I really can’t work out what kind of expectant mother I am trying to be. I’m certainly not trying to be myself – how utterly boring.
Plus, as I now stand, I’m simply not good enough to be satisfied with being ‘me’.
There are so many exciting and luscious categories for expectant mother’s to fall into that it seems your own essence as a human being is just that much more validated when you are pigeon holed.
You know, ‘I understand my boundaries and who I am so much better now that I know I belong to the ‘fitspo’ collection of mothers’, or perhaps I’ll find myself fitting into the ‘working mother’ groups – being able to talk about how hard it is being pregnant and still having to work a stressful job.
These people get me, you think. They understand me, these are my kind of people.
But, if you are like me and don’t happen to fit into any of those groups – then who the fuck are you supposed to be? What is your identity? You can’t just be an ‘expectant mother’ who is finding her feet on the way – society doesn’t really like that – Instagram sure as fuck hates it – you need to figure out what hashtag suits you best or you’re just gonna fall right off the pram.
I feel lost. Some people call it the ‘baby blues’ and maybe that’s true, maybe I am down in the dumps and my hormones are going crazy. But the crux of the distress isn’t so much a kind of moody sadness, but rather an inability to get comfortable in my own skin primarily because I don’t even understand myself.
I don’t feel pregnant – isn’t that strange? I don’t feel any kind of connection to my unborn child which, frankly, makes me feel like some kind of monster.
I told my OBGYN this and he said it’s ‘completely normal’: “I’d worry more if you came in here and said you were feeling fantastic during your pregnancy”.
“But,” I asked, “what about all those celebrities that say they have a expectant mother glow and that they feel really connected to their baby already?”
“They’re lying,” he said. “It’s good publicity”.
I hope so.