I’m surprised by the number of people who ask me if I’m scared or anxious about the new baby. Ok – it’s not like I get asked every day, but enough. It’s asked by parents or non-parents. And I wonder – are parents supposed to be frightened of looming parenthood? I can understand if we were much younger and somehow had an “accident”, but this was a very much planned pregnancy. I suppose lesbians in relationships may get pregnant in the planned, deliberate way that lesbians are stuck with, but then regret it — realizing they did it as a misguided attempt to fit in with the other stroller-pushing dykes at the soccer pitch or to improve a failing relationship or to please their partner.
So is the assumption that I fit into one of those categories? Because if I wanted to fit in with the dykes at the soccer pitch, it would have been cheaper and easier to just get a dog. And my relationship is super, actually. And I wouldn’t go along with the pregnancy thing just to please my partner. Instead, I plan to actually be a parent. Now that I’m in my oh-so-wise 40s, I try not to make life altering choices without thinking them through first.
Personally, I think the scared party should be the one who is actually pregnant. The one whose body is changing, who has to monitor her nutrition to ensure the developing baby is getting what it needs, who will be inadvertently peeing when she sneezes, and who will find it difficult to sleep comfortably. And we all know what’s going to happen at the end of pregnancy – labour.
Me, I’ve got it easy. I need to install a handrail so that when S’s centre of gravity gets all mucked up, she’ll have something to grab onto when she goes up the stairs. I have to give foot rubs and be generally supportive. And when junior arrives, my job is to co-parent and to take the load off of S who will still feel like she’s doing it all on her own (perception – there’s no getting around it).
This will be the “scariest” part – living with an anxious, sleep deprived new mother. But that stage will move on soon enough when junior eventually sleeps more. S has expressed more worry about than I have, and I recall her suggesting that I’m naively thinking it will be a breeze. But I know it will be a huge disruptive torment. I also know that it will be a finite torment, followed by other lesser torments, followed by the tween and teen years (snotty stranger living in our house, eating our food, demanding expensive electronics). During the in-between parts, we’ll be a family and try to teach junior the ways of the world, how to laugh, how to live a good life and be a contributor to society. And how to throw a ball, and each with chopsticks, and other Very Important Things.
Sure, we could have a junior born with a serious physical defect, or one who suffers from chronic depression or bi-polar or schizophrenia, or who gets hooked on crack or crystal meth, or wants to play a large and obnoxious drum kit. But until any of that actually happens, I’m not going to worry about it.
