I just drove home from my Monday night writing group. I’ve been meeting with this group for a few years, and even though I often wish I could just go home right after practice on Mondays, I’m always glad to have gone, even when it isn’t my work we’re discussing. I’m the youngest by at least 30 years in the group’s current demographic. There are no men. Today we talked about a story about frozen embryos (not saying this derisively at all–it’s a fascinating and kind story), a story about a child’s suicide, and a story about a daughter coping with her father’s death. I drove home on dark, twisty, un-lit Connecticut back roads thinking in a slightly different way about what awaits. I felt protected by this group of women a bit.
One of the most interesting things I read in my chocolate book was that one of the things early pregnancy hormones do is make us want to bond with family, especially mothers and sisters. I am only just very slightly beginning to feel some of the physical ramifications of hormone changes, but I felt this almost immediately (which I’m not sure means its hormonal). Whether an evolutionary hold-over or neediness on my part, I find myself planning walks I can take with my mom (she’s out of town right now), yearning to confide in girlfriends about the pregnancy, and almost completely disinterested in life outside my little sphere of love. I’ve been motivated at work, but really mostly because I’m terrified I’m going to be hit with unbearable fatigue and I’ll be swamped with grading and nausea all at once. Trying to use tonight’s writing class as motivation to be similarly amped up about writing.
Other than craving time with my mom, I’m craving… kale. I think about salads much more than I used to. I think part of this is psychological–I’m not running nearly as much or as hard as I usually do, so I feel a bit soft. I do actually think I’ve already gained weight in my thighs, lower stomach and boobs. It’s scary to fathom keeping the pregnancy a secret when its only week 5 and I feel self conscious in my running tights and t-shirt.
Something I’ve read hundreds of times in all my crazy pregnant internet stalking is how grateful women feel to be healthy, and how all they hope for is a healthy baby. Of course that’s the most important thing to me, too. But, to be honest, I do miss my body (already). I spent a long time as a fat kid, and when I started running as a freshman in high school, I also stopped hating myself. It’s been 17 years since I crossed my arms protectively over my midsection or chest, and I already feel myself assuming that horribly familiar stance. If it were the best thing for my baby, I’d gain 100 pounds and not run a step between now and December. Of course. But I already miss racing and running to exhaustion and the accompanying feeling of being invincibly alive. Now, I feel very alive, but very vincible. Conscious of every ache, swell, craving, and aversion.
I also miss wine. Especially after an hour drive home on rainy, un-lit Connecticut back roads after an 11 hour work day.