milk&honey

Today I found a few emails wishing me a happy Mother’s Day in my inbox, received a couple phone calls from friends, even got a card and a gift from my own wonderful mom.

But I didn’t earn this Mother’s Day.

I didn’t earn recognition or celebration, not only because I’m not really a real mother yet, but because I don’t feel like any kind of mother at all.

I’m terrified of the fact that I don’t feel connected to this baby inside of me. I can feel him all the time, and I’m excited, really I am, but what I mostly feel is fear. Fear and self-doubt and detachment. I’m scared about what kind of mom I’ll be, what kind of decisions I’ll make, how I’ll discipline. I’m scared of postpartum depression. I’m scared of balancing my family and my work. I’m scared about bonding.

I thought it would happen by now, the instinctive ‘clicking’, or that bond that everybody else seems to feel. But I don’t think it has, because it seems like one of those things that you would be aware of, right?

Is it because I don’t have that responsibility yet, the responsibility that comes with an actual baby living independent of my body? Because seriously, I have enough trouble remembering to put on my own underwear before I leave the house. And I’m going to be completely responsible for another human being? A tiny, helpless one? That’s reason enough for blinding fear.

Is it because this is my first child, and I haven’t experienced that unconditional love that takes over your whole body? Because whatever it is, I don’t think it’s normal. People don’t talk about it. Hell, I don’t even want to talk about it. It’s like admitting that, already, I’m a bad mother.

I was late this morning. I’ve been between 5 and 10 minutes late for work every morning this week. I hate that, setting a bad example and all. I like to be the first person there, already working when the rest of the design department limps in. I don’t know why I just can’t peel myself out of bed lately. Oh wait, yes I do.

Anyway, driving in (10 minutes late) this morning, I had a near-pants-peeing experience. It’s a chilly but sunny morning, I’m taking the route I always take, singing out loud to Journey (Shut up. I enjoy easy listening in the a.m.) and then, in slow motion, crunch. This big-but-not-huge-big branch fell from a pretty-huge tree on the side of the road, landing about three feet in front of my car. I had to slam on my brakes, watch my lunch slide from the passenger seat to the floor, and try really, really hard not to pee on the leather seats. Then I laughed and cried at the same time, because shit, that was a shocker.

This is ground zero after I backed up to go around the evil kamikaze limb.

Looks like I’ll be making more of an effort to be on time tomorrow morning.

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This made me laugh out loud: Things I Did Last Night

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And finally, an email from my husband:

The more I think about it, the more I think that the phrase “beyond
compare” never really existed.

Shouldn’t it be “beyond comparison” or at least “beyond comparing”?
“Compare” isn’t even a noun! You wouldn’t say something
incomprehensible is “beyond think” would you? Unless you’re Ralph
Wiggum, of course.

I’m pretty sure poets and songwriters just used it because there are
a lot more things that rhyme with “-are” than with “-arison” or “-
aring”. Plus, the two words “beyond compare” are iambic, and the
other constructions are not.

So there.

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Happy Friday, everyone.

My gram, after seeing my ultrasound picture:

“Wait a minute, I can’t see. Get me my magnifying glass. Mmm, okay. Wait, I still can’t tell what it is. What is that? Is that your cat?”

For the record, she wasn’t at all embarrassed when I told her what it really was. She happily said, “Oh, okay!”