May 10, 2010
Mekate just wrote a post wondering when her pregnancy will truly feel real.
For me it was so incremental, or rather it happened in fits and starts. Every time I would see the fetuses on ultrasound it would become a little more real. It felt more real once strangers started noticing that I was pregnant (which didn’t happen until almost the time I went on bedrest, so I didn’t get much of it). It was decidedly more real once I reached viability. It was all too real when I was in an ambulance trying to stop preterm labor, and when I was drugged up attached to catheters and IVs.
But it wasn’t really real until the birth, the moment I heard Burrito cry.
I have moments of unreality still, when I wonder if they really are mine. I mean, I know they are, and Tamale looks just like me (and Burrito looks just like DH) so who else’s babies could they be, but in a cosmic sense I wonder how they ever got here, how my luck finally changed.
A few days ago I took them for a walk and an unfamiliar neighbor was in his yard gardening. For a moment I felt like I was playing house, as if I was babysitting someone else’s kids and he might see us and haha mistake me for their mother. Like when DH’s siblings were little and people would mistake them for our kids. “I hope that neighbor looks at us and thinks that these are my babies.”
What I don’t know is whether this unreality is exclusive to those who had trouble becoming parents, or whether everyone feels this way. “You may tell yourself this is not my beautiful house; You may tell yourself this is not my beautiful wife.” Maybe everyone feels like they’re playing house sometimes. Maybe everyone has a hard time assuming new identities: grown-up, single person, married person, TTC person, infertile person, pregnant person, parent person.
Or maybe it’s just us.
(And don’t get me started on Mother’s Day. All I will say, to those with and without children, with and without mothers: I hope your Mother’s Day didn’t suck.)