My poor wife. I have never been a great partner when PMS comes around. I have mentioned here before that I become a PMS monster with moods nearly impossible to understand or predict. Well, it seems that early pregnancy has turned me into a new kind of monster. I seem to cry at nearly everything. J might say the word “oatmeal” with the wrong intonation, and I will burst into tears. After just a few days of this, it’s already exhausting. I’ve even stomped my foot and stormed out of the room on a couple of occasions. It seems that I have become an adolescent again.
I have also been a bundle of anxiety. As soon as evening hits, I’m especially anxious. I can’t sleep past 6am. Instead, I just lie there worrying. This has been upsetting to J, and I can understand why. She is over the moon that after all this time, I’m finally pregnant–and I really am too–but she wants to express that, and she finds it particularly difficult to do so when I walk around with a furrowed brow all the time. This morning, she essentially told me to shape up. I cried, of course, but I also completely agreed. It’s time for me to cut the negativity and enjoy the moment. Being worried about something that could go wrong will not help me in any way, and it certainly doesn’t help my marriage.
I guess I have just had a tough time, after a year and a half of the let-downs of TTC, believing that I really can be pregnant. I have been hesitant to commit to it, continuously assuming it could all be over in a split second. Of course, it could. But I’m accepting that the statistics are on my side now. During TTC, the numbers all work against us, so it’s hard to shift to this notion that more pregnancies end in real, healthy, take-home babies than do not. This is finally starting to sink into my stubborn, worry-prone skull.
So I have done a couple of things to commit to this pregnancy: I have subscribed to a pregnancy-related magazine, and I bought my first grown-up pregnancy book. I have shelved Stephanie Brill. I won’t be reading her anymore with her entire damn chapter on “early pregnancy and miscarriage,” which really just talks about all the things that can and will likely go wrong. I don’t need that shit. I need information, science, and even experience to guide me, and I need a little optimism for a change. I may even put up a ticker sometime soon. It seems our current estimated due date is J’s mom’s birthday: Sept. 10. Our first doctor’s appointment is on the 16th of this month in a clinic that has both OBs and midwives. I’m eager for that date to come along.
For now, I’m going to enjoy the moment. For this moment, I am pregnant, and I’m going to do my damnedest to savor everything that comes along with this state of being we have sought for so long–everything from the throbbing fireballs formerly known as my breasts to the frequent bathroom trips to the long naps (while covered in cats) I seem to be needing in the afternoon. This is a strangely beautiful time, and I don’t want to look back on it a year from now to remember only fear and tears.