As some of you have read I recently had a miscarriage. It was horrid but it has been one of my greatest lessons.
I thought I wanted a baby, but actually, when I was faced with the reality I freaked out.
I didn't enjoy being pregnant at all. The romantic ideal of a blossoming mother-to-be was very opposite of my bloated, nauseous and pale self. In truth, I felt out of control, as if I'd been invaded by an alien. I ate like a pig, farted like one too. I felt fat and ugly -- so dressed for 8 months when it was only 2. I have a whole range of baggy leggings and t-shirts now that I hope never to wear again.
Since then it prompted lots of soulsearching.
I now realize I needed the miscarriage to work through some of these feelings before it happens again. I just wasn't ready.
The big question now is when will I be ready?
The odds are a bit against me if you read baby books. I'm not far off 40, everyone tells me my body clock is about to go ping and yet I still feel young and carefree. I want to live my life still. To walk across Paris at dawn or go to Ibiza on a whim for a mad 24 hour clubathon. I am also so happy and in love with my beau. I don't need any more. And maybe at a subconscious level I'm scared a baby would change that. Our love life would somehow suffer.
I love children. But I have seen myself as one of them. I love my husband's kids but I enjoy the upside -- the fun, playtime yet little responsibility. I have also never needed to have kids. I have friends with such a strong maternal instinct that they had decided names and schools before they'd left school themselves.
But if you push me I know deep down I'd love a baby. A child of love. I know it will make me a better person. Clearly that's not a reason to have one, but I know that I will stop fannying around and step up to the plate. Instead of fretting about being a few pounds overweight I will have flesh and blood to worry about.
They key for me is that I have to stop thinking that I am not good enough and that I somehow need to turn into a supermom. Stewing prunes, knitting booties and hypnobirthing kinda mom.
When I was pregnant I stopped all things bad and nasty. Not a single chemical passed my mouth. I also stopped enjoying things I loved. Sex. Sport. Dancing.
In my head, moms meant no more vibrant me. It was about baby first even if I suffered as a result. As my therapist has explained feelings of abandonment have created a desire for hyperprotection. I need to let go of that.
Being me needs to be good enough. Otherwise I guess it will never work. The baby will sense my insecurity and the cycle will repeat.
I guess am letting all of this settle in or in technical terms "integrate." Time is against me. But happiness is more important in the long run. Here's hoping that I can find my groove as a mom.
Groovy mom, groovy baby.
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