A Little Bit of Love
FreiFem2011Blogscredit: mahalie
The body, it hurts. The muscles ache with the force of post-marathon charlie horse. The acid reflux rushes up my esophagus with a velocity NASA might want to borrow. The foot cramps, the headaches, the exhaustion, the moodiness, the shortness of breath: I am not enjoying them.
But still, all is not miserable in last trimester land.
“I think,” I told my husband last night, “I think I’m starting to like the baby a little.”
“Yah hear that, [baby’s name]?” he laughed. “Your mommy thinks she likes you – a little.”
Now that I can clearly feel the outline of her leg pushing, like a scrawny fleigelah, against my skin, it’s starting to penetrate my foggy brain that this might be real. There might actually be a person inside of me (how crazy is that?). And into that little spot of awareness, I’m able to deposit a little bit of affection. Just a tiny amount.
It’s frightening to feel even that much, because I still can’t believe she won’t die. I still can’t believe, in my irrational reptilian brain, warped by years of fear training, that god won’t punish me for my sexuality and sinfulness, by killing my baby. Even now I can hardly believe that she’s still moving around my belly, hiccupping into my cervix.
This baby means so much to me, it is the ultimate dream I have longed for all of my life. I can’t believe that god won’t snatch her away from me, make my body carry her for all of these months, but, when the time comes, give me a stillborn child instead. And laugh. And say, “Hah hah, fooled you. Did you really think I’d let you have a happy ending?”
Be patient with me, [baby’s name], I promise I will love you. A lot. But there are demons that were harnessed to my back at my own birth, that I am still wrestling free.
5 Responses
I can totally relate to this- I also figured I could never have healthy, happy children–when my third pregnancy was indeed lost at 20 weeks due to placental abruption it made perfect sense to me and I still feel a little bit like I deserved it–fucked up, I know. (I even went to the Mikvah afterwards!) All the best wishes for a happy, healthy last trimester and baby!
“Hah hah, fooled you. Did you really think I’d let you have a happy ending?”
To digress, along the way, along the edges, my siblings always hinted this. So I kept quiet about my life. Now sadly, so many of them don’t have the happy endings. Fear training indeed!
Best of luck. Can’t wait to hear the baby’s popped out. Alive, healthy and grinning!
Thank you Esther Tehilla.
J. – yes, I experience something like that. When my life was more chaotic, my family were so smug about it, they couldn’t seem to imagine any other reality for me, given my irreligiousity. I think they’re a little bewildered and confused about the joy and “conventional” success in my current life.
Freifem, just to show how unprogressive my family is. Here’s my mother’s reaction to my driver’s license in my mid twenties (bear in mind I’m older than you and the child of Holocaust survivors). Take this in the humor it is intended. I relish this story with a bit of skewed fondness towards my mom. It’s iconic and Chassidic immigrant.
“You are driving? How scandalous and untzinius-dic of you! And can you give me a ride to the doctor?”
Auslander writes about similar terror when he and his wife were expecting. For what it’s worth, that fear training is just as prevalent among those still frum. We’re conditioned to expect that any adversity or difficulty is a deserved punishment. Or even better – a gift!