We’re entering a new stage here at This Queer Familia. By which I mean, I’m pregnant, due in October.
I waited to tell you all until now for two reasons:
1) The first trimester flattened me, and I basically did only the minimum required of me, which included taking care of Nico and taking care of my students. I also tried to be as nice to Marta as possible, because she was really darn sweet with me.
2) After my miscarriage last year, I had a hard time accepting any of this as “real” until I’d reached that so-called safer zone that is the second trimester.*
I am now, at fifteen weeks, finally beginning to realize that I really am pregnant and, perhaps more importantly, that this time it will likely “stick,” so to speak. We had friends over for Nico’s third birthday on Sunday (I know, she’s old!) and one of them also gifted Marta and me a small package. I opened it and there was a packet of onesies.
I teared up.
Granted, I’ve seen onesies before. I’ve put Nico in hundreds of them probably. They’re about as common as a paper bag. And yet, those onesies helped me recognize for the first time that this little bump really is going to be a baby. You, dear readers, are probably like, “Well duh,” but you’re not an overly sentimental crying pregnant woman, so don’t judge my mini epiphany at a three year old’s birthday party. It felt significant.
I’ve been crying a lot these past couple weeks, which I totally acknowledge as hormone related. Yesterday, I cried three times before 9 a.m. The last cry was an out-in-out sobbing session related to the fact that yet another once-perfect bra no longer fits. Last night I started crying watching while Nico in gym class sing the “goodbye song.” I have never felt so sentimental and high maintenance in my whole life. It’s kind of fun.
Lucky for me (and probably less so for her), Marta has been the ideal partner in all this. I’ve always enjoyed being in an lesbian relationship, but I’ve never appreciated it logistically as much as I do now. Women with male spouses–even if they are sweet, feminist-minded male spouses–will never have a partner who actually understands what it’s like to be pregnant, let alone one who already has a pregnant woman’s wardrobe to then share with you. What solved my too-small bra breakdown yesterday morning was Marta hugging me and then going to get the next size up in her pregnant woman’s bra collection. It was kind of a miracle.
I know the religious right says “life” is a miracle, but when you’re actually growing life what feels like a miracle is having someone find the perfect bra for you. Or taking care of your daughter so that you can lie on your futon for five hours and read pregnancy blogs that compare your fetus to food items that make you want to throw up. Or maybe what I really mean is, thanks Marta.
More soon, I promise, regarding pregnant lesbian life in Lubbock. I’m going to a “Professional Mom Meet-and-Greet” at a yoga studio on Saturday which sounds blog-worthy. In the meantime, here are some pics from Nico’s third birthday. She had a ball. And I made the world’s ugliest birthday cake, which looked even uglier next to my friend Louise’s beautiful carrot cake (the “official” birthday cake).
*This is not to say that I didn’t tell you all because, as the pregnancy blogs all warn, I shouldn’t share my news too early because then I might have to “unshare” my news if I miscarry. I think that advice is a bunch of horse shit, for me at least. It turns miscarriage into a deep dark–and shameful–secret that a once-pregnant woman is supposed to keep to herself. When, as we all know, miscarriage is super common. I’ve told lots of people about mine and will continue to do so. It was awful. Horrible. But not something to be kept to myself, at least in my case.