So, things have been a little quiet on the home front lately, as my seventy hundred avid readers may have noticed. Why the shy, you ask? Well, it's hard to write about anything at all when the one thing that is consuming your every thought is the one thing you can't write about. Yet. I'm a terrible liar, you see. (It's one of Kurt's favorite qualities in me) And I'm no good with secrets. Recently faced with a secret that I am unable to lie about, I've just sort of, you know... retreated.
But here I am, words on a page. Ready to write? No. But here we go anyway. Ready?
If you need to take a minute and go, "What the FUCK?", feel free. I've needed several minutes (hours, days, weeks) of that myself. We didn't plan this. Anyone who knows me (for that matter, anyone who's stood somewhere in the same room while I'm on the topic) knows I didn't want any more children. We were done, finito, end of story. Full stop.
Or not, apparently.
As the nurse at the doctor's office told me, "These things happen, hon." Yeah. They should tell people that when they hand out the Pill prescriptions. "Here's your birth control, nearly 100% effective, but just remember... these things happen."
We had our first ultrasound on Monday. There on the screen popped up this little THING. It was wriggling. And right in the middle of it was a rapid flashing, like a crystal spinning in bright light. The heart. The tiny, squirmy bean had a heart and it was beating inside of ME. Doesn't get much more real than that.
We're having a baby. A third baby. Mother of three. "How many kids do you have?", they'll ask at the salon, at the dentist, at the check-out stand and I'll say, "Three".
And it's a good thing. Of course it is. Pregnancy isn't really my favorite thing in the world, but it'll be fun (maybe fun isn't the right word) to have another chance at labor and birth. That's the ultimate experience, the definitive experience, of being a woman.
And, of course, there's the baby. The little bean with the flashing heart. So invisible now, (except for my exhaustion and constant sensation of nearly gagging), that little itty bitty blob will do an amazing trick in the next 7 months and turn into a person. Crazy how that happens.
But it's a bad thing, too, and I'm not going to sugar-coat it and pretend it's all hunky-dory. There's a reason I didn't want any more kids and it has very little to do with my waistline. After Silvia things were bad. BAD. So bad that there are big chunks of her first years that I don't even remember. It was scary and hard and destructive and all kinds of other creepy words and we, as a family, decided not to risk that again. Two kids, two beautiful and healthy girls, were great. We were complete. Life, once sanity returned, was GOOD.
Now it's all re-defined. Yes, we are prepared this time if I start to have problems again. We know what to look for, we have a great doctor and support system. It won't be the torturous trial and error it was last time. But even the prospect of feeling that way, that hate and hopelessness, again... it's terrifying to me.
There are other things, too. My future, the career I've been slowly paving the road for, is now set farther out of my reach as I start all over again from the beginning. My girls will be big sisters. Silvia will be the dreaded MIDDLE CHILD (oh the horror). Kurt and I will never sleep. My boobs will get ginormous again. My stomach will stretch out even more. All my friends with school age children will be off doing their kids-are-at-school-so-now-I-have-a-life stuff and I will be trapped at home with a newborn's nap schedule. Three little bodies crawling on me, needing me, demanding me completely-- and there's only one me. MINIVAN.
All that, and every other trivial thought to cross my mind, doesn't silence the part of me, though, that says, "Wow. A baby. How cool!". It's exciting. And horrific. And beautiful. And shocking.
There has been crying. Oh my, yes. But we've had a lot of laughter, too. Sometimes the unthinkable, when it's staring you right in the face, is just plain hilarious.
Once I have to resort to stretchy pants I will start to really dig into the OHMYGODCANIDOTHIS?! part of the puzzle. For now, I mostly find the immediate physical reality fairly distracting, so I'll just burp like a truck driver, steal a nap during Sesame Street and save the rest for later as much as I can.