The Beginning of a Blog
Ahh... the start of a new blog. A place I've been many times before, with nothing more to show for it than a slew of forgotten Tumblr URL's, Blogger attempts and Xangas (yes, that happened). This blog, however, is a special one, because its creation marks the beginning of a very long journey I have ahead of me: motherhood. To say I am ecstatic would be an understatement. To say that I'm not terrified and overwhelmed at the same time, would be a lie. Ever since I first found out I was pregnant my mind has been a whirlwind of anxiety, apprehension, excitement - a mix of emotions all at once.
I feel like the journey has barely even begun. It's like pregnancy is the "packing" stage of the journey that is motherhood. And let me tell you, I've never been a good packer. When one must pack for a trip or a move, there is a set deadline for which the packing must be completed (that "deadline" - A.K.A. due date - is June 12th, by the way). One part of me is meticulous, a list-maker. I have my possessions grouped into categories titled things like "Toiletries," mostly because I feel fancy when I use that word. My clothes are separated into "Day" and "Night," and then further categorized by pants, skirts, blouses... etc. You get the picture. I make these lists well in advance. They make me feel good about myself. They allow me to live under the guise of being organized person. I feel prepared. However, as the days pass and the hours slip by, I find myself overwhelmed by the self-inflicted rigidity of my list, and then suddenly it's the night before the trip and I haven't packed a single item. Queue: mad dash. So far, the packing for this journey has not gone well either. There's been some bumps (oh my god I hate puns).
Imagine someone was to tell you that you were to move to Paris. Tomorrow. You're just living your life and all of a sudden you have to up and move to a completely new country. You've been dating someone new for a couple of months but they don't want to come along for the journey, so you're going to have to do it alone. Of course one part of this is exciting - it's a new and wonderful place you've never been, full of culture and baguettes and cigarettes (basically). You get to start fresh. However, the other part is not as exciting. It's terrifying. You don't speak the language, you have no idea where you're going to live, who you're going to meet, how you're going to leave your family and friends and your job. As much as it's an adventure, change is downright terrifying!
Finding out I was pregnant at twenty years old was just like that. I felt the terrifying part first. Here I was, a college student in New York City, experiencing all different sorts of people, learning new things every day, drinking in the atmosphere through every pore of my body. New York was my dreamland - magnificent and ugly all at once. I didn't want that to end! I wasn't ready. It was one of those things where, hey, Paris seems nice and all, but I really just like where I am.
Then, slowly, I began to feel the exciting part. This is where the "going to Paris" analogy ends. The beauty and perfection of creating a new life cannot be so easily trivialized. Instead of leaving for a new country, I was embarking on possibly the single most life-changing experience one can - parenthood. It was scary for a while (and sometimes it still is), but it's a good scary. It's the type of scary that reminds you you're still alive.
Where all my other journeys have begun with a list, this one began with a mad dash. In the course of two months, the news had been broken to all of my extended family and most of our family friends. I had moved out of my little apartment in Queens, and back in with my parents. I learned that the father would not be choosing the same journey as I chose and I tried to accept that everyone's journey in life is different. I chose a difficult path, but ultimately I know in my heart that it is the right one.
I feel so blessed to have so many people reach out and extend their support to me - my mom and dad, there's no words for the love and understanding that they've shown me; my brother and sister, Uncle "Gerf" who's already planning snowboarding trips with baby, and Aunt "Corebear" who's busy with cake designs for the shower and who never fails to lend an ear when I'm in need of someone to listen; Erin, you've been there since pregnancy test number one and I really can't thank you enough; my Aunt Caroline and Joe, for their kind words and phone calls; the Fox family - Susan gifted What To Expect immediately, thank you; honestly so many acts of kindness have been shown to me from those mentioned and more, I really am speechless.
So this is where I am now. 21 years old and 23 weeks pregnant with my first child. It's a boy. Baby "Q", as I'll call him here. I feel him kicking every day. I lay awake at night imagining what he will look like, and what great things he'll accomplish in his life; who his friends will be, who he'll fall in love with and what sports he'll play in school (we're an unathletic bunch, so that's probably wishful thinking). I stare at the blank space in the room where his crib will go and I'm so elated I'm blinking back tears. I don't understand how I could love someone who I haven't even met. I am so proud. This is just the beginning of so much that is to come.
- mama pear
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