Tomorrow makes it a year since I found out I was pregnant officially. I'm one of those people who, once I've discovered something interesting or out of the ordinary, starts noticing every little thing about it and I'd noticed alot of strange things happening to my body. I thought that I'd hit my head too hard while playing soccer and had finally shaken something loose in there because I was clumsier than I'd been since Junior high and kept getting dizzy and had other issues. (Eight concussions including a very severe one my senior year of highschool made me a little paranoid about aneurysms and damage and whatnot.) Turns out, it wasn't that at all. Turns out that I wasn't brain damaged, and that I wasn't finally losing it. Turns out that yes, my world HAD shifted and I was unbalanced because my center of gravity had completely changed both physically and in every other possible way.
Science has come so far that once I went to the doctor we were able to track back to the very day James was conceived. But before that, sitting at home 20 days after the fact, holding my breath, it took mere seconds for the official word in black digital on the pregnancy test to abruptly appear: Pregnant
I forgot to breathe for a little while right then and every possibility ran itself through my head from abortion to adoption, from running away and not telling anyone to killing myself, I had to sit down for a while. I wanted a cigarette more than anything in the world, but when I went and found my pack, all I could do was look at it, crush it in my hands, and throw it away. At that moment, basically the choice was made, but there was a great deal of agonizing over it after, of course. From that day through the present and for the rest of my life though, my center of gravity is my baby. James. My world revolves around him.
I've been keeping notes on my facebook page. I've been debating over transferring them here or just leaving them there and starting over.
It's hard when your whole life has been turned upside down and inside out not to grab at the familiar. Not to hold onto what was. New things are scary. New routines, new people, new selves. I'm not ever going to be the same girl I was a year ago. I'm still trying to figure out what sort of girl I am. Or woman really. I think that maybe one of the hardest parts of all of this right now is that girlhood really is over.
James isn't hard to care for. It's easy to take care of this baby. He's happy and healthy and active and wonderful. It's the rest of things that are hard. Taking care of me. Taking care of the bills, the chores, being back at work. All of that is hard. Trying to figure out how to interact with James' father without crying about it (the loss of one of my best friends, the fact that his life is basically the same and mine absolutely isn't, the fact that all of our friends still go out with him alot and I haven't even seen hardly any of them). Trying to figure out how to keep my friendships together, how to make new mommy friends, how to maintain a new relationship with a new guy, or how to let him go and just be grateful for the time he's been here helping me if that's what he wants.
What's hard is figuring out how to organize everything so that it fits. Knowing what to leave behind and what to keep. Maintaining order for my child when I've always been a sort of disordered person. Trying to cut out all the drama I used to have swirling around me. Drama is for the bored. I don't think I'll have time to be bored again. It's alot easier to let things go when you don't have time to think about them. Of course, when I do have time, everything sort of just crashes right on in and I have to deal with it in a big pile all at once instead of having little bits on a regular basis. I've found that I cry harder, but for shorter periods of time than I did before.
Anyway, I'm not complaining, or well, maybe I am, but I don't think I'm the only one among the mothers who has these thoughts.
I'm not going to cheese this blog up with fluffy platitudes or pretend I'm an uber-mom or that a gentle series of rainbows and stars came out of my uterus in the delivery room and were handed to me with my perfectly clean child. This isn't the movies. The reality of right now is that I love my child with all my heart, I would seriously harm anyone who ever harmed him, and I love to play with him, watch him learn and grow, but some days, his smile and the promise of others in our future together, is basically the only thing standing between me and taking a dive off a really tall condo building. :)
To get back to the real point of this. History and its place. I think I might repost some of the blogs I wrote a while back here and there, just to have some of the background here, but for the most part, I just want to move forward. I'm not that girl anymore. That's not my life anymore. I am a mom. My life is something else.