Identity Crisis? (6w4d)

I’ve known I’m pregnant for three weeks today. Twenty-one days to adjust to the idea of how much my life will change next spring. Three weeks is not really enough time to process that kind of information, really. Perhaps that’s why gestation of a human being takes thirty-eight weeks.

My emotions swing from one extreme to another. I am, of course, very happy. Quietly, peacefully happy. That is to be expected since this was what I was trying for. Less expected are the other emotions that have me wondering what the hell I’m doing having a child now, at my age, with my background, with my independent nature. I know it’s just fear that sets me on that path of questioning. Fear I won’t do it right. Fear I’ll lose myself, the person I’ve been for my entire adult life. Fear my kid will grow up to hate me. Fear I’ll screw it all up. Silly, I know. Or is it?

Regardless of how far women have come in the world, we still are expected to be the nurturers, to provide the bulk of the parenting responsibilities, to “know” how to do it all. I don’t know how to do any of it. I’ve never even changed a diaper. I’m supposed to know how to do that, right? Jay is the father, but he isn’t expected to know anything. That hardly seems fair.

I have months to work all this out in my mind and heart—and years of practice to get it as right as I can. As I told a friend, I don’t really have any good role models for the kind of mother I want to be. My mother certainly wasn’t one and I don’t see anyone who is doing it the way I want to do it. Of course, that means I have to make my own path and do it my way. I’m used to that. I don’t know yet what kind of mother I’ll be, but hopefully I’ll be a good one without losing myself.