Let's talk about pregnancy.
Like a mysterious flower in the middle of a field... where did that bb come from?
I’m currently in my second trimester of pregnancy—and I’ve heard through the grapevine (a.k.a. my parents) that some folks are curious about how my growing fetus came to be.
I understand their curiosity.
I’m a single, divorced parent of a kindergartner, whom I co-parent easily and happily with my ex-husband. At 40, I’m of “very advanced maternal age” (and am so happy the term is no longer “geriatric”). I’m a choreographer who struggles to get to dance class and an ice dancer who dreams of competing again after 25 years out of the game. I run a business that I am deeply passionate about, of which I am the sole employee—and so far, 2023 has proven tricky for self-employment.
And I’m openly sharing that I’m pregnant.
So. Whose kid is this? Why now? How?
When I was in college, one of my mentors described me as “new.” As in, she felt like I’d probably never been reincarnated or lived an earlier life on this planet. This, she felt, was my first go. I think she meant it as a compliment and I took it as one. I love the idea of newness. The feeling of newness and awe. Of being dismayed and excited by the world at the same time.
I think because of this newness, I tend to be an open book (see also: my 13-year-long blog). Life is wild and messy and writing is a big part of how I explore it.
But this… This is something I don’t feel like sharing. And, of course, I realize I’m not obliged to. Many smart folks have explored why we tend to think that pregnant bodies are open for discussion—that somehow they belong to the public even though they don’t. (Small tip here: Don’t touch a pregnant person’s belly unless they’ve explicitly invited you to. You probably don’t want your belly rubbed either, especially if you’re gassy.)
I do feel a different obligation to fulfill. One that’s much more personal. This little fetus is going to be an actual human person someday. She’s not a secret. Or a story. She’s definitely not a scandal. And her questions are the only ones I really want to answer.
To me, parenthood is about creating an environment that’s emotionally and physically safe so that kiddos are able to freely grow into whoever they are. So that they don’t grow up confused or fearful, or thinking that who they are is the protective mechanism they honed when they were young.
I don’t do parenthood perfectly (spoiler: no one does). I just do my best—and sometimes my worst. I also feel no shame about getting into heated debates with my five-year-old, who insists that he gets to eat popsicles in his bed and that this little one’s legal name will be Big Boo.
So when it comes to Big Boo, I’m in parent safety mode. I’m protective. I’m excited. I’m napping instead of washing dishes. And I have all the regular worries that any pregnant person has.
Mainly, I love this wiggling, amazing little life already. And that’s all anybody really needs to know.
Voluntary sunflowers in an incredible regenerative field of buckwheat