Today, I am 22 weeks pregnant. I had to look that up. When I was pregnant with Elsie, I knew how far along I was to the day, every day. I read development books and online blurbs fanatically. I counted the hours until my OB appointments. Now, I just don't care what week it is or whether or not baby Trouble can hear my voice echoing through the amnion. I'd happily skip half my midwife appointments if I didn't find Connie so grounding and lovable.
I'm more than half way there, and only now am I beginning to let myself believe that I could hold a baby in my arms this July. Mastery of detachment is one facet of miscarriage's mean emotional scarring.
As my icy denial thaws, all sorts of awareness creeps in to take its place. This week, awareness manifests as anxiety. I was (and am) so sure that I want multiple children, I never dwelt on what it meant giving up. I'm dwelling now! A new baby means giving up sleep for a few months -- a class of deprivation I find torturous. A new baby means many months of less quality time for me to spend with Hub, and less solo time for Hub to do his hobbies, too. This particular time pressure post-Elsie was the hardest challenge that we have faced in our marriage thus far, and it is about to happen again. A new baby means that I won't have the precious time I enjoy with Elsie every day. I remember how resentful I was of anyone who put demands on my energy when Elsie was a newborn. I worry I'll turn into that monster again, and some of my resentment and frustration will be focused squarely on my wonderful little girl. Postpartum life means pain. Breastfeeding problems, physical recovery from birth, and sex feeling like a knife in my pelvis for, oh, how long was it? Eight months.
All this will happen. I will be sleep deprived. Hub and I will struggle to find time for each other and time for ourselves, and to stay sane without these staples. Elsie's world will be rocked, and I will probably be running on a very short fuse with her. There will be pain. Sex is going to suck and probably simply not happen for a very long time. It's not irrational worry. It's guaranteed. Having a baby is hard stuff. Today the worry is winning out over the lovey-dovey babies are WONDERFUL feelings.
***
I've been spending a lot more time with Elsie lately. That is, I've been getting more energy, feeling less nausea (finally!) and being more present with my daughter when we spend our days together.
She is a full-blown two-year-old. She says "NO!" to everything, refuses any food I try to feed her (though still accepts it from other people), gets upset at all transitions, no matter what they are, and went on a complete potty strike even though she's perfectly capable of being diaper-free during the daytime. It's exhausting, at times. On the other hand, she's so verbal and funny. She's mighty good company. When I pick her up from her one remaining day of daycare, she tells me about her day. She tells me all about her day!!! What kids were there, what toys she played with, what she had for lunch... it's so cool.
Yesterday, breakfast somehow morphed into studio time. I pulled out a new set of paints and her big pad of paper, and we went to town. It was messy, took ages, and we were late to our morning activity, but it was completely worth it. When we finished, I strung a wire up across our living room and hung our art by clothespegs for all to admire. I want to soak up every second of this. There is something special about the first child. It must be the same thing that's special about the only child. It's an undiluted, undistracted relationship.
***
Tonight, when hub walked in the door, he grinned like a school boy and said,
"I got so excited about the baby today. She's going to be a whole different person with a whole different personality! Our family is going to be so cool."
Then he hurried me to the computer to pull out our old spreadsheet of baby names and we brainstormed for an hour. How did he know what I needed? Excitement and optimism are contagious.
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