04.02.05
As I write this entry, I am not yet a mother. It’s still just me and the cat sitting here in my living room. I don’t have a nagging voice in the back of my head wondering what the baby is doing, I am not listening for any cries or coos, I haven’t changed a single diaper. I have had plenty of sleep (true, we’re talking 9-month pregnant sleep, which doesn’t really count, but…). I don’t have anyone to worry about but me. Oh, and I suppose my husband, but he doesn’t require much more than what food, 15 minutes of sex, and ESPN can’t provide.
In a few days, the experience of life as I know it is going to change. I feel like I am standing on the edge of a precipice, about to take a flying leap into the unknown. Sometimes I’m scared. Sometimes I am excited. But mostly, at this point, the wait is killing me. I am ready. I want to jump and get it over with.
I think one of the things that I am most worried about (other than the health of the baby, which is number one) is finding within me the unending patience and unselfishness that I know I am going to need to do this whole motherhood thing. See, I am not the most patient person in the world. I’m a product of a fast-food, cell-phone, instant-gratification generation. Thanks to the internet, I don’t even wait for information anymore. Commercials? Can’t be bothered--someone get me a Tivo. And as God is my witness, I will never wait for dial-up again. So when I try to picture myself calmly explaining to a three-year-old why he mustn’t make that inhuman screeching noise in public for the ten millionth time without getting the desired response, I wonder where this superhuman patience is going to come from.
And then there’s the selfishness. See, unlike my grandmother--and even my mother to some extent--I was not raised with the understanding that motherhood was the only option for my life. I wasn’t necessarily groomed by society to make the well being of other people my main priority. After all, you can’t make other people happy if you’re not happy yourself, right? Isn't that what they tell you? Not to mention the fact that I was single well into my late twenties (and even that was young by today’s standards). My husband does his own laundry. If I don’t want to cook, I don’t. Unlike my mother or grandmother, I had plenty of time to make my own money, buy my own things, and form my own identity. I was told that I can be anything and do anything I wanted and if being a mother was part of that package, then by all means, you can work that in. But I have a feeling that, perhaps, at times, being a mother is going to be a bit…shall we say, inconvenient…to maintaining my current lifestyle. (You know, the lifestyle of impromptu shopping for clothes and CDs, uninterrupted “downtime,” and not to mention, marathon web surfing.)
So I stand here with a bit of trepidation as I realize that motherhood will require me to stretch myself beyond the person that I am today. Will it come with some discomfort? Probably. Will it be worth it? I have a feeling that the answer is most definitely yes. But I’m not planning on being perfect. Life is messy, and having a baby is perhaps the ultimate analogy for life. I’m not ready…but I think that this is something that, if you waited until you were “ready” for, you’d never do it. I’m willing, I’m committed, and I want this more than anything else. So while that might not constitute “ready,” I think it meets the criteria for “ready or not.”
Update: Been having contractions for the past day or so. (Damn, those things have started to HURT!) I’ll be updating my progress over at the new Baby Blog.