I can definitively say that at 12:08 pm I was taking pictures of my husband eating and drinking “a bitch don’t kill my vibe” at Garp & Fuss. Before that, we walked to the Winter Park Farmer’s market. The night before, we were at a Christmas party. The week before, I skipped all events and barely made it out of bed. I wondered if I was just being dramatic or if everything I was feeling was real. I could barely move without cursing.
A couple of weeks before our son’s birthday, it struck me. My calm demeanor broke, and I was now officially terrified. I had this feeling birth was going to shatter my worldview, change the way I thought about biology and break my psychology in ways I was not yet aware of. Identity crisis anyone? Even the thought of a baby coming through my body screaming (hopefully) felt like tripping balls. To see it, I knew, would be to believe it. I had no idea what I was signed up for but I also, looking back, did.
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