Lost My Voice

I'm constantly fascinated by baby-creation. Suddenly, all of the intricate parts and details that make up a person come together piece by tiny piece.  There is nothing, and then there is a heart and a brain and a whole nervous system.  Even the creation of a fingerprint is pretty amazing.

As the keeper of the parts coming together though, the lack of control and the lack of empirical information is often unsettling.  Sure, I take vitamins and don't drink, etc., but I never really know what's going on in there.  I'm reassured after a doctor's visit,  but then I accidentally read about a baby whose umbilical cord was tied in a knot, and I can't sleep.  I could buy my own little ($8,000) ultrasound device to check in on it once in awhile, but, quite frankly, I would never get anything done, and it would just contribute to a deeper sense of worry.  (There's the baby's face, the leg... is that a knot in the umbilical cord?)

In addition to the fear that comes from not-knowing, there is also the fear that comes from knowing.  I listen to the news and panic-- why would I want to bring another person into this world?  People are evil, politics are disgusting, etc.  I have to constantly bring myself back to the whole picture.  Some people are evil.  Politics are disgusting, but politics have always been disgusting (and have sometimes been more disgusting), etc.

So, instead of thinking too much, I've converted to full-time do-mode.  There is a sense of urgency that I must accomplish physical tasks. My nesting instinct is extreme, and anything that doesn't produce physical results seems pointless.  I want to sew things!  I want to get the baby's tiny living space in order!  I've been talking to friends and family more often and reading.  But the things I read and talk about are lighter, perhaps more frivolous.  Although I have a lot more energy than in the 1st trimester, I still sleep a lot.  I avoid the news.  Overall, I am excited and patient and enjoying each day (because while scared and etc., I love being pregnant, and it only lasts 9 months!).

Since I've been pregnant, I've written a handful of poems.  Maybe 5, and only 2 are complete.  My writing always starts with a desire to investigate the things beyond my control-- the things I can't understand or know completely.  Right now, I can't handle the things I can't understand completely, because what is happening to my body and to the baby's body is too much in itself to comprehend completely.  I don't want to play in the gray space or wade into darkness just now.  I just want to enjoy the sunshine for a while.

Throughout my writing-life, I've gone through periods, seasons even, of not-writing, so I'm not concerned that I won't get back into the swing of things.  Even now that my dreams are more vibrant, I  can sense a sort of almost-readiness for my writing.  A different writing.  As though this incubation period is both physical and mental.

In other news, today I get to meet my brand new niece, and soon I'll know if this little pumpkin (currently the size of a large banana) is a boy or a girl.  I'm so excited lately that I just cry all the time.  That kind of happiness is so good (and exhausting!).