Dear #$&$! Baby.
If you are baby all grown up, I suggest you stop reading now, lest you taint your vision of your saintly and awesome mother.
Is it gone? GOOD. Let’s continue.
I never said I was into the whole “motherhood” thing. I’ve never been that way. The only non-Barbie doll I ever remember having was a cabbage patch doll named Becky Freckidela* that I am pretty sure molded into the chair I placed her in after I was five. As it states on my About Me page, I haven’t changed a diaper except for on aforementioned Becky Freckidela during a babysitting class when I was nine and had to pry her from the aforementioned chair. So no, being a mom was never really up my alley. I figured it would happen, but I would like their toys more than them. Hot damn, do I love toys.
I am beginning to be afraid that’s actually what’s going to happen.
When I would grimace or dry-heave at the mention of being a mom, I would always hear “but you’ll love it when it’s yours!” And I would laugh. And shrug. And say maybe. Now I am questioning the validity of my first reaction.
It sort of creeps me out when I hear moms-to-be gush and go crazy for their fetus. That they knew it in their hearts when it happened. That they fell in love with it after hearing its heartbeat or seeing it during the ultrasound. Well. I’ve heard the heartbeat. I’ve seen it. Twice. And I’m not gushing about it. It’s just a fetus, right?? It’s a little blob that moves around that sort of looks like it has human features that is apparently enjoying making a waterbed out of me.
I’m still not totally convinced that this isn’t an elaborate prank and the ultrasound tech is in on it and plays someone else’s recorded video while she rubs warm goo on my cheese belly for like, no reason.
Big A asked me a while ago when I was going to stop the charade of not being excited. And I felt bad enough that I’m pretty sure I didn’t tell him the truth – it isn’t really a charade. I suppose a bit of it is, due to my sarcastic attitude. But really, none of it has been an act or for show. A big part of me wants to jump up and down and shove sonograms in people’s faces and go all gaga nutso over MY little alien fetus but that is what truly feels fake.
I have my excited moments. And it wouldn’t be normal if I wasn’t terrified at the future post-June and onwards. But can I say I love it? No, not yet. Most of the time I don’t even know it’s THERE. I keep waiting for that holyshitohmygod moment. Fifteen weeks and still waiting.
Maybe it’ll be finding out the sex or feeling it move for the first time that will send me over the HOLY SHIT I LOVE A BABY edge. Hopefully it will happen at some point, otherwise I will feel pretty bad for this crazy hamster.
*My brothers named her after a German-esque hamburger dish that my mom makes. The name stuck. Awesome.