phetish | Sep. 2nd, 2010

Assuming I don't go into early labor (hope for the best, plan for the worst), I'm going to be a mother in sixty days.

I'm really excited.
I'm also nervous as a person would be experiencing anything (water, space travel, lion-taming) for the first time. I really have no point of reference - even holding another person's child is like reading a love story without ever having been in love. The fantasy, I'm sure, pales in comparison to the reality.
I continually remind myself that this is not a "project" (as baby-preparation books would seem to have you believe), but a "person," a sudden and new addition to my family - a permanent member of my inner circle. Like meeting your mother.
He will have a personality; wants, needs, dreams, fears...he will not be a doll to dress up, but be like any other person on the planet...admittedly closer to me than the rest.
I hope he's cool. God, I hope he likes me. Not just "loves me because I'm his mom," but likes me as a person. My greatest hope is that I'll be a parent like some of my friends - they participate in activities with their children.
But I don't want to be that pushy kind of mom.
But god I hope he likes books.

I remember the first time I considered motherhood. I was watching The Others and became enamored with the strong-willed daughter, Anne (see the 27-minute mark for an example). I thought it'd be wonderful to raise a child like that. Or Sam from Love Actually. Or any strong-willed, big-dreaming child. How beautiful it must be to see ambition unfettered like that.

Of course, I will love him no matter what he is like.
It's like Christmas, waiting to find out what kind of person he will be.

Selfishly, I'm also really looking forward to regaining possession of my body.
The "inflation" of pregnancy descends upon you so suddenly that it's like Alice in Wonderland. Overnight, you no longer fit into your clothes.
Think of it; your pants, your skirts, your shirts, your panties, your bras.
All gone.
Do you buy all new clothes for a mere few months? Big-ass tents in which you could fit six of your former selves?
No, god no. You do what I do; you walk around naked and hide in your house...and when it's over, you pretend it never happened and the stork brought your hot self this awesome baby.

I keep looking at pictures of my old self, my old body.
God I miss my stomach.

I can't wait until I can do anything besides reverse push-ups again.
I mean, what's the point? My hips hurt too much for even leg-lifts and kicks. I can't do sit-ups because it feels like there's an angry cinderblock on me. What, am I supposed to have puffy everything...and killer biceps?
I can't wait until I can fit into my clothes again. I'm going to bind my hips and stomach in a corset and REMIND MY BODY THAT WE ARE SEXAH.

I am counting the days...