internope/six weeks

You know how sometimes it seems like you've seen everything the internet has to offer? You get online and visit the same four websites over and over, and after awhile you're just like, yo internet, I'm over you making me feel inadequate because I think diy soap looks too hard. And how many heartwarming facts about the cast of The Princess Bride can there be?

Answer: a lot. There can be a lot. Example: André the Giant's hands were so big that one of them could completely cover Robin Wright's head. So whenever the weather was too cold for her during filming, he would just put a hand on her head to warm her up. I mean...

I just can't.

But guess what? When you're pregnant, a whole new realm of the internet opens up before you! And it's full of information that you would not have given one little shit about two weeks ago. Curious about how quickly that little bundle of cells is changing inside you? Babycenter, girlfriend. Want to pick a side in the brutal cloth v. disposable diaper debates? (Spoiler: you do not.) Want to learn about rare and upsetting birth defects? Wikipedia, doi! Want to watch videos of ladies giving birth? Well, I'm sorry, but I can't help you. That shit's terrifying! Maybe try youtube. If you're not pregnant, I suggest having a stiff drink nearby. Need a recipe? That's what the internet's there for, dummy! JFGI!

The problem with this, aside from the obvious terror-spiral you will send yourself into if you get sucked into the scarier information, is that it's really hard to sift through what is important, interesting information and what is just opinion and nonsense. That's kind of the problem with the internet in general, but it feels especially poignant now. I know I have some instincts about children and their well-being, but too much time on any one website leaves me feeling like any unlucky baby to end up in my care is almost certainly doomed. But moreover, on every website I've checked out, I find there is a subtle undercurrent of false security that I can't identify with, and it goes like this:

Everything will be fine, because in the end you are going to be a mother. And that will make it all worthwhile.

That is a lovely, uplifting sentiment. But for those of us in my situation, who never wanted to be mothers, and who have a hard time even applying that term to our lives, it is a real downer. It makes me feel cruel and unfeeling, because I don't feel any connection to the chocolate chip-sized organism growing inside me. Biology seems to suggest that I will, and my friends and family assure me that eventually I will get there, but for now I can't fake an attachment that I don't feel. And I shouldn't have to.

I'm sure it will happen, and that in due time some website greeting me with a cheery "Congratulations, Mommy!" doesn't make me involuntarily scowl. But until then, maybe it's time to stay off the internet for awhile. Or at least go back to websites like Pinterest, that only make me feel inadequate on a domestic level. 

One of the ingredients for this soap is soap, for fuck's sake, and I still don't want to.

reality/five weeks

By now it's an embryo. It's the size of a lentil.

Among the other horrifying realities that are coming to light, the internet just informed me that projected due date is August 16th. That is the day before my best friend Lindsay's wedding. 

I'm her maid of honor. (Fine, matron, but what a gross word.)

When I told her the news, after her obligatory and inspiring "you can do this, you're not sixteen, everything will be fine" speech, she paused.

"I feel like this is a terrible question to ask," she began, somewhat haltingly, "but what would have to happen for you to not be able to be there at all?"

Now let's be reasonable. She has been planning this wedding for a year. The lentil has only just developed a neural tube. So I assume that barring, say, delivering it the night before, I can be in the wedding.

So don't worry about it, Lindsay. I will be there, even if I have to give birth in bathroom at your reception, like a tragic teenager at the prom.

positive/four weeks

If the line is faint on a pregnancy test, and it's hard to tell if you're really seeing what you think you're seeing, you hold it out at arm's length and look again. If at that distance, you can still see the line, then congratulations! You're knocked up.

This was my second pregnancy test in two days. The night before, even right in front of my face, it was just too light to tell for sure. But now, as I looked at that innocuous plastic strip from where I had placed it across the living room, and the pale blue x winked merrily back at me, like "hey girl! Guess what's going on in your uterus!", all I could think was: girls show these to their families. They pee on them, and then they show them to their mothers. 

I threw the stick in the garbage, because that is where things you've peed on belong. Ok, ladies? It's not cute to nestle them in a tissue-lined box and surprise your loved ones with them. There's got to be a better way to announce your pregnancy. 

Presumably, that way is also better than the way I did it, which was to call my husband at work and say "Well, fuck, this one was pretty conclusive." When he got home, we celebrated by laying in paralyzed horror on the floor of our basement. I think the tv was on. We were trying not to think about it, but every time one of us remembered we'd let out a moan. Here is the transcript of that night's conversation:

Joe/Maureen: (indiscriminate groaning sigh)

Maureen/Joe: What?

Joe/Maureen: Our life is over/We're so stupid/This is a nightmare

Maureen/Joe: I know.

(Repeat often, at varying intervals, all goddamn night long)

Have you ever done something so humiliating or idiotic that when you remember it a few days later it still gives you a hot, embarrassment cramp in your stomach? Like your stomach is cringing because it's ashamed of how dumb you are? That is exactly the feeling you get when you're trying not to think about your unplanned, accidental pregnancy. You can will yourself to be distracted for a bit, but when you let your mind wander it will invariably remind you that you have severely screwed yourself over, and then you will be forced to let out a very pathetic noise. Science fact.

So that's that. I'm pregnant. And now the clock is ticking-has been, in fact, for four weeks now-and I have a very short time to figure out exactly how I feel about it. 

I know it's self-indulgent and narcissistic to start a blog, especially when it doesn't really serve a purpose other than to share my thoughts and feelings, but this is a good way to organize them. I also think I'll appreciate having an account of this pretty tumultuous time in my life. But more than that, I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels this way. 

The internet can be a great resource, but it can also be a way to fuel one irrational fear with others. Books about pregnancy are filled with the information you crave, but they also tend to assume that above all, the dream of  becoming a mother has secretly consumed you since puberty. So this blog is for those of us who don't feel like that, at least not yet. It's a safe place to be honest, and selfish, and irreverent about pregnancy-either your own or someone else's.

So if you're still with me, thank you. We'll figure it out, probably.*

*This might be the best parenting slogan of all time.