I've decided to take the position at the second non-profit (I know anonymity is getting hard to understand here, but bear with me). I signed the paperwork and faxed everything back. I even went on line and "officially" accepted the assignment after they had "officially" accepted me. It's so nice to be wanted. I feel...accepted. Crazy, I know. But you have to think about what my life would be like if I didn't have a job. Being a stay at home mom (SAHM) is one thing, but being a stay at home pregnant woman (SAHPM) = a woman with too much time on her hands. Even women on bed rest have said that they eventually go completely insane and want to kill their husbands/partners. Can you imagine the kind of harassing phone calls that the FOB would get if I didn't work? Or, even worse, can you imagine how much of my day I would spend trying to not call the FOB? It boggles my mind.
I broke down today after reading this woman's baby journal. If you've never known a pregnant woman, or if you aren't pregnant yourself, you might not understand. You might think that I'm crazy and you might be right. I feel guilty because I can't imagine wrapping my imiginary arms around my unborn baby. I feel like the women I read about love their babies more. My baby is still unknown to me. I don't know what he likes me to eat (except that I know pesto makes me want to vomit. This may or may not be baby related), what position he likes me to sleep in, or what music calms him. I sometimes put my hands on my belly, spreading my fingers wide, and shake; just to see what happens. Nothing ever happens. I tried to move my belly to the beat of rap songs, to see if he likes them, but I don't get anything. At 23 weeks, my child is essentially an idea: a physical reality only manifested by my huge belly and swollen breasts.
While sitting in front of my computer screen crying, I called the FOB, but he fortunately had gone to work. It was probably for the best that we didn't talk. He wouldn't have understood.