Last year around my birthday I remember feeling very scared. I was in a relationship with someone I had some serious feelings for and I was slowly getting the notion that he didn’t feel the same. I felt fearful as all too often I had wound up in that pit of unrequited love and although time and time again I have gotten myself out, I wasn’t particularly keen on having to endure that sadness once more. It was then that I made a vow to be braver. I self actualized daily, “I am 27 and I am brave.” It was a mantra I held tightly to, like an anchor amidst a tumultuous sea. Little did I know then how much courage I was going to really need this year, especially on my birthday.
My birthday was yesterday. In all honesty the day felt pretty normal. I slept in, ran some errands, hung out with my mom, took a nap, but what made it special was my sweetheart who went the trouble of planning me a surprise dinner with my family and loved ones. I had never been surprised on my birthday before so it was a real treat and it made me love him that much more.
As my special day came to a close and the night settled down, I drove home in a quiet car, the soft hums of Christmas music on the radio and a realization hit me and I felt an overwhelming sensation of terror. December 15th, my birthday, was the one month mark for our estimated D-Day… delivery day.
Four more weeks, one single month left, and my whole world and life as I know it is going to change. “Enjoy your sleep now while you can, you won’t get a whole lot of that soon!”
“It could take a year for your body to bounce back.”
“Gym? You won’t have time for the gym! You won’t ever have time to yourself again!”
“Wow, you’re almost there, aren’t you excited?”
Excited.. yeah… I’m really excited, since all of you have made it sound so fun and exciting. I am down right terrified. I see women all around me having babies. Progress pictures, status updates, names names and more baby names, is it a boy, is it a girl, you’re making it so hard to shop for your baby, are you sick, how do you feel, babies babies babies babies! I see the delight and the excitement in every sentiment shared, every picture posted, and every status update. I jump in and do the same even though it feels like I’m only pretending to be as excited as all these other women seem so genuinely to be.
Sometimes I feel like something is wrong with me for being as scared as I am. I get the impression its taboo to talk about it, that lingering fear. On some level it is uncouth to admit that I have no idea what I’m doing and that I’m anxious of all the changes. I feel like I’m in high school and I can’t imagine why any hospital full of professionals would let me leave with a tiny little life that is so fragile. I’m afraid of how different my life is going to be. I already hate how much my body has changed and the ominous tones of, “you’ll never get it back,” shared from those around me has done little to ease any concerns.
I am not in high school. I am not taking home a plastic doll for the weekend that cries in the wee hours, and is subsequently turned in for a grade on Monday morning. No, this is the real deal. This is parenthood. Some have given words of encouragement while others take on the roll of preparing me for “reality.” Either way, I just feel scared.
I have this sneaking suspicion that other women encounter this gut wrenching uneasiness. In fact, I would go so far as to say that the women around me that have me convinced they’ve got it all down pack, are in fact, just as fearful as I am.
I found solace in a friend I went to college with, she and I got pregnant right around the same time. She admitted that she was fearful which had in turn made her feel guilty because getting pregnant wasn’t an easy road for her. It was as though her struggles to get pregnant meant she had to be nothing but grateful and excited all the time.
I know my beloved is terrified. When I see his face I know it, because he and I are both wearing the exact same panicked expression when the realization hits us. He is scared too, he may even be more scared than I am. At least I have the fanciful maternal instincts to fall back on. The ones that everyone has assured me will kick in even though I’m afraid I’ll be a part of a tiny percent where that doesn’t happen. We were at the movies recently and we saw a preview for a movie coming in March that we both delighted in going to see, that was until I mentioned, “by then we’ll have to get a baby sitter…”
“Because by then, we’ll have a baby…”
And what ever distraction the movie was meant to provide was gone and we were panicked once more.
I had been thinking all week what leading up to my birthday what my mantra for 28 would be. I think it’s only fitting. I am 28 and I’m not alone. Fear is a lot like sadness, because it has a way of isolating you and tricking you into believing that you are alone in what you feel, that no one else before you or after you will ever feel this way. But I am not alone. I am not the only person who has ever been afraid to become a parent or bring a baby home or learn as I go with raising this tiny human.
Beyond the belief I am not alone in my apprehensions, I know that I am not alone in this whole learning process. I have Tycen. Thank God for him. We are in this together through and through. We are going to figure this parenting thing out together. I have my family to fall back on and his family as well. Our support system is truly a beautiful thing and brings so much truth to the saying, “it take a village.” I have wonderful friends that have given me wonderful advice and a great network to lean on. I am not the first person to have ever had a baby, nor will I be the last. Some day my baby will be having a baby and will be confiding in me all their concerns and worries, and I will be able to provide them the very same powerful sentiment, “you are not alone.”
