Friday, March 18, 2005


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.


Pammy said...

Up to a point, there's no right or wrong way to feel about your Peanut. You don't have to know that he breaks it down to rap music, or what kind of food makes him roll over, or whether he likes light or dark. Those are the external and fairly irrelevant trappings of the bond that you have with this baby, that no one can ignore: you're his mother. You are pregnant, you're taking good care of yourself and your baby, and you will love him the only way you know how. It's not better or worse than any other mother's love!

Anonymous said...

You're right. Sometimes I just get down on myself because I'm convinced that I'm doing something wrong (like continuing to sleep on my stomach or bending over too frequently. Don't even get me started about my lack of green vegetables or my love of chocolate chip cookies). I bought the lullabies this weekend to help me bond with him. Unfortunately, the same genetic coding that makes him respond to lullabies also works for hormonal women, although instead of sleeping I want to lay down and sob when I hear the words, "Hush, little baby. I will be here when you awake."

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