As I sit here at 3 am, burping into the earliest hours of
the morning due to an unfortunate dinner decision of a bean burrito many, many
hours ago, I’ve had some time to look back on my life. Now, this is a much
bigger improvement over me burping into the earliest hours of the morning while
Googling a bunch of terrible shit, so consider this progress. The combination
of gas, exhaustion, and hormones have put me in some sort of weird reflective
state, so I apologize in advance if I manage to offend more than usual.
I’ve come to the realization that I was a weird kid. A good
kid, but a little strange. I lived in my head A LOT (still do). Not that imagination is a bad thing – I was just a
bit much. Often picturing myself in a
variety of situations where I was either: A) responsible for saving the world
from the 4 horsemen of the Apocalypse or B) starting the Apocalypse itself,
I now realize I’ve had control issues from the very beginning. Putting the “G”
in OMG since day 1, apparently. Sorry, God.
I chalk it up to reading and probably a touch of mental
instability that has followed me all the days of my life thus far. I started
devouring books by the truckload at around 4 years old and just never seemed to
stop. All the money I was given for birthdays or for pimping myself out as the
Filipino people’s answer to Annie by belting out the song “Tomorrow” at family parties,
went to books, books, and more books. I’m happy to report that I no longer harbor
any resentment for not being the first minority Annie on Broadway and still buy
lots of books (Nate is DEAD SET AGAINST
me buying more these days though, not because he is an enemy of the written
word, but because we simply have no more room to house them).
I still, obviously, live in my head. The narrative is just a
bit different. Instead of being the star of the Bible’s final chapter “Revelations”,
I’ve toned it down to a more mature version of Are you there, God? It’s Me,
Margaret (minus the wanting to get my period on account of being pregnant
and all).
Holy crap, I’m still weird.
Anyway, back to my control issues. I’ve stated in the past
that I tried to control everything in my first pregnancy with Ligaya, and
learned the hard way that it was simply impossible to do so. There are things
that can be fixed, and there are things that can’t. Life happens. Bad things
happen. Terrible shit can happen. Look at the world in the last few months...weeks, days...even. Jesus.
In the rational part of my brain, I understand that in this pregnancy,
but that doesn’t stop me from often going off the deep end. However, nothing bad
has happened. In fact, everything has been really, really good, and baby girl
is doing fantastic! My formerly errant cervix continues to astound me. I am in
the best hands and both teams of doctors are ready to tackle whatever
comes our way. They’ve rejected my offer to join their practices, so that hurts
my feelings, but I’ll get over it. In time.
Suffering is a choice. Today – at 3 in the morning, I choose
not to mentally suffer anymore (this is not to say that at 6 am or even 8 pm tomorrow
or the next day the thoughts won’t start creeping in again, but I will make an
active effort to stop the madness).
I am 27 weeks pregnant and have spent the
last almost 7 months worrying and being afraid that this blessing will be taken
away at any moment. And you know what? It can be taken away – I’m not stupid
enough to believe that bad things can’t happen twice in a row, but all I can do
is my best. All I can do is hope. Why not try to enjoy the experience? (BECAUSE
IT’S HARD). I can try, though.
27 weeks. My goodness.
Thanks to some beautiful people who I’ve come to regard as
family – week 27 has started off with a bang. Yesterday, for the first time in
a really long time, I left the house for a few hours to visit with some friends
we hadn’t seen in a while. What I thought was just a little get together turned
out to be a surprise baby shower. And while I really haven’t looked at any baby
related items because of my intense fear of what fickle-ass Fate will do by me dangling
a fat, juicy carrot in its face, this was just what I needed to start feeling –
dare I say - normal. Like THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING, that in about
9-10 weeks (hopefully), we will be bringing this baby girl home. The taste of
confidence is so unfamiliar in my mouth at this point that I’m struggling to
put all of these emotions into words.
Nate and I met this wonderful group of people under the most
terrible of circumstances back in October of 2012. All of us lost our children.
Every Tuesday night we would gather together
in a small community center room at Hoag Hospital to lay our broken hearts out
on the table and tell our stories, recite our babies’ names, and honor and
grieve for them. This bereavement group was me and Nate’s saving grace at a
time when we so desperately needed saving. While none of us attend those meetings
anymore, we’ve still maintained our relationships and
forged ties that cannot be broken. All of them have had their rainbow babies.
We are the last of the group to get pregnant, and through all the years of waiting
and praying, they have stood by us and given us hope that we, too, will be
blessed. I am so grateful for them.
27 weeks. Wow!!! We have one more week until we make it to our
biggest milestone yet. I told Nate that once
we hit 28 weeks, I would start reading baby books and buying things to get
her ready to come home. Now I wish I hadn’t spent so much money online buying
useless crap this whole time because seriously, what the hell am I going to do
with those 50 miniature wooden doll figures that I never got around to painting? And all
that yarn that I never ended up knitting? The Kylie Kardashian Lip Gloss that I
hate myself for buying (WTF on this one for real, man)…
Speaking of money, I started looking into ways of maximizing
my income from a reclined position. Since we continue to lose at Super Lotto
and Mega Millions every week, I need to think of something quick. Other than
pregnancy porn (WHICH IS A THING, CAN YOU BELIEVE IT) and making crooked cranes
with my fat sausage fingers, there doesn’t seem to be much out there that matches my current set of skills. I
tried my hand at writing some college soccer player fan fiction and it didn’t
go so well…think 50 Shades of Hey, Look at Me Up Here Looking at You Playing
With Your Balls Down There. When random thoughts associated with the words “juicy
loins” have nothing to do with sexy times and everything to do with specific cuts
of pork and beef, it’s time to go back to singing songs and making awkward Facebook videos.
27 weeks – hang in
there, Sweetest Pea.
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