I’m a bit of an over-planner. Right, that’s a blatant lie. It took me 9 months from the time MFH and I agreed to get a dog to actually get one. A dog. Clearly I’d need more than 9 months to figure out life with a kid.
But I’m getting a bit ahead of myself here…
I grew up in the Southern USA. It creates a certain type of person, and that became a bit muddled by the fact that both my parents were Canadian. I have a bit more of a male-sided personality which I believe can be traced back entirely to only having a brother (and my mother only having brothers, and my father only having brothers).
I never played with dolls, and I’ve never owned a Barbie. I’ve never felt particularly maternal; although I would cut out my own heart for those I love and care for. Being the only daughter of an only daughter in a sea of boys, I’ve had some sincere pressure to have a daughter—or son—of my own. Example? My mother told me that I’d better have a grandchild for her by the time I was thirty—with or without a husband. I was twenty-one at the time.
I lived in Vegas then, still caught somewhere between being a University brat and a new young professional. I was also caught under my love of acting and my extremely unhealthy obsession with my weight. (More on that later, I’m sure.) It was possibly the worst time in my life, in Vegas. But it was also the start of an amazing growth in me.
I knew so little, but I was confident of two things:
- I was never getting married
- Kids were great, but not for me.
Yet here I am now, nine years later, both married and staring pregnancy in the…er, can we call it face? Regardless, you get the idea. I blame MFH for everything. Before we even started dating we had a conversation where he completely agreed with me that both marriage and children were not for us. (He lied. Thank goodness.)
Which brings us back to the beginning, I think (skipping the boring parts).
Last year I had a round of conversations about me being pregnant. Different people and different situations, but they all had something to do with me and a baby. It occurred to me that I was almost thirty and I couldn’t actually bring myself to dare having them after 35. MFH has his heart set on at least two. All of a sudden the math struck me upside the head. Unless I wanted to do a back-to-back (I don’t) I would have to get pregnant rather soon.
It was late Spring/early Summer at the time. The heat reminded me why I left the South in the first place. It also made me realize that if I didn’t want to be waddling heavy in my ninth month during said heat, I would have to actually get pregnant during the heat.
That’s right, I’m double tempting fate to kick me in the ass. Not only do I want to get pregnant with no real problems twice in five years. I also need it timed so that I miss the heat. You better believe that I am on my knees to Karma (and whoever else will listen) praying it will all go by wrote.
Here I am, one month into my three month pre-pregnancy plan. Basically I’m trying to live, eat, and sleep as if I were currently pregnant. It’s something I read in a book about preconception planning. Add that to the folic acid I’ve been taking for a year, and the internal girl-parts ultrasounds I had done for an unrelated condition, and I hope to be sort of a “perfect vessel” for The Spawn.
It’s kind of neat to think that, no matter what happens, you’ll be with me.