Life in Chicago

In This Together

Lately I've been wishing that pregnancy could be more a shared experience between partners. It's such a different thing for Greg to just see my belly growing bigger, to occasionally feel the baby kick when he holds his hand against my stomach. But it's an entirely different thing to be the pregnant one for all these months, to have your body change, to carry around this little creature inside of you.

And lately I've just been wishing so much that he could experience what I am, the good and the bad of it all. I've started looking forward to the arrival of the baby just so that he can finally get to know it as I have been all this time.

In the last month the baby has become a real physical presence in my life. It's movements have become so distinct and real that they're practically distracting when I'm trying to do certain things. I'm aware of the baby's sleeping and active phases throughout the day and, in turn, the baby seems quite aware of me. It pushes back against my hand when I press against my stomach and there are often positions that I can't sit in because I can tell from the squirming inside that perhaps it isn't so comfortable for the baby.

I'm pretty positive that it had the hiccups the other night and just this past week it's begun distinctly kicking my bladder, which is uncomfortable, to say the least. But the more intense my experience of it becomes, the more I wish Greg was feeling all of these things as well. I can't wait until the baby is in his arms in a couple of months.

Also, I've grown weary of calling it "it" -- waiting to find out if it's a boy or a girl has got to be one of the most suspenseful experiences of my entire life.

Overall, you could say I'm getting a little restless in my pregnancy. And I still have two more months to go!

Solitude

Greg was out of town all weekend, in Vegas (his first time!) for a friend's bachelor party and I had the house to myself. I'd actually never spent a night alone in this house and in all the time I've lived in Chicago, I've never been in town when Greg was not.

I used to have a really hard time being alone. For years, mostly those immediately following my father's death, I found myself unable to be alone without it driving me to some kind of emotional breakdown. I used to even have a hard time being quiet, sitting quietly, turning off phones and computers and televisions. Silence and solitude used to do nothing but serve to remind me of all that I'd lost in my life ... and it was always a terrifying feeling.

I'm not like that anymore. Not at all. I conquered my fear of being alone when I spent that last year living on my own in Los Angeles. It was a hard year but by the end of it I could feel a new self emerging and I knew that I would never again be afraid to be alone.

Nonetheless, at the end of that year is when I met Greg and I haven't really been alone again since, so it was nice to put it to the test this past weekend. After I dropped him off to catch his flight on Friday morning I felt a small nip of anxiety at the thought of returning to the empty, quiet house, the long weekend stretching ahead before me, but by the time I returned home that small twinge of anxiety had disappeared and I proceeded to have the loveliest, quiet weekend.

I took naps in the afternoons and I slept in the middle of the bed at night, piling all the pillows up around me. I watched movies and I cooked myself little meals. I arranged all the couch cushions the way I like them, straightened the bathroom towels and pushed in all the dining room table chairs, knowing that no one but me would disturb these items. I worked on freelance writing projects and wrote thank you notes for my Los Angeles baby shower. I read for long hours and I arranged a bright vase of daffodils on the coffee table. And I remembered how much I had loved, for a time, my days of living alone in Los Angeles.

Mornings had always been my favorite time. Waking up to the smell of the salt air through the screens. Padding out to the living room in my bare feet to open the double doors wide to the morning breeze. Making coffee and sitting down to check email before work. Getting dressed in my little bedroom and locking the front door behind me, knowing that the house would be exactly the way I left it when I returned. I truly loved those days, but it took me a long time and a lot of work to get to the place where I even could.

This past weekend I thought a lot about the little being pushing around in my belly and about how, it will probably be a long, long time before I spend a quiet weekend alone again. Grateful for that reminder and the time itself, I closed my eyes, hands over my abdomen, and listened to the quiet house around me.

Friday

It's early Friday morning and the weekend is stretching out before me long and filled with work. I have hospice work and freelance writing projects to consume almost every hour of the coming days.

Everyone keeps telling me to soak up these last days before the baby is here. They tell me to go to movies and romantic dinners with Greg, to sleep a lot and relish these last quiet moments. And it makes sense but it's also a lot of pressure. Not to mention that I feel like I've spent the last ten years, all of my twenties really, sleeping a lot and indulging in as many of life's pleasures as I've been able to get my hands on.

Right now my inclination is to rest and seek a more internal path, knowing that a new self and a new life will be emerging so soon.

Last night we went to our first birthing class and it was definitely pretty interesting. We thought it was funny that all the couples kind of looked alike, resembling each other that is. We had to do some silly ice breaker stuff and then we talked about different aches and pains that pregnant women experience and ways that our partners can help us work through them.

After that we watched a birth video that showed three really 80s couples go through the birth experience. It was very graphic and pretty intense. About half way into it I was struck that I'm really going to do this, really going to give birth to a tiny human. Some of the footage was just so intense though and definitely made me more nervous than I've been about what it's going to be like to actually push this little person out of my body.

I was also struck with the realization that I have to do this. This pregnancy thing is irreversible! No matter how much it all might scare me, there's no getting around the fact that this little baby is coming out of me no matter what. For a moment I think I wished I could just stay pregnant indefinitely. But nope, I'm now on a high speed train to the birth process. I know that these last two months are just going to fly by.

And while they do, I think I'll take my quiet days when I can get them, building up internal strength and bravery, rather than trying to fit in a bunch of activities that I've already spent enough time in my life doing.

Another Day

I'm feeling much better today. Whatever storm yesterday brought has since passed. I went to yoga in the afternoon -- the breathing and stretching of myself serving to even out and soothe the wrinkles of anxiety. And in the evening I went to a book club for which I'd just finished reading Revolutionary Road, a book I'm sure hasn't helped my apprehension of motherhood.

Before I posted yesterday's letter I thought about what people might think when they read it. I wondered if they would worry about me or us, about if we're ready to be parents or how it would feel to read about me feeling so sad. But I also recognized yesterday for what it was: just an honest moment between two parents to-be. I can't imagine that there's ever been a couple who wasn't nervous about becoming a parent. I can't believe that there's never been a soon-to-be-mom who hasn't cried over everything that is about to change.

The difference, I suppose, is that most people don't share these moments in the same way I do. But as a blogger, there are constant choices I have to make regarding what I do and do not choose to write about here. I originally began this blog five years ago as an outlet, as a way to process what I was experiencing as I cared for my dying father.

Over the years things have changed. As readership has grown there have been things I've been more inclined to keep private, but at the same time I want to remain true to my original intentions in writing here. I also have a husband and a child on the way -- both of whom I must take into consideration when writing about our lives.

However, it's so important to me that I continue to feel free to be able to write what I want here, the dark days and the light ones. The scary moments and the exultant ones. We're all on this journey and it's not always an easy one.

Letter

Dear Baby,

I woke up this morning and cried for a long time. It was barely light out and I'd woken with your father's alarm. I lay in bed for a while in the dark listening to the sounds of him showering and readying himself in the bathroom.

I went to sleep last night feeling unsettled and it was all still there this morning. I called out to your father as he walked by the bedroom on his way to his desk and he came and sat in the bed with me and held me while I cried.

I couldn't really say what it was about.  A thousand things. That feeling of wanting to go home, even though I was right there in the spot that's more home than I've been in a long time, in our bedroom with your father's arms around me. The tears dripped down my neck as I wept and yet I could feel you burbling and bumping around in my belly.

I'm afraid of everything that's to come. I'm scared about how much is going to change and I'm overwhelmed by everything that already has. Your dad and I talked last night about how soon after getting married we got pregnant and while I've thought of that from time to time these last few months, I don't think it would make a difference.

This is always going to be hard. There's never going to be some perfect time when both of us are ready for our lives to change as much as they are about to. But I firmly believe you can't have the highs without the lows. For all the moments I've relished my changing body, all the times I've delighted in learning just what my physical self is capable of these last months, for all the ways I'm thrilled about your pending arrival, I'm also mournful for what once was.

Oh, my dear, you'll go through so many transitions in this life. For just as overwhelming and scary as these days can be right now, I've been here before. I was here the night before I started college, sitting on the stoop of a restaurant in which I'd been dining with my parents. Our last meal together before they set me free into the world. And I couldn't eat for all that was welling up inside me. I sat on the stoop outside, my mother rubbing my back while I sobbed, ushering me gently into a brave new life.

And again, the night my father died. Standing on his little patio in the balmy Southern California night air. The flowering hibiscus bush and the quiet slap-slap of the water in the swimming pool the only things pulling me back to this world. I had just watched him take his very last breaths and, in doing so, the whole world had shifted from underneath me. Nothing would ever be the same again.

And it was this way too, the night before I moved to Chicago to start this life with your father. I had tucked myself into bed in a motel in Missouri, the cats hiding under the coffee table my only company. All my belongings in a truck in the parking lot. The feeling that I could just disappear, that this rootless self I was in that moment could simply evaporate. The not knowing of what was to come in the days ahead staining my pillow with warm tears.

I've been here before. And you'll be here as well. In this place of uncertainty. This cliff at the edge of change. And when you are, when you are standing there with tears wetting your beautiful lashes, remember that you are not alone, that we have all stood here before you and that we stand with you now.

Love,
Mom

Home

Well, I'm home in Chicago. I think it took all of yesterday to recover, especially seeing as my flight didn't get in until midnight on Sunday. But now it's Tuesday and I'm awake and mostly rested, ready to resume my life in Chicago and the last two months of my pregnancy.

Being in LA was wonderful. While being there made me miss California, it didn't make me miss Los Angeles. It took me at least two days to decide on this fact though. Going there is such a tumultuous rush of old memories, friends, sunshine and ocean air that for the first 24 hours I usually can't tell where in the world I want to be or even who I am anymore.

I stayed in Long Beach that first night with my friend Amber and walking through the quiet palm-lined neighborhoods with their flowering vines and comfortable bungalows left me feeling mournful and achy inside. But the next day, having lunch at Fred Segal cafe and taking in the gross opulance and false beauty that so much of LA lays claim to, simply made me feel nauseous and repentent.

Finally, by my third morning, I think I realized that I simply mourn for the magical time I spent in that city and for my dear friends whom I miss so much. I also miss the weather and the landscape and the openness of the culture, but those are things that can also be found elsewhere in California and the world.

On Saturday my friends threw me a baby shower / mother blessing, which was so lovely and meaningful. It was held at my old neighbor Rhonda's apartment in Venice, right below my old apartment on the canals.  They cooked an amazing spread of quiches and s alads, Liz made my favorite grits florentine and Amber even carved a swan out of a melon.We'd hired a henna artist to come and paint henna designs on my belly and she also did the hands and feet of almost all the girls there, which was really fun.

Lien made a hilarious quiz and Abby brought 18 birthday cards that the girls took turns writing advice in for the baby to read years down the road. At the end, Abby facilitated the mother blessing which involved each woman lighting a candle and bestowing me with a bead and a blessing, some advice and telling me why I will make a good mother. It was so beautiful and intense and emotional and I think we all cried. The beads will be strung together to make a bracelet or necklace that I can wear during labor and each woman is instructed to take her candle home and when they hear that I've gone into labor they will light them and send their blessings again. 

It's really a beautiful ritual, and one that I'd been on the other side of more than once, helping to usher my friends into motherhood. Being the recipient of all these blessings and encouragement was definitely intense though. Just thinking about it in the week before I traveled to LA, I felt very emotional about the whole thing. Before I left on my trip I wrote a letter to my girlfriends so that I could read it at the end of the blessing. I think we all cried. Thank you again, girls.

Dear Ladies,
 
It's a chilly March morning in Chicago and I'm thinking about how, one week from today, I'll be sitting in a circle with all of you, in warm and sunny California.
 
This morning I'm thinking about how grateful I am for everything in my life. For my marriage and my swelling belly, for the life growing inside of me and for all the friendships that I hold so dear. I'm grateful for all the places I've gone and for all the ways I've grown through every experience I've ever had. I'm grateful for the family I've had and lost and the family I have gained again.
 
This morning I'm thinking about my mother and how much I wish she could be here today, sitting amongst all of you. She was truly the most beautiful woman I've ever known, both in body and spirit. She was funny and biting, daringly truthful and witty. She could give more of herself than most people I know and she was capable of loving someone for exactly who they were. She loved me more than she loved herself.
 
When she died her absence left a hole in my life so large I thought it would swallow me completely. I think I might have just disappeared altogether had it not been for the support of the women in my life who stepped forward just before I slipped out of grasp.
 
Those women are you. Throughout the years it is all of you who have given me strength and reflection, nourishment and protection. Even when you weren't always able to do the same for yourselves, you were somehow there for me. Each of you embody all that I could hope to be in a woman: bravery and resilience, beauty and honesty, warmth, compassion and forgiveness.
 
I'm thinking about how I couldn't be here in this place without all you. I'm thinking about how for the first time in 12 years there will be a mother in my life again, but this time it will be me. And I'm thinking about how much I'll need all of your support and encouragement as I go through this process, and just how grateful I am for all that all of you are.

Love,
Claire

California

I arrived at Long Beach airport last night (just a few hours after President Obama) and it feels so good to be back in California, even though I was in SF just a few weeks ago.

I love Long Beach Airport. I've been flying into it for ten years now, beginning with when I used to come out every few months to visit my Dad when I lived in New York. It helped to think about it that way last night as I walked down the airplane steps onto the tarmac and the warm Southern California air whooshed up around me. I realized that even though I live in Chicago right now, California is still a big part of my life and it has been for a long time. Just because I don't live here doesn't mean it can't feel like home and that I can't come here often to see my friends and feel rejuvenated. 

The flight was a bit easier than I expected. I wasn't too uncomfortable at all and I got up several times to stretch my legs and give the baby some breathing room. I cant' go anywhere these days without people talking to me about my pregnancy. From taxi drivers and store clerks to airline attendants and random strangers, everyone has something to say about my swelling belly. I think it's really pretty fun though.

People always ask the same three questions: 

• When are you due?
• Is this your first?
• Do you know what you're having?

I answer them all nicely, knowing that my answers don't matter too much because really, they're just waiting for me to finish so that they can tell me:

• What they think I'm having
• What their pregnancy or birth or their sister's pregnancy was like
• How many kids they have

But I like hearing these stories and it's a fun experience to have an excuse to talk to so many strangers on a regular basis.

Anyway, I'm off for a fun day of California sunshine and catching up with friends and letting strangers stare at my belly!

--

Updates:

I have a new piece up on The Huffington Post: The Pressure to Heal Ourselves

You can now follow me on Twitter: clairebidwell

Inner Workings

Greg went with me yesterday for what might have been my last ultrasound before the baby arrives. The ultrasounds now are so much different than they were in the beginning. At first, when we would go the tech could hold the monitor over just one spot on my belly to see the entire baby but now its grown so big that you can only see parts of it at a time.

The baby now weighs 2 1/4 pounds and is pretty much fully formed. Most of the books I've read say that it could mostly likely survive at this point were I to go into pre-term labor. Pretty wild. Last Friday, out of nowhere, I began having a lot of pelvic pressure. Just this heavy, kind of achy feeling all through my pelvic floor, making it difficult to stand or walk for long periods of time. And yesterday during the ultrasound it was easy to see why -- the baby's head is really low down there right now, pressing right against my cervix.

The tech even had to do a physical exam to make sure my cervix isn't opening, which it wasn't, thankfully. If it had been I wouldn't have been able to go to LA and I would have been put on bed rest for the rest of my pregnancy! The ultrasound also showed the baby holding onto one of its feet over its head, which was very cute. And lately, it's really felt like it's doing some kind of acrobatics in there. Last night before bed it was actually driving me a little nuts with all the intense movement in there.

I'm leaving for Los Angeles this afternoon, and while I've been looking forward to this trip all month, I was sad to say goodbye to Greg this morning. I'm not used to being away from him at all and I've found that I've especially wanted to be close to him during pregnancy. But it should also be a fantastic trip -- 5 days in the sunshine with all my beloved friends whom I miss so much.

For some reason though I keep coming back to the picture of me at the airport, 7 months pregnant and alone, waiting in lines to go through security and board planes and feeling like half of me is missing. Oof, the baby kicking me as I write this. A reminder that I'm not as alone as I might think.

--

Update: You can now follow me on Twitter.

Profile Name: Clairebidwell

Dreams of My Mother

I had another bout of intense dreams last night. In one of them it was Mother's Day and I had made reservations for myself at a beautiful French restaurant on the lake for brunch. It was a huge place, sprawling and airy with sweeping views of the water. It also seemed to be the place that every other woman in town had chosen for her Mother's Day brunch.

I stood in a long line of other women, all of them in twos and threes, all of them sisters and daughters and mothers and grandmothers, but I was alone. I was wearing my trench coat, my pregnant belly protruding out before me and I felt insecure standing there by myself. As the line snaked its way towards the hostess stand other women started to cut in front of me and even though I felt perturbed by this, I did nothing about it.

A mounting insecurity was growing inside me and I looked around at the other tables that were filling up with groups of women. In line behind me a woman complained to her friend about having to take her mother to brunch and how she'd rather be doing other things. A kind of rage built up inside me upon hearing this and I wanted to turn to her and tell her how grateful she should be to have a mother at all.

I finally reached the hostess stand and the thing I'd begun dreading would happen did happen. The hostess looked at me by myself and asked if there was anyone joining me. When I told her that I was alone she said that she couldn't seat me. I protested and mumbled something about my reservation but she said that she couldn't possibly give one person a whole table when all these other women had someone they wanted to share one with.

And so, in the dream, my plans of bravely taking myself out for a mother's day brunch were defeated. I conceded my argument with the hostess and began the long walk back to the entrance, winding my way along the line of women and mothers, tears beginning to stream down my cheeks.

I briefly woke up after that, turning over in bed with my swollen belly, registering the time as just past 4am.

It's almost funny to have such a blatant dream about mother loss. Even though it's obviously in my subconscious, it's just not something I've been thinking about so starkly these past months. Of course I miss my mother and wish she were here to see me into my own motherhood, but my day to day feelings about it aren't so obvious to me.

28 Weeks

Yesterday marked 28 weeks of pregnancy and over the weekend my cousin Ron took some photos of me and Greg and the belly.

There's just something so beautiful about these photos to me. I think they just capture this perfect moment in time, me and Greg at the beginning of this incredible journey. Our first pregnancy, our first year of marriage together.

In a way, how sweet and dumb and young we are. Just all the things to come that we cannot even imagine. I know that they are photos that we'll look back on years from now and shake our heads at how sweet it all was. They make me think of that Sharon Olds poem, I Go Back to May 1937, except I know that we're sure to fair better than her parents. At least I hope.

(Click to enlarge.)