I thought before I write another post all about urine concentration numbers and blood pressure I’d take a moment to write about non-medical stuff. But first, the medical stuff. I have my “high risk” appointment at 3. I’m not sure what’s going to happen today – I asked my midwife and she said they’d just want to go over my various test results with me; but I’m prepared for a) being asked to do another 24 hour urine collection, b) an NST test, c) more blood tests, and d) being set up for all kinds of additional visits. In fact I was told I may be their patient from now on. *sigh*. Can’t they just leave me alone? I know what to look for to see if I’m in trouble. I feel perfectly fine. But I guess that’s not good enough. Only one more month of this, though. That time will fly by, it really will.
Last night I went out dancing in a rather tight t shirt (usually I wear more tent-like items) and I could see by the attention I was getting that I now look VERY pregnant. Everyone asked how I was feeling, boy or girl, when’s my due date, what’s the name, etc etc. Some people then ask if the same questions over and over annoy me. They really don’t. I’ll answer those same questions ‘til the cows come home, because I’m touched anyone even cares to ask. I also don’t mind the belly touching. I have noticed one funny phenomenon, though. I find I am inordinately pleased when people comment how good I look, how I “really haven’t gained that much”, and I find myself taking the fact that I’m still wearing my pre-pregnancy bras and underwear as some kind of badge of honor. I mean, I guess I deserve some kind of kudos for struggling so much to keep my weight in check when all I want to do is eat tray after tray of cupcakes…but it does bug me that we women (and by “we women” I mean “I”) are still so tied to our looks, and still need almost constant confirmation that we’re attractive. I know it’s kind of hard wired into us to be this way, but I wish I didn’t care. You know?
On the business front I am about to sign a three year contract with my hotel for Labor Day weekend, starting in 2013. I have mentioned this to a few friends I usually go to for advice about my event and they had nothing but positives to say about it – no conflicting events they could think of, and lots more possible improvements that will come as a result of this change. I am thrilled, personally. I think this just *might* be the little push I need to get my event out of the doldrums it’s been in the last few years because of the economy. And it couldn’t come at a better time, when I’m about to take on the expense of single motherhood! It’s going to be hard to keep it under wraps to the general public until this event is underway.
It’s crazy to think this time last year I was in India, planning my first “attempt” upon my return. I remember telling my travel companion about my plans and her enthusiastic support (she has since sent me a lovely baby blanket). I had no idea how all of this would go for me – and it sure was a wild ride for a few months there. I remember how melancholy I felt with spring coming on and things not working and that terror of it never working; I remember feeling so guilty about hiding it from people but knowing it was the right thing for me to keep it mostly private; I remember the frustration and tears; I remember being tortured by my friend’s elaborate fairy tale wedding and the months of rampaging jealousy this brought out in me (almost entirely gone now, btw). And yet it all seems like a million years ago and I can hardly relate to that person, because that person is gone. The “nothing good ever happens to me” person is no longer, because finally something good did happen – for once things did actually go my way, especially in a situation that is so out of my control. I mean, business and real estate stuff you can kind of make happen – but pregnancy? Relationships? Absolutely not, as anyone who reads this knows. Yet for some reason the fertility gods decided to smile on me, and for this I am eternally grateful.
And then in just a few more weeks there will be a little person here. I’ll wake up and there he’ll be – either screaming for breakfast or making little baby noises wanting some attention. And then he’ll be nursed and changed, and then put in his little outfit for the day, and then put in his bouncy chair while I do the dishes or feed the chickens or answer e-mails. And that will be our life. I will get to know his language and learn his burgeoning personality. I’ll look at his face and hands and feet and wonder how much of him is me, my mother, my father, grandparents, aunts and uncles, and how much is the donor. I’ll wonder what he’ll look like as a boy, a teenager, a man. I’ll wonder how much of the values I raise him with will stick and how much he’ll set his own standard, what obsessions he’ll take on, what music he’ll like, what kind of girlfriends he’ll have.
And maybe one day he’ll have a little brother or sister, and maybe he won’t. Either way he’ll be fine, because he has such an amazing network of little dance babies who will be built in siblings, and a blood family who already loves him even though he’s not here yet.
Great post! What a great outlook!
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