expecting mother's day, expectant mother's day

to me it was just mother’s day.

after a year of trying i was finally pregnant again and had safely reached my second trimester. it was an incredible milestone that marked twelve weeks without miscarrying and a significant decrease in risk of pregnancy loss.

i wasn’t technically a mother yet, but i sure felt like one.

as any good new yorker would, i wanted to celebrate the occasion over brunch. i remember thinking that it’d be easy to get into lilia, one of my favorite restaurants in williamsburg, as a pregnant lady. i’d just stick out my belly and we’d be summoned to the front of the line, no problem.

as we walked up to the restaurant i quickly realized that i was one of the least pregnant gals there. there were moms with humongous bellies and moms with three kids. moms with their moms and moms without partners. there were all types of families, expectant ones and those fully formed, all waiting to celebrate their matriarchs over pasta and wine.

at this point in my pregnancy my nausea had subsided, but my energy never came back. i still hate every pregnancy app for promising me that my second trimester would be a breeze, it was not. but i was freshly laid off, back in the city and ready to strut my belly all over town. the problem was that my tummy had barely swelled. i wasn’t glowing, i looked like bart simpson. the beer gut baby phase seemed like it would never end. the same way you might subconsciously suck in your tummy when you’re around other people, i was pushing that thing out like you wouldn’t believe.

yes i would like your seat on the subway and please do smile at me with kindness and understanding when you notice how profusely i’m sweating. i’m making a baby in here, thank you very much.

as much as i hated being pregnant, i loved the liminal space before becoming a mom. i spent whole days dreaming about my life with my newborn. i wrote in a journal to who i thought was my baby girl growing inside of my belly. i scream-sang with them in the car when we were still living in massachusetts and i was lonely as hell. there was nobody was around for miles anyway, it’s not like i was bothering anyone. my baby knew all of me and i, all of them.

i was excited to meet them, but not in a rush for them to arrive, not until i reached full term.

full term.

i never trusted that we’d make it that far, i couldn’t, after miscarrying. there was a protective part of me that couldn’t believe there’d be a day when i got to meet this baby, not until i heard those two words from the midwives. when they confirmed we’d arrived it was as if i’d been released from a spell, the dark cloud i’d been carrying over us dispersed into the atmosphere and i finally exhaled.

my baby and i were safe, i could give birth any day now.

any day now.

i went home and began nesting like crazy. i tore through every closet and cabinet in our home, labeled and organized everything. it was the only time in thirty eight and a half weeks when i had energy. a few days later my baby arrived. my sweet, early child. he did me a real solid putting me out of my misery before forty weeks.

birth was a bitch, but i loved that too?

pregnancy felt like one long terrible flight. one where you keep checking the time to see if you’re any closer to your destination, only to realize that you were asleep for less than ten minutes. one without air conditioning or proper leg room. the food was awful, yet somehow i couldn’t stop packing on the pounds. the in-flight entertainment was out of order. you get the idea. pregnancy was one of those truly miserable, endless flights that you know will be worth it once you get there.

i just knew that it was going to be magical when i arrived.

sometimes i wanted a break though, a little relief. but that’s not how pregnancy or flights work. you are in it until you land, and even then you need to sit tight until you’re allowed to unbuckle your seatbelt.

i wish i could forget how much i hated being pregnant, but i don’t at all.

there were times that were lovely, of course. memories i have of running into the ocean on a morning beach walk with my dog, dan running down the length of the sand to join us, my belly protruding large enough to see on film. moving back to the city and going out to dinner with our whole family: my parents, my sister, and dan. looking around the table with my hand on my belly feeling pride that these were the people who lived in my baby’s backyard, these were the people who would raise him.

when i wasn’t in pain, feeling hideous, or sweating in places i didn’t know i could sweat, i was savoring every moment. part of me didn’t want it to end.

after miscarrying with my first pregnancy, i deeply and devastatingly knew how little was under my control. there was a heaviness and a clarity in understanding that as soon as my baby arrived, i would have even less.

i loved how close the two of us were when he was in utero. i loved our own secret world. i loved sharing all of me with all of him. i was in no rush.

NOW

i wish i could go back and tell myself that we’ll still have our own little world, and it’s even better now that he’s a toddler.

— i don’t know what it is, maybe all of those years of nannying and a lifetime of being a big sister. perhaps it’s raising a puppy before having a human child. but life really did prepare you for this.

you are shockingly calm, surprisingly steady. i just need you to need to chill out about making mom friends, they will come. focus on the childfree ones right in front of you, the rest will fall into place.

you will graduate from communicating in one way with your baby, sharing a language and one body without words, and you will learn another. it will take time to properly understand each other as two separate entities.

there will be loss in this for you.

you’ll wonder why the connection isn’t a one-to-one conversion, why the groundwork can feel meaningless when your newborn is blank-staring back at you. please trust that it’s there. all of the work and intention you put into pregnancy, as much as you complained, you were truly present with yourself and your baby. he will feel that. —

the truth is, i felt a bit alien in the newborn phase, unsure of why my son wouldn’t make eye contact with his mother — the disrespect! ha. i loved the snuggles, but spent so much of our days in silence. dan was working out of the kitchen since our baby commandeered his office and i found myself sneaking around my own home.

i’d tip-toe into the kitchen to fix myself something to eat, trying not to clank utensils or run the water while his mic was on. i’d shove a homemade energy ball into my mouth while i spooned one of the protein-heavy salads dan had prepared for me at the top of the week into a bowl. i’d smuggle my bounty into the bedroom to feast while at the end of our kitchen island, dan held meetings all day.

i’d try to time my walks with our baby to be as least intrusive as possible, but everything was interfering with everyone. a newborn is not meant to exist in an office, but we did it for six very long months.

it was winter, but i was rarely in more than postpartum underwear and a nursing bra. the process of getting myself and my newborn dressed with all of our clothes, layers and shoes was generally far beyond what i wanted to do. i would try to put on all of our gear in my bedroom and then sneak out the front door, baby on my chest, trying not to trip over our big dog while gently nudging him out of the doorway so he didn’t escape on our way out.

most days i just didn’t leave the house, it was easier that way.

IT TAKES TIME

eventually the systems become systematized.

some are painfully slow, others are constantly in flux. we’re two and a half years in and i am in another period of being intensely anal about our house. the clutter was becoming too much. feeling constantly overstimulated by the things in my environment was too much.

so we’re resetting the house everyday, throughout the day. laundry, everyday. trash, everyday. put things back where they come from as soon as you use them, throughout the day. counters sprayed and wiped down. jackets and shoes in the coat closet. i set the same expectation for my son when he plays and eats. somebody told me these habits are easier to start young so i’m taking that to heart and making it a game for him.

it’s a lot, but it soothes my nervous system. helps me love my home. keeps me from getting distracted by a million little things that have piled up. things that could have taken seconds or minutes can quickly pile up into a full day’s work, my work.

a tidy home allows all of us to live in the space that looks like us instead of feeling like we’re constantly scrambling uphill in a home that’s unrecognizable.

end rant.

other rituals came naturally, like family dinner.

growing up, dinner time was probably the most consistent and comforting part of my childhood. we had very few obligations or traditions, but nightly dinner together was the non-negotiable. i knew of no other way.

toys away, tv off, help set the table, grab a drink, say grace, eat dinner, and talk about your day. in our kitchen there was a five person family calendar and a white board where we kept grocery lists and reminders. sometimes we’d draw on the white board to clinch an argument or try to teach our little sister something that only teenagers understood.

is it weird that i’m excited for my kid and unborn children to become teenagers? i wrote down so much when i was that age. there was so much that i wanted myself to remember when i became a mother one day. don’t forget what it was like to be a teenager, don’t you dare forget it. i hope i make her proud.

i didn’t know how important those family dinners were at the time, but i see it so clearly now, they were the backbone of our family.

it is one of my greatest joys to see my son take pride in family dinner.

he sits on his perch at the counter watching daddy cook while i throw in a load of laundry, feed our dog, and try to catch up on the day’s correspondences and next day’s plans. all the while i do my best to keep an eye on our son to make sure dan’s able to cook safely.

together my son and i clear the dining table, set the place mats, flatware, and paper towels as napkins. we grab our beverages of choice, normally i end up splitting a polar seltzer with him.

if i forget, my son will say, mommy can you put on dinner music? and later, candles, mommy. it’s just some jazz and tea lights, but i love that my kid is already in tune with how to set the mood and transition from play time to meal time.

my parents were adamant about no screens while eating and i loved that about us, we’re the same way. it’s hard to be intentional about consuming your food or connecting with your people if you’re in front of a screen, meal time is also for conversation.

we want eating to be an intentional, exploratory, and joyful practice for our family and right now he’s really responsive to that. my heart sings every time he says bye-bye and thank you to the tv, asking me to turn it off so that he can migrate to the kitchen, sit down, and have a snack.

eating in the car is a whole other thing. he used to tear through an endless train of snacks for the entirety of a road trip, now i ask him to pause after each one. on a good day i’ll encourage him to ask his belly if he’s still hungry. this is pending catastrophic meltdown of course. if he’s throwing a tantrum and i’m driving, our safety is what’s most important to me. eat all of the snacks, kid, go wild.

LOOKING FORWARD

this weekend my in-laws are coming to town to celebrate mother’s day at our house with my folks too. this year i get to celebrate with both of my moms, the same way i did my first mother’s day. i just wanted to be with the women who made us, i just wanted to be together. i feel so lucky that we get to do it again this year.

we’ll skip all of the mother’s day programming in the city and dan will cook a giant brunch for us at home. sunday will be a full day of lounging and perhaps a stroll through the park.

a lot has changed since my expectant mother’s day three years ago, but i’m still dreaming about who our family will become. i’ve spent many many months catastrophizing what it might mean to add another member to our family and now i’m ready to fantasize about what life could look like as four.

more of us cozied up into small spaces, shuttling kids and a dog between cars. taking care of each other and getting into silly arguments when we don’t. even less quiet than we have today. more bellies to tickle on the couch and less reasons to leave it.

i dream about getting to know my period before we try to make another baby. i fantasize about learning the phases of my cycle and seeing how they effect my mood, energy levels, and creativity. i love my IUD and i want to know what all the commotion is about. i want to know what it’s like to feel connected to my period before i start tracking for ovulation. i wanted to do this the first time i got an IUD removed, but i got pregnant so fast and began miscarrying even faster, i never had the opportunity to simply let my body be.

this mother’s day i’ll be dreaming about a new sort of liminal space, the days when i’ll have my IUD removed, but before we start trying to make another baby. i’ll talk to all the girlies and learn about the hottest period products these days and what are our favorite apps for tracking.

maybe i’ll shift the rhythm of my writing and do my best to avoid my luteal phase. later on i imagine a world where conception sex isn’t so fucking stressful and could maybe even be a little fun? i’ll try to be kind to myself and my partner if it isn’t.

i dream of an easier pregnancy. one where i’m chasing a toddler, writing, and working out consistently. a fuller life to take some of the pressure off of the one growing inside of me. that sounds good.

and maybe by next mother’s day i’ll be growing another surprise baby in my tummy, no fancy reservations needed.

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