There’s a Baby in There
One of the strange and challenging aspects of pregnancy is its unreality. Intellectually, I know this process will result in a baby, which then (slowly) becomes a whole human. Objectively, that's amazing—my body can do that? (With so little input from me?) I've been excited my whole life to introduce a child to the world, and have kids re-introduce the world to me.
But so far, almost all of the experience is what's happening to my body. It's inescapable, constantly changing, and right from jump, it mostly sucks. You're ravenous and nauseous; you want the bump but then you have to carry around an unrecognizable body while the joints and muscles actively degrade; your energy levels are all over the map.
The hormones are wild; some weeks ago I burst into tears looking at a bowl of egg yolks for a recipe I was making. I cried, without any idea why, reading positive labor and birth stories in one of the books Robert bought.
Robert came home the other day to find me staring into the fridge at ten PM, eating a ripe yellow plum in silence while tears streamed down my face.
"What's wrong?" He asked.
I shrugged. Nothing was wrong.
Tired and hungry, I guess? On the Wales trip two weeks ago, I went downstairs in the middle of the night to make peanut butter toast because I was too hungry to sleep.
I just got a call from a friend who is about seven weeks in, telling me (happily) about her new pregnancy. They say nausea is a good sign, so it sounds like her fetus is healthy.
"You said it was bad," she said, voice colorless, "but I didn't know."
She's in the ravenous-but-can't-eat phase, and there's little comfort to be offered. It's gonna be bad for a while. Congratulations, though!
I'm third trimester as of this week, and it's finally starting to feel real—the baby part. I get kicks and waves and flips throughout every day, and although it sometimes hits a weird spot, I kind of love it. I can picture the way a baby's legs kick against the air, and I know that's what's happening inside. I think it's going to feel lonely in my body when it's just me again; I've gotten used to the constant company.
There are also the little items showing up. A friend sent me a card with the line, "Your laundry is about to get a lot cuter!" And it's clearly true. A generous neighbor invited me over to look at the Snoo smart bassinet her baby is about to grow out of (yes, please!). She had laid out some carefully selected items for me to take if I wanted: a puffy hooded onesie that was warm enough to take her March newborn home in, onesies with clever magnet closures, a swimsuit that's too tight now for her five-month-old. I lined them up across our bed for Robert to see: so small.
The mom community is real. It helps that "mat leave" is a statutory 52 weeks in the UK, with the first two weeks after birth mandatory.
I think most moms take about six months; after that, they're not necessarily entitled to getting their old job back. But if I was a UK citizen who had worked for at least half of the weeks (including partial weeks as long as at least half of the 26 netted £390 or more) between August last year and the baby's due date, I'd be entitled to an allowance of £184.03 for 39 weeks, (about $12k annualized) even if I was unemployed now. Jobs tend to offer better.
The result is that it's pretty easy to meet up with women with babies, or who are close to term. And the NHS offers parenting and breastfeeding courses for free in every neighborhood; I'm signed up. Dental care and mental healthcare are free for pregnant women too.
More immediately, the parent community is generous with their own. Our local WhatsApp group has near-daily offers of gently used items that kids have outgrown, group helpline chatter for "what do I do if my baby does X", offers and answers for last-minute child care needs.
I felt it back at Wildwood, too: it feels like another level of relationship. There are your friends, your friends you can talk to about anything, and the people who have been through what you're going through. A baby is a big thing, and people want to help.
It surprises me now when my bump isn't immediately obvious to strangers. My clothes can still hide it a bit, but if you knew what I looked like before, you wouldn't be confused. Out at west coast swing lessons the other night, my dance partner tentatively asked, "So, are there three of us?" But that's better than the dance class a month ago, when leaving my Baby on Board transit button on apparently gave a guy the license to call me "Baby" for the length of a song.
Eileen asked me while we were in Bristol if I was still getting looks and lines from random guys, and clearly the answer is yes. I guess there's no reason pregnant women can't still be attractive, but to me the interaction seems even stranger than usual. I'm visibly wrapped up in a life that has no room for that: ring on my finger, belly big and round. Can't they see there's a baby in here?
When Jacqueline visits, we go to climbing at different places four days in a row. At The Castle, we climb the hardest, tallest top rope route in the Tower. At Mile End's Olympics-themed competition, I can only safely climb one of the boulder comp routes— but they're really hard; she can only climb a few of them.
I'm definitely getting looks from the gym staff, but they aren't worried, more impressed. I am actually getting bumped off the wall by my belly on some of the slab routes. My belly button drags against the holds, white chalk collecting on my black tee.
The most I get questioned is at Selfridge's, a department store that has erected a giant Ionic column with climbing holds in honor of the Olympics. It's a cheesy climb, meant to be climbed in street shoes by beginners.
"Congratulations," the young man at the check in says, eyeing my belly, "but, er..."
"Don't worry," I cut in, "I brought my own harness, one that's safe for pregnancy."
"And, ah, how far along are you?"
"Twenty-eight weeks."
He nods and glances back to the two young women behind the counter, trying to calculate. One of them nods.
"Right. I guess that's all right then. If you were six months or more, we'd advise you not to climb."
We don't check his math for him. He's not a doctor, a climbing athlete, or someone who's been pregnant before. The climb is just fine. Baby kicks me on the way down.
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