It strikes me that the ideal scenario here would be to know that you’re pregnant from the exact SECOND that egg meets sperm, but there’s no way of knowing that apparently, so I guess I’ll work with what I have so far (5 positive tests & feeling like The Bloated Beast) and accept that I can only document my feelings and experience of early pregnancy from today. Which is Week 5, and apparently I can’t possibly know exactly what date conception happened, though I have a sneaky suspicion I actually do know as I approached the whole thing quite scientifically. The arrogance!
Step one in said scientific approach, was research, research, research. I’d never realised what an amazing creature the female is! Nor have I ever understood the dark mechanics of the monthly cycle; all I’ve ever known is that for 2 weeks of every month, my body is an angry, tired vessel (if a predictable one). I didn’t realise on any meaningful level that at the core, every month, my body is working hard to present the option of carrying on the human race (only for 72 hours, mind you), and then, like some kind of horrible reaction to having it’s offer rejected, it freaks out and makes the next few weeks a hellish process of getting rid of one defunct egg, ready to present the option again a few weeks later. Really? Have I really had the option of creating life since I was a teenager? What a weird responsibility to be given at such a young age. Which makes me want to go off on one about parenting and the importance of making sure you’re ready for parenthood, but fortunately I’m so tired my brain doesn’t really want to deal with that right now.
I’m really letting myself write freely here, and what I’m noticing, is that my brain feels a bit scattered. It’s full of thoughts which all come back to one thing: I cannot control what happens now. It’s a bit scary. The statistics tell you that there is a chance your first one won’t make it through the first three months. Your brain keeps reminding you of this so that when you actually start to conceive of what it means to be a parent – to be a mother – to take the responsibility of helping a human being to become part of this chaotic universe – you jolt yourself back into the reality of the situation. That human is currently the size of an apple pip, and you can’t be sure it’s going to survive long enough to become anything more. Every fluctuation in your physiology becomes a possible sign that something, good or bad, is happening, and you can’t really concentrate on much else until you’re so tired you just decide to switch off and sleep for a while. I thought I understood what it meant to appreciate sleep. I didn’t. I’ve never felt this tired; not even in the throes of serious illness. And I’ve never felt so inclined to take every step possible, overriding the overactive voices in my brain that tell me that there are THINGS TO DO, to maximise the chances of this little apple pip making it through the next second, moment, and day.
It’s not easy though. I’m not taking it easy on the workouts. I don’t think I need to – but I also know that it can’t be healthy to keep punishing my body when it’s now responsible for another person. How weird is that?! Even if something happens and I’m not given the privilege of meeting this apple pip in 8 months time, I will still have housed it for a while. Whoah. And not just housed it. MADE it. Isn’t that weird?! And it feels oddly intangible. I haven’t seen anything except a line on a pregnancy test to verify that all of this craziness I’m feeling is anything more credible than the inner workings of an absolutely insane mind. All I have are these physical manifestations of a process of creation and growth that’s happening in my body and it’s possibly the most important thing I’ll ever do, but I can’t see it, or control it. I may just be imagining all of these symptoms! I can’t have any say in how it all plays out now. It’s really putting what I believe about life, and art, and being human, into action. You set up the playpen as best you can through preparation and planning, find your themes, create a universe that allows discovery and play where control isn’t conscious anymore, and then you jump off the edge of the cliff.
With this one.. I’ve felt the fear, and done it anyway. And I’ll live with the consequences for the rest of my life, however this all turns out. That’s pretty scary. But also thrilling. And probably just what I needed, because life was starting to feel a bit empty. I crave experiences of this intensity. Is that a symptom of deep rooted issues from growing up?
Now my brain feels very full.. And I can’t do what I usually do; plan steps to deal with whatever it is that is causing me to feel overwhelmed and then put them into action. All I can do here, is wait. Perhaps I knew that this was the only thing that would teach me the true meaning of letting go and embracing the chaos that is an honest life.
One thing I do know… Creating a human life and helping that person to become whoever they are is, to me, the most valuable thing you can do before you go on to whatever it is you’re going on to when it’s all over. If you can raise a person who connects to another person, and makes them feel less alien in the world… You’ve done something good for humanity. I’m realising that, amidst the loud voices of my own ambition and need to prove that I’m worth something in the material world so I can make my ego feel a bit less bruised all the time, is the understanding that it’s all bullshit. Who cares?! Me, most of the time, but I see it now. We die. It ends. It all ends. So really, what’s the point in getting so hung up on, well, anything?
Hmm. I’m sounding morose now, but I don’t mean to. This is actually a great realisation. Life is a bit absurd; and the things we take seriously are a bit silly when you look at them objectively (well, a bit objectively, anyway, it’s tough for we humans). Money.. Affirmation from people.. An identity as something that makes you stand out from the crowd.. Why does it matter?
It’s been a while since I’ve done this. Written out how I’m feeling and put it on this blog. I can feel the stagnation in how my thoughts get onto the page.. There’s a thought process that I don’t want! I’ve felt, for so long, that I have nothing to say, no experiences to share, nothing to write about, really. I’m not a good enough actor to share anything I’ve learned there. I’m not enough of a writer to share anything on that score. I’m not a well rounded enough human being to spout off any advice. But clearly, this process is good for me. There’s too much going on in my head, not enough ears in the world to listen to it all, and nowhere else for it all to go.
Do I actually feel like that? Like it’s difficult to really talk to anyone about what’s going on at the moment? It’s funny. I think I do. Not just about pregnancy. I think that’s the problem, actually. I’ve felt like this for a while, and I guess my Inner Critic is happy that I can justify getting it all out onto this blog and not beating myself up for feeling this way because at least I have something that justifies being a bit weirded out, instead of simply being badly adjusted.
Now I’m feeling a bit emotional. Most likely because, for the first time in months, I’m being really honest with myself about how I feel. Work is a wonderful distraction, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I haven’t been doing much of the work that I find nourishing lately, and I’m feeling like I can’t hide from how I’m feeling in the deepest, darkest depths of the truly adolescent psyche that I possess. I don’t have a distraction, or an outlet, and I won’t allow anyone in enough to listen right now. No one has the time.
Is this apple pip going to inherit any of this? I really would prefer it if they didn’t. But again, I don’t have a choice in the matter. Crazy. I wonder what my brain will spout out tomorrow. Could be the same stuff, day after day after day. Let’s see.