Sunday, September 30, 2012

The Kicker

Feeling a baby kick inside of me is so weird. I appreciate the assurance that my fetus is alive and well, but... dude. Something, a human entity I've not met yet, is poking me from inside my body.

I have a real love of children. I want a family. I enjoy being female. And the most feminine of womanly things you can do (use your uterus to make life) ain't coming naturally. I mean, it is. It's all working without my input or continuing participation. I don't will my pregnancy to fruition each day. It sorta handles itself. But whereas some women rejoice in every kick and flutter, I'm like, "Huh? The heck? Oh. Right."

Thoughts of the future are pretty much taking over my thoughts these days. I'm trying to mentally prepare myself for an infant, attempting to visualize how I'll manage, the way I'll spend my days. For awhile babies poop every time they nurse. And they nurse every two to three hours. Think of that. Think of the poop.

I wonder sometimes at the ability to bond with a fetus. I want to be pregnant, I'm pleased about it, but other women go gung ho and are over the moon about their unborn. I'm not. I know nothing about him or her. I don't think I'm capable of real love without interaction. I'm 17 weeks along in two days. That's not even halfway there. It's mind-boggling for me to consider.

I'm thinking of what it will be like to see my baby for the first time, to see a first smile and hear a first word and listen to baby giggles. Those thoughts soothe me when I think of the poop.

Something that's getting me is the hormonal sobbing fits. I've been crying over things like my mother, or even Smokey. And then for good measure, I get weepy over old episodes of the Gilmore Girls or especially sentimental commercials. I'm not irritable at all. Just overly emotional about memories, people, feelings and ideas. Basically life.

I wish I wasn't doing this alone. Women are getting pregnant and giving birth all around me, except in my actual life. I could use a friend at the same stage of life, someone to whom this isn't foreign or far behind them. Maybe at prenatal class I'll meet someone I connect with.


  1. You know, not all babies poop. I mean, they do, but not as often as you think they do. Breastfed babies (aka mine) can poop as little as once every 24 hours.

    And I TOTALLY get what you're saying re: pregnancy, both in this post and the last. I felt the exact same way. His nickname was actually asshole. I was not a glowy gushy preggo.

  2. That's reassuring about the poop. Something to hope for ;)
    Also a comfort to know I'm not alone in not being in love with pregnancy.