I keep trying to figure out what my pregnancy is like, and what it’s supposed to be like. It’s not going all that well; so far I’ve tried my other pregnancy, my mother’s first pregnancy, my omi’s pregnancy with my twin uncles (one of whom is disabled), and several crisis pregnancies that I’ve only read about. None of them really fit, and I’m trying to instead figure out why I need to do this.
My pregnancy with Cricket does seem like the most obvious model—I am having a boy again, I am pregnant by the same person, I’m due right around the same time, and my parents are being completely weird about the whole thing. On the other hand, I really need to think of this as importantly different, and of course it is; no one is going to take my son at the end. My mom’s pregnancy with me is appealing in some ways—she ended up starting a family, I was a very wanted baby—and I even bought a Cadbury Fruit & Nut Bar when I went grocery shopping last entirely because my mom talks about eating them all through her pregnancy in Ireland. But there are some pitfalls, too. My mother drank (moderately) throughout her pregnancies, and she went on to have a really rough time as a new mother. I want to be different. I don’t think I’ve talked much about my omi, my grandmother, but trust me when I say that you do not want her for any kind of role model under any circumstances.
Why do I need some kind of Jungian pregnancy? One of my less attractive qualities is a need to feel safe that tends to manifest as a need to have a lot of control over my environment. I have gotten less and less bonkers about this over the last several years, thank goodness, or I’m sure my sweetheart would have given in and smothered me by now. I need to know what is going on. And now, when I’m pregnant, I really have no idea what’s going on—I check in every month or so with people who have some reason to believe that things are fine, but that’s all I get. Going off of antidepressants (just one so far, I’ve stayed on the second one for awhile longer) has added to my anxiety; almost every day I decide at some point that the little bird has died. If I have some model for this pregnancy, then I can believe that I know what’s going to happen, and I can relax a little—except that none of my models are relaxing. And I know, of course, that parenting is going to be hundreds upon hundreds of days of having no idea of what comes next. I am going to need to let go even further so that I can be a good mom. But my God, right now I can’t even check his breathing, and I don’t even really like Fruit & Nut bars. I want a thread to follow.
I think that’s what pregnancy books are supposed to be for, and I read mine bit by bit, over and over again: this week he is able to feel my movements, next week he hits the one-pound mark. Having information about what’s going on and what’s coming is good, which is why I already have a stack of parenting books as long as my arm. But I’m realizing what I need more than a model pregnancy is to pay close attention to what is actually going on, and what I’m really feeling and wanting, and find a way to just let the things that I can’t force happen. And then, probably, I’ll be able to fly.