Last night TLC had a marathon of their show I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant. I was only able to catch five minutes of it because after this girl gave birth to her son in a Burger King toilet Mike insisted I turn it off. I complied because according to the recounts there was blood everywhere, like buckets, and I was starting to get the willies. I was able to catch a blurb where the voice over told us she had a period every month, she gained only ten pounds, and she had no nausea or other pregnancy symptoms. NONE. She really had no reason to think she was knocked up. At least until the kid fell out of her vagina. Boom! Or rather, Splat! She's a mom.
That poor girl. Yeah, she was dumb for having unprotected sex but can you imagine the immediate, totally oppressive responsibility and alienation she must've felt? I mean after she came to? It must be like Alien when the alien pops out of John Hurt's belly only it was popping out of her vagina. I would not be okay if that happened to me. But then I started thinking... how awesome! Aside from being totally unprepared for labor and the impending doom of having someone rely on you for the rest of your life, she had a perfect pregnancy! Only a ten pound gain? No morning sickness? No gas? A healthy-ish baby? Amazing! A freaking miracle. I could only be so lucky.
But I am not jealous by any stretch. Believe it or not, my goal is not to have the child in a fast food joint. Besides, my clock is not ticking. I don't think my ovaries are husks (unlike other people.) Friends of mine have little bubbas and I am not jealous. But man, I LOVE BABIES. I think I love them as much as Angelina Jolie loves collecting them. I just want to eat them up they are soooo cute. Cute, but equally terrifying. I don't know what I find the most terrifying about having children- the responsibility, what it will do to my marriage, what it will do to the already orbit-inducing size of my ass, or what it will do for my self image. I just don't know.
I think about this a lot. It's not like I need to. I'm not pregnant. Let me repeat that- I AM NOT PREGNANT. I just like philosophizing about parenthood. Am I going to be a suffocatingly emotionally needy mother? Am I going to be cold towards my children? Will I maintain my sense of self? Will my sense of self revolve around my child? Will my children have red hair? Will I know how to relate to them if they are nothing like me? Will I be Debbie Reynolds in Mother and resent my first born for ruining any unfulfilled dreams? I know no one has this shit figured out even when their kids are having kids. But I worry that I won't be able to accept what parenthood will do to me. Or my ass.
If I went to the doctor tomorrow and they were like, oh you have a pea in your pod, I would turn my head and puke and cry out of fear and frustration. But then I would buck up and be fine. Maybe even a little excited. I would fight tooth and nail with Mike over baby names and come to terms that I will probably never own my home. I have to accept that my dreams may change more quickly than I would like. The woman on that show had no time to think about these things. People usually have on average nine months to come to terms with the life-altering changes and this girl had nothing. Maybe that's the most terrifying thing of all about that show. Not the blood but the total lack of emotional preparation. In that respect, I will be the lucky one.