All is well, all is well, all is scarily well

Perhaps I’m the only person who thinks this way, but when things are going really well, I worry. When will it end? When will something bad happen? When will I lose my shit (sometimes unrelated to anything bad happening)?

My pregnancy is going really well, knockonwood. While I’m uncomfortable, sure, I’m not in any real pain or significant distress. No cramps, I’m not getting up at night to pee more than once, and I don’t really have much swelling going on. The baby is strong and active (oh, SO active) and learning new tricks every day.

For example, he’s suddenly achieved the ability to stick some unknown body part up under my ribs. Good job, baby boy!  He’s currently head down (bum into ribcage) and moving like a champ. All the time. Constantly. It would be awesome if he’d take a little break sometimes, like during Twister, but hey, I’m not going to complain about an active baby.

We have a list of baby-related decisions still undecided, but we’ll get to them. (Or not.) The nursery still looks like a storage room, the closet in there is still a temporary armament storage for a former roommate, and the kitchen still hasn’t been touched, but hey, all functional. Mostly.

I’m finding myself all goo-goo eyed at my husband lately. “Hey, you look hot!” I remarked today. “Um, why?” he responded, somewhat nervously.  I think he’ll be a great dad; many of the quirks that drive me bonkers as his wife, in fact, are just the thing a kid wants in a dad, like a willingness to try something without planning head and a propensity for “wheeeee!” slightly dangerous kinds of activities.

He’ll be a great dad.

And I’m oddly zen about being someone’s mom. I have a really good mom and have had really good experiences in my past that lead me to believe I’ll be a good, natural, confident mom.  Someday, anyway. Parenting an infant is rough, I know, but overall, I think I’ll be fine.

When I first started dating my husband, life was really, really good. So good, in fact, that I harassed my girlfriends to help me figure out what was wrong. What was I missing? How could dating someone be this good?

What I was missing was my own angst, I realized, once I found it and quickly retreated to the messiness that I was used to.

But now? Let’s hope I don’t find that misplaced angst any time soon; I’m not missing it this time around.


I got an email from my friends at the BlogHer ad network that once my son is born*, they’ll be recategorizing my blog into the mommy blog section. I’m strangely uncomfortable about this. A mommy blog? Mommy blogs are where women way cooler/ bigger/ more together hang out. I was pretty happy in this “relationship” fish bowl; the mommy blog pond seems much, much bigger.

Serendipitously, Havi posted today about identity.

Identity is funny.

Yes. Yes it is.

Just thinking about everything that comes together to create a sense of self…

The mind-boggling collection of internal rules about who gets to self-define as what. And why you don’t get to be a whatever-it-is.

The way we silently agree to be put into one box or another.

Yup, identity is funny. I’m a mommy blogger, I suppose, because I’m a mommy and I blog. At the same time, I’m not a Mommy Blogger if I don’t want to be.  I can be and not be the same thing at once just by choosing.



*In HippieBirthing class this week, we were reminded of the power in the words we use. Driving home, I had to consider how distancing the words I use to talk about this kid o’ mine are. First, we called him “the monster,” then “our little parasite,” then “this kid,” then “the kiddo,” and now? “This kid o’ mine.”  I still struggle with “my baby” or anything at all mushy or cutesy. I know it’ll change once we get to meet him so I’m not worried, but it is an interesting thing to ponder.  Once I know him, he’ll be mine, but until then? I’m still a little disconnected from who he is to me, if that makes any sense. I mention this because “once my son is born” was a strange phrase to write.

That said, of course it’s hard for me to know how I’ll interact with someone I haven’t yet met. I was never one to dream of my future husband or future life or future job, but I’ve imagined what it would be like to live in every place I’ve ever visited, could picture a future with a specific person (good or bad) pretty quickly, and don’t have any problems seeing where my job is going.

I dream practically.

Now, if that’s not something to know about yourself….

My relationship with my son will really begin once I meet him.  In the meantime, I will lovingly incubate him and appreciate each of his new tricks.


3 thoughts on “All is well, all is well, all is scarily well

  1. I too tend to fall into the “things are good, when will the bottom fall out???” category. Maybe it is the realist in us? Always thinking and planning ahead and never getting too comfortable?

  2. Wow, you just summed up what I’ve been thinking about a ton lately but not quite knowing how to say. The whole…I don’t really know this person in me yet but I will, and the disconnection from who he is to you – 100% makes sense though one wouldn’t think so with the baby literally being a part of you at the moment. It’s such a strange thing that’s hard to explain but I totally get you. I described it a while back as knowing that your soulmate is on the other side of a door but you don’t get to actually meet him/her for a while even though you know he/she is there and you can talk to them and you know you will love them with all of your heart. Pregnancy is just such a strange in-limbo place to be…mommy but not yet mommy.

  3. I had the same deal with my kiddo before she was born, I think referring to her as The Baby. She’s 9 months now and obviously I claim her as mine and all that jazz, but the transition to thinking of myself as A Mom has been… less straight-forward, I guess? I’ll be interested to see how you find that transition.

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