Dramatic Return to the Blogosphere

Is anyone still using that word, "blogosphere?" Did anyone ever, really? Well, I took it as a sign that I should try to put fingers to keyboard when my blog was just randomly up on the Mac a few minutes ago. I asked P.J. if he had looked it up for any reason (perhaps to shake his head in disgust at my admirable momentum and pitiful abandonment?) but he hadn't. And so I took it as a sign to try and write an entry. And so I started. And then Safari crashed. So I contemplated taking that as a sign that the first sign was null and void and that I should not start writing my blog again and go back to searching for movies for streaming online on Netflix, one of a few fantastic luxuries that will no doubt get me through the long, cold winter. Then I compromised and decided that it was a sign that I should blog, but that it might be best done in Firefox, a browser which I despise, but which has perhaps developed consciousness and is teaching me a lesson. Regardless, here we are and here I am and here is our baby.

The biggest news of all is that I'm 14 weeks pregnant.



"Baby Figgins" (because Baby was the size of a fig when we first got to see this image above) is due on May 27. Here is where a good mom-to-be would gush over how delighted we are that we're expecting and how excited we are to meet "her." All of that is true, of course. But mostly this first trimester has been marked with more fear and anxiety than I'd like to admit to, more terror that there's something wrong, that I've done something wrong, that I won't ultimately be lucky enough to have the baby that I've so desperately wanted for so long.

Unreasonable. Yes, that's a word for it. Until seeing this baby jumping and flailing on the ultrasound, I was virtually paralyzed with fear that there wouldn't be signs of life when we went to check. Baby Figgins already taught me a lesson in faith by showing us just how very alive she is ... I was relieved and embarrassed all at once. Clever little bugger jumping like a monkey. I don't know where this paranoia came from. Like all of the women in my life, I've deeply empathized with several friends, coworkers and acquaintances who've experienced the heartache of miscarriage. Perhaps my sadness for them planted a seed of fear in me that began to sprout when watered with hormones, the emotional roller coaster that is a wedding, and a quicker-than-expected positive result on the old ClearBlue Easy ("The Bible" according to Megan Flynn). Either way, I've suffered with many doubts and have not really enjoyed being pregnant as much as I think I should be. Something in me still doesn't believe that a baby is on its way - that there is going to be a real person coming out of me this spring. I am not showing yet, though I'm wider and thicker than I've been in some time, but that can be logically tied to carb loading and inactivity. Which came first? The pre-pardum depression or the weight gain? It's a mystery and through this experience I've realized that I'm no good at surrender. Van said it best today when she discussed how, in virtually every other area of our lives, we are in control (or at least can create the illusion of control). We make plans, set goals, take steps, execute, succeed or fail. In many ways, the outcome is determined by our actions. Pregnancy pretty much pulls the bath mat right out from under all of that. Sure there's plenty you can do to attempt to ensure the health of your baby, but ultimately, it's out of your hands and you're just along for the ten-month ride. (thanks to "The Girlfriends Guide to Pregnancy" I know it's actually ten months) Anyways, faith and surrender. Two things I'm working on. You can see how hard I'm working not by my sweat and sculpted biceps, but by how much I sleep and cry. I write sales copy for my job. It can be complicated. But this is real work right here. All the crying. It's pretty epic. I'm not even mad at myself, just impressed.

I have so much to be grateful for - the ability to have and raise a child at the very core of my deepest desires (along with starring opposite Al Pacino in Godfather IV) and now that it's happening, I think I'm just a bit overwhelmed. I do know that I already love this baby beyond measure. Said love of course only exponentially adding to the terror of somehow failing her, of course. Van also told me today to resist the urge to judge myself in pregnancy (when there's little I could do short of smoking crack to really screw it up) because I indulge in this self-judging now, I will probably pretty much hate myself when the real work of parenting begins. Her point? Don't be so hard on yourself. You'll have real problems in the future and this is still the "easy" part by comparison.

(and we don't know that "she's" a "her". It's just the term i use in lieu of "it" and we also feel that she is a girl so we're going with it)

We also got married, which was awesome and which I will tearfully blog about later. This is just the first toe-dip back into the bloggage. And now I'm starving and looking forward to watching "Babies" with my P.J. and our Bryan. This oughta cheer me up just in time for a pre-bedtime bath and a good, cleansing cry.