Killing Time Before Dawn
I’m awake at 4AM because of a bloody nose. I thought that since getting pregnant, my nights of having to accidentally clean up blood spots (the monthly kind, not the homicidal killer kind) would be on a temporary hiatus, but it looks like Los Angeles’ dry weather has decided otherwise.
Benefits of being up right now:
1. It’s nice to write in pre-dawn silence knowing that the phone won’t ring and you don’t have to rush anywhere soon.
2. Discovering that a neighbor, somewhere, has a rooster. So at least you’re not the only one awake.
3. Ok, there’s no number three. I’m really quite sleepy, but the wet spot is in an inconvenient place and I don’t want to turn on the hair dryer and wake up T. I could sleep in another room but that just seems odd, doesn’t it?
I am trying to imagine myself even more tired than this, with a baby latched to my breast, staring at it and worrying about its present and future. The worrying is the most frightening aspect of parenthood for me. I try very hard to live without stress and while I’ve had my irrational moments, I’ve been fairly successful up until now in either being selfish (like I was in my college days) or leaving it up to God (a MUCH better and peaceful way to live). I’ve always tried my best to live without regrets, to accept the bad with the good, and to simply trust that, somehow, it does all work out, even if it’s not until after we’re dead. But it’s easy to do that when you’re primarily concerned with yourself. Not so easy when it involves other people, and especially when it’s your own child.
I am beginning to feel the edges of worry already for this creature inside of me. It frankly freaks the hell out of me. This concept of loving someone THAT much? On the one hand, I want to experience it, because I think it would help me understand (or at least tolerate more) my mom’s sometime (more often lately) insanity. On the other hand, sh*t.
T already loves this baby as if it’s already out and crawling around. He stares at and touches my belly and talks to the baby in such a tender and achingly sweet way that doesn’t really surprise me (you should see him with our teddy bears… shhhh… secret…) but still, well, surprises me. His affection I anticipated. He’s shown me no less in our decade-long relationship. But there’s a love for this baby that just leaks out of him. It’s like how they say the pregnant mom is glowing. Well, in our case, it’s the hubby.
I’m not at that stage yet. I’m just trying to stave off any morose thoughts about death and pain and helplessness. You know, trying to keep it light…
Yesterday, T rubbed my belly and said, with such innocence and longing, “I want to feel the baby move too.” Keep in mind that I’m not sure I actually felt the baby yet. I still think it might have been some gas, since it’s not consistent and frankly, I have no idea what I’m supposed to be feeling. All it was was a series of light rhythmic jabs on the lower left side of my abdomen a couple of days ago, but nothing since then. So I still attribute it to gas. But he seems convinced that it was actually the baby because his gas has never jabbed at him from the inside… who knows… His desire to experience as much as he can out of this pregnancy is pretty endearing though. I wonder, if he could, if he would switch places with me. I certainly wouldn’t mind.
I wonder if the spot’s dry enough to sleep on yet…
