Early riser

So here it is, 5:31 in the AM of the day in which is estimated to be the 280th of my pregnancy; as such, the date which I am "due" to give birth to my son. I do not, however, anticipate giving birth on this day, and probably not anytime in at least the next 48 hours ("although ya never know!" quotes the tiny, tiny voice of eternal optimism inside my head). Beyond that, it's anyone's guess.

This late-term pregnancy thing is more depressing than I thought it would be. I'm reminded of when I was about eleven or twelve years old, waiting for a different (but related) hormonal event to transform me into what I thought would be a new person, one that I was all too eager to become. By that time I was becoming extremely jaded from being a helpless little girl at the mercy of her immediate fucked-up surroundings...I wanted to be independent, in control of my own life, and (as lame and clichéd as it is), respected -- even loved -- by others.

With my primitive pre-teen sense of logic, I thought that reaching menarche and growing a pair of tits would help me to escape from a home life that I found to be oppressive, abusive and generally hideous. As it happened, this deduction was not entirely incorrect, even if it was overly simplistic and rather sad. Having not much in the way of other options, I eventually ended up taking the "ticket out" offered to me by way of relationships with men.

One after another, it was these relationships that described the arch of my adult life...only in the past few years has this pattern really changed. This isn't so much because of a lack of relationships with men, but of a change in the nature of the role these relationships played in my life. Which in turn is not to say that relationships are no longer important to me; especially in regard to my marriage, they are very much so. But I no longer feel entirely at the mercy of them; they're no longer my sole point of navigation, be-all-end-all, etc. Somehow during the past few years, something far truer to adult autonomy has emerged in my personality. I wouldn't say that it's the most stable of my character traits, but it's a major change from how I functioned in my teens and twenties.

But as I mentioned, in the here-and-now I'm finding myself on the verge of another biologically determined life-changing event. (Odd how the female life span seems to be gaged by biology...the "maiden, mother, crone" archetypes come to mind. Interesting how there doesn't seem to be such a triadic pattern with males, just one "boy --> man" transition. I guess we women must be more utilitarian, eh?). The calm before the labor and delivery storm is hard for me to deal with...the anticipation is driving me nuts, as is the inertia. But now that I'm some 25 years older, I'm not nearly so blinded by impatience or desire as I was as a young girl. I have a much better idea of what it is that I'm getting into, not to mention a hefty appreciation of what I'm leaving behind -- namely, the autonomy and independence that I wanted so badly. Having a child changes everything...for women, anyway. It reduces your options and makes you very dependent upon the goodwill of your husband / significant other / family...and in my past experience, having trust in these relationships is a tenuous proposition at best (and an invitation to hell at worst).

So I'm experiencing a pretty massive wad of mixed emotions here...on one hand I'm excited to meet my son and assume the role of "mother", but on the other hand I'm feeling very trepidatious about it the changes and sacrifices it will entail on a personal level. To make things even more arduous, there's my own unresolved angst over my nasty childhood family life. My relations with what little family I have remain unhealthy, even if they are far more distant, and I have no reason to believe that this will change -- no one seems interested in changing them, including (I'll admit it) myself. Too much water under the bridge, and at least on my part it would involve revisiting some history that I'd just as soon leave for dead.

One thing I do seem to have going for me is my relationship with my husband / father of my child. Matt and I have many problems, but we're also very close, and there's something to be said for that kind of intimacy. It doesn't make the issues go away, but it does make them easier to face with some semblance of perspective. Our life together isn't exactly bliss, but it's better than what either of us have known previously, and we're very dedicated to each other. That's nothing to take for granted.

There's more to this that I may add later. But for now I must pull myself from this reverie of depressive navel-gazing and go bake some pies with a friend and her two lovely daughters...life goes on. And to end on a bright, corny note -- may the life within my belly soon come out!