I was catching up with a colleague recently, a woman who I don’t get to spend enough time with, but fortunately she’s that kind of friendly person you can get right back in sync with no matter how much time has passed. She asked how the pregnancy was going, and I launched into my usual response that it was going better than I expected, that I felt lucky, really, to have not experienced some of the more traumatic symptoms Hollywood likes to hyperbolize in romantic comedies and cheesy sitcoms.
After a few moments of this I confessed that there had, in fact, been some difficult moments. Lately I had had a few episodes of breaking down in tears over silly things. She nodded calmly, knowingly. She’s a mom, she’s been down this road before. She assured me that it was within the realm of normal, and propped up my fragile confidence by reminding me of all the activity that was taking place within my body. Her words were simple, but within those words was the soothing implication that, with all that goes into creating another human being–while still being expected to function in life at your normal capacity—who could blame someone for the occasional emotional breakdown?
She asked if I had blogged about this very topic. Well, no, I hadn’t. But isn’t this exactly the thing us women bloggers like to talk about? FEELINGS? Aren’t we here for this supportive sense of community, to collectively utter virtual ‘mmm-hmmm’s with each other over the tough times, and high five each other over the best?
Well, sure. But when I thought about it, I realized that I had been having a hard time admitting even to myself that I am not perfect. That at times pregnancy has kicked my ass as much as the next girl. These days I can’t set my alarm for 6 a.m. to dutifully log a brisk four mile jog before work. I can barely muster the energy to hit the snooze bar at 7. There are moments my brain won’t clear long enough to process a complex concept that ordinarily I would conquer with ease. And in these moments I blame myself for blaming pregnancy. Accuse myself of wanting an ‘out.’ I have always been strong. I’m afraid to be weak.
Maybe there’s something to this slow unraveling of humility. Maybe it’s all preparation for motherhood. I’m going to make plenty of mistakes. I have no doubt that I’ll be great, but I have a sneaking suspicion that this little person will kick my ass and show me just how human I am before I know what’s hit me. This phase right here? This is warm-ups.
Tags: I'm going to be a mom?!
