Amazingly affirming artwork by Emma Ahlqvist (Instagram @fromthepine)
I know you’re supposed to wait till the end of the first trimester but I CANNOT stop telling everyone that I’m pregnant. So far the people who know are:
Axe Man
His parents
My parents
My sister
All my women-folk in New York
My ex-husband
My pseudo family on the East Coast
Everyone in my intentional community
My fellow birth workers (doulas and midwives that I know)
The people who work at the school I occasionally sub at
All the kids at said school
The mailman
A guy at the local Amtrak station
The woman who helped me at Lowe’s today
Most people’s response to the announcement is a big smile, sometimes a hug and “congratulations!” The only exceptions to this rule are those with medical training, who tend to go with “And how do you feel about that?” This is due to the fact that doctors, nurses and midwives frequently come across people who aren’t that thrilled about getting knocked up. Although if you’re announcing it at the hardware store, you’re probably not one of those people.
On a more serious note, I did actually think through my decision not to keep the news under wraps. At my age (I’m nearly forty) I know the chances of something happening are significant; in fact they’re about fifty-fifty. But here’s the thing: I want people to know the bad stuff as well as the good stuff and, if this baby chooses to check out, I don’t want to have to pretend that I’m okay. I want to be able to publicly grieve just as much as I want to publicly celebrate. Plus, I’m so fucking tired and hungry that keeping it quiet would require pretending to have way more energy and way less of an appetite than I do. Yes, that means that I might have to tell people the sad news at some point BUT WHAT EXACTLY IS WRONG WITH THAT? Can’t they handle it? Is losing a baby too private for other people to know? Is it shameful to miscarry? I’m not sure.
Of course, I know that it’s every woman’s right to choose her own path and so I entirely respect the rights of others to wait until 12 weeks. But me, I’m going to keep on telling anyone who will listen, including everyone at the dog park and the toll collector on the Rip Van Winkle bridge. Because I’m so excited that I might pee my pants. And I need an explanation for the wet patch.