written a week or so ago
I want to be that all earth-ey awesome mama.
You know the one, the one at peace with what's going on - who sees this as "just another beautiful and natural event" in life. The one who eagerly reads up on every facet of what's happening to her body and leaves the page amazed, in awe, feeling blessed.
I leave the page feeling slightly nauseous.
I don't feel extra pretty, or glow-ey, or motherly in any way. I feel panicked and fearful and absolutely - oh, what's the word I'm looking for?
Oh, sure. I *am* excited, I am totally in love with the idea of all this... of Sam and I being parents, of a little one who takes after us, all stubborness and hell on wheels and overtly obnoxious . . .
But I don't feel at peace for sure. I feel not at all a part of some miraculous event. I feel quite the opposite. I feel drawn into some crazy play I've never read, some alien adventure. I, quite simply, feel in way over my head.
I'm managing. And please dont' read this as some sort of giant cry for help. It's just a recognition that I am not those moms. I'm me. I'm the only kind of mom I can be, and while that might not be perfect and prepared and beautiful and perfectly at ease . . . well, it's going to have to do. And I'm pretty sure it will.
But in these moments? The days when I spend hour after hour praying to puke, then praying not to . . . it's hard to feel qualified in any way.
Ha. Welcome to the rest of my life, huh?
7 years ago