Dealing with Becoming a Mother

                The third trimester has brought with it more difficulty, discomfort, and moodiness than the previous two trimesters of pregnancy combined. At this point, I am about 29 weeks and a half along, which is a little over 7 months. My birthday was two weeks ago—right around when I had just begun the third trimester. Since that day, things have gone downhill in many ways.

                My moods have been worse. My first two trimesters were rather unmarked by changes—I didn’t feel particularly depressed, I was comfortable and could move around easily, and for the entire first trimester, I didn’t even know I was pregnant! In fact, I was absolutely convinced that I was not pregnant, particularly because I’d had a pregnancy test in January and had been told it came back negative. Since my birthday and the start of the third trimester of pregnancy, however, my moods have been generally negative. I have struggled with depression for the majority of my life, and for the first two trimesters, my depression was in remission. I didn’t feel depressed anymore; things were okay, even after discovering I was pregnant. Yes, dealing with the fact of being pregnant in and of itself was difficult, stressful, and terrifying, but overall, I didn’t find myself thinking badly of myself. Since my birthday, however, that has been changing. The depression seems to want to be sneaking back into my life and a recurring thought is this: Postpartum depression is inevitable. I am going to have it. That thought alone isn’t the most disturbing, but when combined with other thoughts, which seem to be only reinforced by aches, pains, and discomfort in my body, I have become overwhelmed more than once. I never wanted this. It’s only getting worse and these are the reasons why I never wanted this. I didn’t ask for this. I did everything I could to prevent this from happening. I never wanted to be pregnant. These are the thoughts most prominent in my mind as it seems to be overcome yet again with depression.

                Everything hurts. Everything is uncomfortable. Sleeping is difficult; trying to position pillows around me in bed so that I might get comfortable is a chore, and some nights, it’s impossible to get comfortable no matter what I do with the pillows. In addition to that, I wake up three or more times every night, regardless of how comfortable I may or may not have managed to get before falling asleep. Getting out of bed every morning is a chore; it’s an uncomfortably slow process and it is painful. Standing causes pain in one or both of my feet and walking around causes pain in one or both hips and sometimes my back. Everything hurts! It’s too difficult to try going for a walk when my feet and hip are killing me, so I sit around as much as possible so that I don’t hurt at this point, but the sedentary lifestyle only increases my depressive thoughts.

                Things were only getting worse. Earlier this week, I was working on out-processing the base at which I’m stationed—a process which, by itself, is long and grueling, but for me is even more difficult because I’m not simply moving to another base, I’m separating from active duty entirely. The paper I needed to have filled out wanted me to make a 12-month budget and lay out a specific plan for how and where I would find employment outside the military. Here’s the problem: My husband is separating from the military as well and there is absolutely no way we can project a 12-month budget when we don’t know how much money we’re going to be making or when! On top of that, I’m about to have a brand-new baby—I’m not going to be trying to find full-time work outside of the home, I’m going to be taking care of the baby because I don’t trust people to take care of her and I will not take her to a daycare—they’re filthy and filled with nasty, snot-nosed creatures other people have spawned! I couldn’t see past these problems. My overwhelmed mind wanted to focus on how much none of what I was told needed to be done actually applied to me. I didn’t want to sit there and try calculating how much money we would need to bring in.

                That was one of my worse days. Then, things suddenly changed.

                I walked in to the O.B. office for an ultrasound appointment, yesterday. Somehow, I had missed an appointment I’d made for Tuesday, which was also the day I was so overwhelmed with trying to out-process for separation, so the secretary at the gynecologist’s office rescheduled me for the very next day, just an hour later than the original time had been the day before. So, Randy and I went to the hospital to see our baby.

                At our last appointment to check up on the baby and see the ultrasound, all of the images were blurry and I couldn’t make out a single bit of the baby on the screen. I’d left the hospital relatively frustrated and quite disappointed that there were no clear images. Yesterday’s appointment was different.

                The ultrasound images were extremely clear, and our baby’s face was even open for 3D pictures! I’ve never been a fan of 3D ultrasounds—they’re creepy as hell. But seeing the clarity of the ultrasound and looking at my baby suddenly made everything seem better. The voice in my head that kept screaming about how much I never wanted any of this was suddenly quiet. I didn’t mind that I’m pregnant; seeing the baby on the screen just quieted everything.

                Granted, 3D ultrasounds are creepy. But these 4 images, repeated a few times on a disc, show the creature growing inside of my body and somehow, these pictures in their clarity helped quiet the turmoil inside of me that insisted I never, ever wanted any of this.

                I still wouldn’t think less of a woman for aborting upon finding out about her pregnancy at 18 weeks. Part of my depressive thinking has been that I should have aborted when I found out, that things would be easier now if I had. I’ve wondered if I wouldn’t have been so tortured afterwards with the knowledge that in order to abort a fetus so developed, they would have had to cut her into pieces and remove the body that way. Then, I see her face on the ultrasound. I see her long legs—legs like mine—and I remember that the biggest reason I didn’t abort her was because, that day I found out, she had a gender. She wasn’t some raptor-like thing anymore—6 weeks had passed since she’d developed beyond looking dinosaur-like or less than human.

                I’m still dealing with the idea that I will be a mother. The fact remains that this is something I never wanted, that this is something I worked to prevent from happening. Time will tell, but for now, I can say this: My daughter looks just like me.

An Admirable Woman?

It’s common knowledge among those who know me that I absolutely never, ever wanted to get pregnant and make a baby. Ever. Even if I were to change my mind and decide I wanted a kid later on in life, I wanted to adopt one. There was no way in hell I was going to use my body to bring a brand-new human life into this world, especially when our planet is overpopulated by humans and there are so many other people out there who are contributing to the problem.

It has been extremely common during my life, whenever I would express my vehement abhorrence at the idea of making a baby, to hear from family and friends, “You never know!” So often, as well-meaning as they may have been, I would hear, “Stuff happens,” and, “You might change your mind!” My response to this would be to think, and sometimes say, No. I know myself, goddammit, and I do not want to make a baby. Even if I want kids later, I do not want to make one, goddammit.

So, when I found out I was pregnant, I was absolutely devastated. It was too late for me to stop it—I was going to have this baby whether I liked it or not and I most certainly did not like it, not then. In addition to the devastation, however, I was petrified of the idea of all of the friends and family who had mocked me, coming back and saying, “I told you so!” in one form or another. When I posted the first ultrasound photo, I added to it, “No gloating.” My biggest fear was my father—he had been my greatest antagonist.

I posted a couple of text posts about the pregnancy on Tumblr. The responses I received—surprising as they were, considering nobody ever messages me about anything on that site—were mixed. The first told me to abort it. Another told me that I am a “ridiculously abhorrent person” and that I don’t deserve my pets or a child. I responded rather well, I think, but the words still stuck with me. As someone who has struggled the majority of her life with depression, the fact that someone—even a complete stranger—had called me a horrible person stuck in my head and circulated throughout my cerebrum. Never mind that this person knows nothing about me or my life.

I’m not sure how I dismissed that message and managed not to let it bring me down, but I did. Somehow, I brushed it off and moved on.

Despite never wanting pregnancy or anything that comes with it, I decided I wanted to get involved in my base’s New Parent Support Program (NPSP) and take some classes. A nice lady named Tara called me from the program after, while at an orientation related to O.B. visits and available hospitals and so forth, I filled out a paper indicating that I had interest in what the NPSP had to offer. From there, Tara and I set an appointment for her to visit my house and give her “Babies 101” class.

Randy and I found the information absolutely invaluable and I set my next appointment with Tara to learn about breastfeeding. I didn’t think Randy would need to be at this class, so I didn’t have him set the time to get out of work for it. The day of the appointment, Tara forgot her breastfeeding materials and the class became Babies 201 instead. I took the information given to me, as well as a video, and shared with Randy what he had missed. We watched the video—all about newborns—and he was absolutely engrossed.

The next appointment taught us how to swaddle and bathe a newborn, as well as what to pack in a diaper bag. It was great—all of the appointments were great and I loved learning, because I had no idea what it would take to raise a baby prior to having taken these classes with Tara.

What Tumblr might not know, due to my lack of sharing, is that I plan to breastfeed and homeschool my daughter. I don’t trust other people to take care of her and I think daycares are disgustingly filthy anyway, so I won’t be working outside the home (at least not full time). Do I truly not deserve to have her, when I am planning to do everything in my power to give her everything I never had, growing up? Public schools in the United States are a joke, but even if they weren’t—even if they had decent systems of education in place—there’s the fact that there have been at least 74 school shootings since Sandy Hook Elementary School, and I will not risk my child’s life by sending her to a school that could be shot up any day by some crazy kid.

I told Tara I plan to breastfeed and do homeschooling. She told her assistant, who came to two of our last three classes alongside Tara so she could learn the job she was taking on. Both women told me they really admire that I am “opening myself up” to this baby, even though I never wanted any of this. They think it’s admirable of me to plan on breastfeeding and homeschooling.

I’m not so sure. I just want to do what’s best for my child. I’m actually highly judgmental of parents who do not do research or take classes like I’ve been doing—parents who think they know it all but really don’t; parents who will choose to formula feed when there’s nothing wrong with their breast milk; parents who will willingly send their children to public school even if they know it’s a terrible option; parents who will send their kids off to be taken care of by other people, rather than take care of them personally when they could be doing that. I am judgmental. Am I really an admirable person for wanting my child to have the best upbringing possible? Am I really admirable for wanting her to have all of the health benefits of my breast milk, for wanting her to have a good education that I can monitor for quality?

I don’t know, but it was certainly a wonderful—if uncomfortable and difficult to swallow—compliment.

The Other Side of the Planet

                For the past (nearly) three years, I’ve lived in Germany, working with and for Americans yet alongside Germans. The extremely limited amount of German I learned in high school prior to being stationed in Germany helped in the beginning, but didn’t have much chance to expand a whole lot during my stay, as I was surrounded almost constantly by Americans, many of whom couldn’t care less about learning the native language and conversing with the local nationals.

                This past Saturday, 28 June 2014, I flew from Frankfurt, Germany, to Seattle, Washington. I extremely underestimated the kind of culture shock I would experience in returning to America. Everything is so spaced out, so vast, in this country, compared to Europe—and yet, Europe is by far a prettier country than the United States. Where I would see brown, dead grass—where it has clearly been landscaped and the grass should be green—in the US, I know that if I saw such a thing in Europe, that grass would be green. It’s true that the grass is greener in Europe than the USA.

                I live currently with my grandparents…again. I didn’t want to come back. I wanted to serve a full career with the U.S. Air Force, a whole 20 years, and then retire and do something else. I had big plans and big dreams. My time in Germany served to crush every plan and dream I had—not because of the country or the area; as a matter of fact, it was wonderful to be in Europe—but rather because of the kind of people with whom I had to work. I didn’t want to separate from the military…but I found out I’m pregnant.

                My grandma asked me just the other night why it was that I separated early rather than sticking it out to the end of my enlistment. At the time that I discovered I was pregnant, I thought my husband would be placed before the Medical Evaluation Board for medical retirement from the military. It was coming up on the time that we would be PCSing—moving to a new base—and an MEB could take up to a year to complete. I was afraid that if I didn’t separate, or at least transfer out of active duty into the guard or reserve, that I would PCS without my husband and end up in a new place with a brand-new baby. If that happened, I would have had to find childcare for my new baby while I went to work, and this was absolutely not something I wanted to do! I don’t trust people and I sure as hell wouldn’t trust the Child Development Center on base to take care of her! So, I made the decision to separate. I figured I should have enough time then that if Randy goes before the MEB, I wouldn’t have to worry about anything. I would become his dependent and all would be well.

                Randy’s MEB was turned down. Suddenly, he was going to have an administrative discharge instead of a medical retirement. It was still honorable, but it didn’t provide benefits post-separation. His separation date ended up being effective the day before we were to fly out of Germany—the 27^th of June, when our flights were supposedly scheduled for the 28^th.

                My flight had no issues. I flew with both of our cats, arrived safely, met up with my dad and grandma (and baby brother), and proceeded to my grandparents’ house—only to find out that Randy had been stuck at Frankfurt overnight because SATO, the place on base that schedules the flights, completely fucked him over! They had scheduled his flight for the 27^th, like a bunch of idiots, when we had specifically asked for the 28^th multiple times!

                He made it safely in Indiana…luckily. His mother insisted on keeping him for two goddamned weeks, while I’m in Washington having to hurry up and figure a whole bunch of stuff out. My husband gets to meet up with his friends and have a good old time while I’m trying to get shit done in Washington. I can’t really complain about his mother—she’s doing wonderful things for us, buying us things we’ll need for the baby. It’s just that I want him here sooner than July 11^th and I don’t see why she couldn’t have had him for one week and been happy with it. The only friend I’ve managed to spend time with since I’ve been here is Mary, my best friend. I feel like I have other people who want to see me, whom I haven’t been able to see yet.

                Some good news is, today, I managed to finish my first list of reviews for porn websites. It might not be the most honorable job—at least, it isn’t if you’re some kind of stuck-up prick who’s too good to look at porn—but it will ultimately pay me $245.00. The list I finished today will get me $50 of that and then I’ll have a new list of sites to review. I haven’t gotten back to work with my other client, yet, but I did message him to say that I want to begin work on the company review he wants, come this Friday.

                My cats were traumatized for the first couple of days after getting to the house. I have them in my little brother’s old room—it used to be mine, before I left and my grandma switched all the furniture. The beds are gone, now, and I put in a couple of litter boxes with food, water, a couple toys, and a scratcher. The cats mostly hide in the closet, but they’ve reached the point that when I go into the room to visit them, they come out and give me love. It fills me with a warm and fuzzy kind of joy when they come out for me and start purring, rubbing their adorable faces against my legs and hands and chasing the laser I point around for them. I’ve discovered that Ajani, my male cat, is a catnip addict. I bought a little thing of catnip spray and I use it on the scratcher when I visit the cats, so that they know that’s a good thing to scratch. Ajani goes nuts and smashes his face against the thing, scratches the hell out of it, and even licks it, getting himself high as a kite! Liliana is a little less affected, but she enjoys it as well. I can’t wait to have my own place with Randy, our cats, and our baby—as I don’t expect to move out from my grandparents’ house until after the baby is born.

                It’s weird, extremely surreal, being in the United States again.