B.B.D.A. Baby

Maybe, I’m maternal deficient.

asteeves754 — Mon, 16 Feb 2009 12:59:27 +0000

Is there such a thing? If there is – I’m definitely deficient. Mayday, mayday, need some supplements now. I thought I was ready. I talk the big talk but I can’t walk it. My husband reminded me of when we first started dating (he is seven years my senior) and our talk about kids. At the time, I confess, I thought I wanted a family early and I told him I did. Although, in my defense, he told me he did too. Ten years later, he’s still not that paternal.

So, what is “maternal deficient”? The best way I can describe it is that I lack a certain “excitement” around children. The women I socialize with all love kids. They love to watch them, hold them, play with them, kiss them, hug them, marvel at them. I’m an arms-length observer. I acknowledge, I smile, I squeeze their hand, I pat them and then I go on my way. If I walk down the street, I don’t always look at them or smile at them. Hence, why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m maternal deficient.

There’s a stigma associated to this deficiency too. Other women think I’m self-involved (a little is normal, isn’t it). They think I’m too career-oriented (I like working, what can I say). I fuss too much about what I wear (a few labels never hurt anyone). I choose to talk with the men about the latest headlines rather than the feeding/sleeping challenges of their little ones (I’m sorry but I just can’t relate). I get awkward around too many children (I panic, when I’m outnumbered). My play tolerance lasts only a few minutes (I’m sorry, but I tire of the kicking the soccer ball).

There you have it – I’m deficient. I know I’m not supposed to be. I know I’m supposed to long for children. I’m sure things will be different when I do. And I’m sure they’ll be more different when they’re my own. For now, please don’t judge me. Try and remember how you were before you had children. The days when selfishness reigned, when sleeping in on weekends felt like heaven and when not being ready was okay because everyone else wasn’t either. I know I have a lot to learn and I know I’ll probably be joining you to talk about poop, diapers and sippie cups. But for now, I just need to wade through this at my own pace, on my own terms.

You’re a cat and I’m a cat too!

asteeves754 — Wed, 04 Feb 2009 21:13:08 +0000

I do have moments when children seem like the best thing and I better hurry up and get to it. And for some reason it often happens on Hallowe’en. Before you get creeped out, listen to the story. I have a habit of crying after some cute kid comes to our door asking for candy. It happened the year before last and my husband laughed at me for being a nerd. This year was no different. I decided to dress up like a cat (it was easy and what else do you be when it’s only a day away). I drew on my whiskers, attached my tail, put on my ears – I was set. This little girl came to the door (she was dressed like a cat too) and she was the sweetest thing. Her dad stood watching her from the sidewalk letting her be a “big girl”. I put some candy (at least three kids worth) in her bag and she looked up at me and said, “You’re a cat and I’m a cat too!” I swear, a piece of my heart broke open and a feeling rushed over me. She walked away, down the steps and took her daddy’s hand never knowing that in that moment, all I wanted was my own child to give me those special moments. Those seemingly simple moments where a few normal words connected together make all the difference in the world. I shut the door and cried like a baby. Heaving. Dripping. Slobbering. Even I was a little embarrassed – that she could have that kind of impact on me. I don’t know when it might happen but it definitely brought me a little closer.

Am I the only one who is freaking out?

asteeves754 — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 01:25:28 +0000

Fear is beginning to set in. Yes, I can walk the walk and talk the talk that I can do this – get pregnant, carry a child, raise them into a (hopefully) contributing and somewhat normal (really, who’s normal) member of society. I have to admit – I am freaking out. And not a little bit. A lot. Here are just a few of the things I am freaking out about (friends, if the list seems small, remember I am only talking about pregnancy here):

Being pregnant – What is going to happen? How sick will I be? How quickly will people notice? When should I tell people? And yes, I know most of the pregnancy books tell you these answers but that doesn’t necessarily help you get over the fear. I was just reading a book the other day about all of the foods I cannot eat. What if they forgot one? Are there pregnancy rules that people are just supposed to know? If there are – let me know tell – I DON’T KNOW ANY!
The months where you are really big. – There are a few months of this whole thing that are particularly scary – months 6 through 9. I see these women, waddling around, rubbing their bellies, being patient when no one on the bus or subway gives up their seat for them. A person gets really big. Again, it goes back to my other posting – how in the world does skin stretch like that? And how does one sleep? I lie awake many nights as it is – I suppose I’ll have one more reason for the darkening circles under my eyes.
Labour – I did not realize the physical changes that happen, your pelvis widens! Amazing! I struggle with the whole labour thing. Yes, I know I will have to go through it – but I’m not prepared for it. They say no one can be prepared. What I realized is, I think women (or at least some of them) forget how painful it was. I recently watched a Discovery documentary that followed several women through labour and one of them was on her third but she didn’t look any more relaxed.
Bringing the baby home – I know hospitals are kicking new moms out about as quickly as a Tim Horton’s drive-through during rush hour. But my big question is – WHAT DO I DO WITH THE BABY WHEN I GET HOME?
Breastfeeding – You mean to tell me milk will come out of my nipples? Need I say more…
Screwing the kid up – This is a lot of pressure – raising a child. I still haven’t found myself, how in the world am I supposed to raise this child. If I worry too much in front of the baby – he/she will grow into a nervous nelly; if I fret too much about my weight – he/she will have body and eating issues; if I clean too hard/too frequently – I may have an OCD child on my hands. How does one balance the insecurities we all have while ensuring they are hidden enough so we appear “normal” and “calm” in front of this impressionable child? Don’t they say the first five years are the most important? Oh boy – this kid is in trouble!

Those have to be the ones that keep me awake at night as I contemplate when the time is right to start this whole thing. Often, it feels like I am completely blowing this out of proportion – thousands of couples do this every year, why am I so different? I think it is the finality of it – the immense feeling of responsibility to give someone new everything of yourself and everything of this world. I think when my baby and my husband are on our way home from the hospital, I will tell this new person that I will do my best and warn them that I am not perfect (nor will I be) but I will try the hardest that I have ever tried and I hope some day they see that.

One loose sweater and they think you’re pregnant.

asteeves754 — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 01:32:53 +0000

I feel like I’m on a game show – it’s called “Are you pregnant yet?” As each month goes by where I’m still in wedded bliss but without child – the stares from inquisitors hang longer, the speculation intensifies and the pressure surmounts. Wearing loose sweaters, ravenously eating a Snickers and one missed glass of wine now means I’ve got a “bun in the oven”. So, I rebel. I wear clothing that hugs tightly, I eat healthy but not to heartily, and I overindulge in wine, vodka and other alcoholic pleasures.

There must be some rule book somewhere that states thou shall procreate asap after the wedding. And if I tell people, “one day we will but we’re enjoying ourselves right now” it’s like there’s something wrong with you. The glares, the puzzled glances – it’s enough to drive anyone a little bit mad. I was at a bridal shower a couple of weeks ago and a friend’s new born baby was in attendance – sweet little thing (see, I can think babies are cute) – and someone (thank you by the way) suggested I hold him. I have to admit, babies scare me. It’s their fragility that scares me. I worry if I lean their head on an awkward angle or take too long to make them comfortable I’m liable to hurt them. I obliged and held the baby; he lasted about three seconds before crying. Three seconds! His mom was extremely kind and said he was hungry and I appreciated the consoling but I knew that wasn’t the only thing.

Clearly, there are some things to work out here on my end before I embrace the possibility of pregnancy. There are women who naturally cling to babies, toddlers, children period and there are those who grow into it. I’m the latter (in case that wasn’t obvious) and so what if it takes me longer to get used the idea of carrying a live human being inside of me. And to the inquisitors, I’ll try and reduce the number of loose sweaters I wear (thank goodness I don’t own that many) and you’ll know when my bun starts to bake.

Baby Predictor? This could be interesting . . .

asteeves754 — Sun, 28 Sep 2008 17:00:23 +0000

I’m not into palm reading, tarot cards or other psychic readings. I’m not sure if I don’t believe in them or if I’m in the camp of just letting things happen as they should. I have had my palm read once many, many years ago and there was nothing out of that reading I didn’t know. Given, my experience, it never occurred to me that I could predict my baby(ies).

A few weeks ago a friend asked if I wanted to try a non-scientific baby predictor. With so many emotions and thoughts swirling around the idea of pregnancy and motherhood – how could I not be curious. Perhaps, it would be easier knowing what was going to happen. I agreed. Here’s what she did: she took my engagement ring, removed a silver necklace she was wearing and put the ring through the necklace. Hmmm? Here’s what she tells me: she’s going to hold the necklace and let the ring hang, if the ring moves forward and back it’s a girl; if the ring moves in a circle it’s a boy; and if the ring does not move then there will be no children.

I prayed the ring would move – it not moving was not an option for me. Good news, the ring moved twice. I won’t share the sexes but it was exciting. My friend told me she did this with a few other girlfriends and the results were conclusive. Was part of that a subconscious movement because she knew a girlfriend had already had two boys? I don’t know but what I do know is I want to believe.

I think I have enough stretch marks – thank you very much.

asteeves754 — Sat, 13 Sep 2008 03:21:13 +0000

I saw a photograph recently of Minnie Driver (congratulations, by the way on the new baby). She was wearing a bikini in Hawaii, St. Tropez or some other hot, tropical place where the rich congregate and her pregnant belly was – well quite pregnant. I felt stunned for a moment – she was really pregnant. Not that I haven’t been around pregnant women before, I have. I’ve seen them walking around at four months, six months, eight months even nine months but usually there was a barrier – a shirt! Something threw me off with this photograph – how is the human skin able to stretch so much? And how could it possibly go back into place?

Admittedly, I can be a tad vain (friends, no comments please), but I am sorry; I cannot imagine how I am going to let my belly grow that big. How will it ever come back to me? I already have to deal with stretch marks (too many in my opinion) and now I have to deal with some more. And what is this muffin top I keep hearing about? A muffin top… are you kidding me?!!? Wikipedia reports that stretch marks are a “form of scarring on the skin” that may fade over time but will not disappear. Hmmm, so these silvery lines will multiply – on my stomach? Are there any other women afraid of these? All I keep hearing is that pregnancy is the greatest thing on earth; it changes your life; you’ll never be the same again. Am I completely out to lunch for worrying about this whole stretching of the skin thing? Does the world expect that I just procreate, let my body be what it will be – am I supposed to just shut up about this and buy stretch mark and cellulite creams? Do I have to be ashamed when I walk into the drugstore to buy these? Is a pair of loose jogging pants and a hoodie that covers my soon to be even darker “under my eye” bags appropriate so I am no longer recognized?

It seems like it’s not okay to think about these things and it’s not okay to be worried about how you’ll look afterwards. That I should be so consumed with my baby that I won’t care what happens or the fact that my once flat, toned tummy now resembles my favourite morning breakfast item.

Any plans, you two?

asteeves754 — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 01:29:11 +0000

Ah, yes the inevitable question a mere twelve hours after the nuptials – any plans, you two? For a split second, I feel confusion until I see her eyes glance at my stomach – the breeding ground – and then it all becomes so clear. Still a little hung-over from the overwhelming, emotion-filled wedding day, my head nor my body for that matter, has even begun to contemplate the “child(ren)” question. Can I, the new bride, have no rest? How is it that the focus can shift so suddenly? Mere days before the wedding the constant question of “Are you ready?” and suddenly before you know it, you’re at the alter (or beach, backyard, wherever you choose to wed) in holy (or unholy) matrimony, and you experience this incredible, emotional, indescribable moment with your life partner – then BAM! It’s over and suddenly I should be ready to change diapers?

Getting ready for marriage wasn’t easy. I was never one of those young girls that dreamed about her wedding day. I always dreamed of finding “the one” but never really dreamed of the wedding day, the big white dress, the gazillion family and friends who clap and scream when they announce its official. A whirlwind engagement and frenzied months of planning all seem suddenly so unimportant to people when all is said and done. The cake has been eaten, the presents received, the hangovers healed. It’s like people catch themselves – they savoured the moment for too long, must move on to the next.

WAH!

That was me crying, not the newborn baby everyone is hoping for.

Now all of this is not to say I don’t want a baby. Of course, I/we do. But, can we please let some dust accumulate on my wedding dress? I will join the baby clan – friends, inquisitors . . . mother. I will. But let me breathe and enjoy my freedom for a little bit longer. Don’t worry it won’t be long before the soothers, wet naps, bibs and Osh Kosh are part of my daily vocabulary.

WAH!