I have absolutely zero desire to birth a child.
Pregnancy, I can understand. I can even reach down deep and find a shred of desire to grow life from just my own blood and thrumming being. I've even had the pregnancy dreams, although those are pretty weird for me. I never wake up all wistful and wondering. No, I always kind of thrash awake feeling vaguely violated.
But it's really the birth part that I don't get. To me (I speak only for myself and from my own thoughts and experience), it seems nightmarish. The inspiration behind Alien and Dawn of the Dead.
You grow. And grow. And continue to grow, until you are literally stretched to bursting. And that thing in there that's stretching the shit out of you must, sweet BBJ, get pushed out of the one place that should, it seems to me, remain free of such brutality.
And come out it must. Your bellybutton doesn't stretch wide to accommodate it. You don't have to take the biggest shit of your life. No. You must push that sonofa out, no matter the earthquakes of your bones, no matter the stretch, tear, or shred of your flesh.
And I don't wanna.
But that's just me. I bow down to the women who have done it and who will do it. (E! You will be amazing).
And don't worry, I'm going to get all kinds of shit from my sister for this post, who not only pushed her baby out without so much as a Tylenol, but she did it right there on the couch.
After 32 hours of labor.
My mom did it too. Pushed me out in her own bedroom, surrounded by a dozen high hippies chanting and swaying and tie-dying. My dad broke her waters with his fingernail.
How cool are these women? They are Great Arctic Warriors. They have traveled to the yawning abyss and back. They've gone where I will never go.
My lack of posting is due to some weariness that has draped itself over my cerebral cortex.
The weariness lifted briefly last night, when E showed me a 3-D ultrasound picture of our embryo, who stands (floats?) on the brink of fetus-hood. The lentil lives, and in fact wriggles its body and waves its beanpole legs.
It has legs. It is the size of my thumbnail.
I am overtaken with the arresting strangeness of this. E is pregnant. It is looking like there may be a baby in my near future. And right now, that baby is shimmying inside E with the force of its hammering heart.
My mother and sister, those Wise and Terrible forces of nature, have already sent extremely tiny shirts to my house.
And some of them are tie-dyed.