Having told most of the people we hoped to surprise, I can finally reveal the real reason I've been skimping on writing for the last little while: I'm currently about 10 weeks pregnant, so it's early yet, but all signs so far are positive. We're very excited, but first trimester symptoms are not my favorite thing, and as it turns out, I'm finding that growing a person takes up most of my mental energy, leaving not a lot of room for much else.
I spent yesterday volunteering at the museum, because Mother's Day hasn't been my favorite time of year for a while now. I'm far from alone in this; there are innumerable reasons people find holidays like this one difficult, and most of the team working the museum's Mother's Day event were dealing with the day much like I was, with unnamed griefs and unspoken hurts, surrounded by mothers and daughters who were happier than we were. Somehow, though, it was clear we were all thankful for the distraction, all glad to be serving for the benefit of healthier and happier families, even if they weren't our own.
At the same time, though, I got a few of my first mother's day wishes myself, and it was a little strange. A dear friend sent an e-card; my dad texted a little joke. It was the first day in weeks that I've spent on my feet for such a long stretch of time, and I could feel the weight of the tiny person working to grow inside me, tugging against ligaments and muscles. Most of the time, it's easy to feel like I'm just ill instead of pregnant, that my exhaustion and nausea are just symptoms of something else, because my kid is still much too small to make themselves known. But yesterday, I had no doubts. For G, I think, although my pregnancy is very real and he has been taking very good care of me, the baby itself is still something not-quite. For me, at least in these moments, I'm very aware that I have someone extra to take care of, that I'm already mothering. Moments like these.
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