Getting There

I have about a billion saved posts that reach their climax and then bottom out.
Sometimes I feel I've simply too much to say and I'm not articulate enough to have it make any sense.

The past few weeks have been hard. I would like to call myself an extremely patient person, but the due date that looms before me seems forever out of reach. Everyone is telling me at this point that I'd better enjoy my time while I still have it, but all I want is to meet this little creature. And to have my body back (at least to some degree). I've been on an emotional roller coaster that even the most adventuresome spirits would not want to ride. I miss myself, I won't lie. Only ten more days until she's due and it feels like an eternity. I must have jinxed myself by believing I'd go early this whole time. Curses!

Pregnancy has not been what I expected. I was one of those people with a very romanticized perception of pregnancy--though never of children, I've been around enough to know what little goobers they truly are. I always saw the pregnant woman as powerful and uncommonly beautiful. I didn't consider what it must feel like to lose total control of your body. To watch those stretch marks form while your back aches and your feet disappear as this thing sucks you of all your energy, self-esteem and mental stability. I still have extreme bouts of depression when I think that I will never look the way I did before. It sounds so selfish and vain, like such a small price to pay for the joy of having a baby, but it's true and I'm having a hard time getting beyond it. It doesn't matter how many people tell me how great I look. I am stubborn enough that if I do not feel great then that's simply how it is. I do at times regard my body with a sense of wonderment. "How fucking incredible," I think (I have the mouth of a sailor), "that I can make someone." At times like these I feel bold. I say, "Screw you girl that is unmarked by the ravages of mother nature! I made a damn person, and I am going to pass her through my vagina!" and I feel a smug satisfaction. But that doesn't make me proud of my form. Not yet. Maybe one day it will.

I have decided today that I will make an effort to enjoy these last days (hopefully) of pregnancy. Truth be told, there are many joys. Being pregnant makes me feel a part of something I can't quite define (maybe just the human race in general?). As someone who has always been a bit of a black sheep no matter where they go, feeling a sense of community is truly wonderful. Not to mention the way you suddenly realise the amount of support that surrounds you. I have been truly overwhelmed by people's generosity, whether it be a box of baby clothes to the earnest offer of a shoulder to lean on, I have learned I have a lot more good people in my life than I initially thought. These are lasting experiences that have made an impact that will not disappear. There is one thing though, that does not last. Those little kicks and jabs and rolls that can be so uncomfortable? They never fail to make me smile. For weeks now she's gotten so cramped that her little foot protrudes out my right side. While it makes sleeping, sitting, and, well, moving fairly uncomfortable, I love grabbing a hold if that little paw and having her whisk it away as though she is irritated. I will miss that. I will miss having her inside me where I can protect her and know she is safe. Not to mention the fact that I actually allow myself to keep junk food in the house, (almost) guilt free. That really is a huge perk that I'm sure I'll miss. When I feel like kraft dinner for breakfast after I give birth, what will my excuse be? I suppose I'd better get it in while I can.