbox about how the world doesn’t value motherhood.
I looked forward to bonding with TD1 and TD2 and couldn’t wait to meet them and dreamed of all the fun Pinteresty things we would do on my maternity leave. But as I had a mild asthma attack during a huge service and all of the people on my team were more concerned with my wellbeing than they were with the directions I was giving them, I didn’t have warm, fuzzy feelings of a baby to come. I was over it. I know that no one has ever really seen me out of breath. No matter how small of a deal it seemed to me, it was unusual to them and cause for concern. But, it made me angry.
Don’t get me wrong – I am extremely grateful to work with people that care about my wellbeing and are willing to step up to fill in the gaps when I’m not able to. But I don’t want them to. And I don’t like that this pregnancy is putting me in that position. It makes me feel weak and incompetent.
On top of that, big things are coming my way in terms of work and opportunities. And the elephant in the room is my pregnancy. Because in four months, everything that I’m working on will be put on pause or handed off to someone else while I go do what I know is a frigging blessed miracle. And then, I have to sit at home for a yet-to-be-determined amount of time and adjust to this new normal that this sweet, little adorable baby is going to bring into my life.
So right now, there’s no excitement about finding out the gender or growing our family. I’m just pregnant. And it hasn’t exactly been fun and exciting this go round. So I’m just over it. And I’m okay with that.
And yes, next week, my feelings may change. And I’m okay with that too.
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