Monday’s 9 week ultrasound marked a big turning point mentally for me in this pregnancy. After nearly 2 weeks of putting myself through constant worrying that Bagel had somehow vanished from my uterus, or was without a heartbeat, and the 5 seconds of holy terror I had in the ultrasound stirrups as the nurse searched for Bagel, everything seemed to melt away when we found him, and I saw how much he had grown, and how strong his little heart beat is now. Suddenly, the two weeks between ultrasounds that I spent fretting that I have had virtually no nausea, diminished boob soreness, and am feeling pretty damn good, felt like a total waste of those precious weeks of pregnancy.
After sharing another celebratory bagel with cream cheese with Hubs after it all, something clicked: I can either remain terrified of this pregnancy 24/7, or I can dive in.
Every summer since Hubs and I have been together, we have gone to a place in New Hampshire called “World Fellowship” with his family. This is a place where Hubs went as a kid, and is sort of like a liberal “summer camp” for adults and families. It was founded during the 50s, and was a place that people traveled to discuss social change pre-internet. We don’t really engage in a lot of the social/political seminars they still host there, but mainly use the camp as a place to decompress and relax. One of my favorite parts of the camp is Whitton Pond–a pristine pond untouched by speed boats, tucked away down a half mile trail from the main camp. The lake has two docks that you can swim out to, and the whole place is the embodiment of peace.
Every year, I am reluctant to go to the pond, simply because I think about the intense discomfort I feel before diving in. It starts out with my toes.
Me: FUCK! It’s fucking freezing.
Hubs (already happily swimming away): No it’s not. Just dive in.
Me: I’m not going in.
Hubs: Yes you are. Quit bitching.
I inch my way up to my belly button.
Me: Hiiiiieeeeeeowww. Fuck.
And then, finally, I’ve had enough of this shit. I take a deep breath, and I dive in. And once I’m in, it’s not cold anymore–the water is actually quite warm and pleasant.
In case you don’t respond to analogies that hit you over the head like a mallet, swimming the pond is like my pregnancy. And on Monday, I realized I was tired of wincing, cursing, and freezing my ass off while Hubs was out in the middle of the lake doing the frog stroke. It’s time to dive in now and enjoy myself, whether this pregnancy lasts another week, or until next July. I want to savor my pregnancy. I told HR at work yesterday, and this weekend, I am going to buy me some pants that fit (I am currently bringing new meaning to the word muffin top).
Oh–and I’m getting a job offer. I got the job!!!!! I’m going to tell them I’m pregnant after the final offer comes in…but guess what. They can fucking deal with it.
It’s big girl panties time, party people! (literally and figuratively at this point.)