Riding Around

Every MTB and every baby is different, so my experiences thus far may be completely different than moms before me and moms after. For me, pregnancy has been like riding one of those motorcycles that have a little seat attached to its side. I know at all times that another person is with me, though I haven't figured out who's driving. I'm not physically able to do some of the fancy tricks I did when I had a dirt bike, but the co-riding thing is OK, too.

There are times when the baby and I are alone, and I stare at my stomach. My eyebrows bunch together, because I still don't know what to make of her/him. I woke up the other day, looked around at all the new shelves, furniture, and baby blankets and thought, "I can NOT believe this is happening." I wasn't terrified or mad, just surprised. Tim says he remembers when, during the first two years we were married, I would suddenly look at him and say, "I can't believe we're married. I really can't believe it." Again, not mad or sad, just amazed. Maybe I take a long time to adjust to new ideas?

The other day the baby and I were eating lunch alone at a cafe. Halfway during the meal, they played a piece of music over the speakers that made me stop. It was beautiful--sad and familiar. It rolled all of my troubled thoughts together and pressed down on me. I knew I'd heard the piece before, but I couldn't remember where. I asked the staff about it, but they didn't know, either. Later that evening, I went home and took a nap. When I awoke, I remembered. I quickly found the song on iTunes and downloaded it.

The baby and I listened to the piece ("The Last Man" from The Fountain soundtrack) from beginning to end while I closed my eyes. I cried. I actually cried. That never happens. I patted my belly, and it was like the baby understood. (S)he didn't kick, but just listened, too, like, "It is sad, Mom. It's OK to cry." Afterwards, I wiped my eyes. We were both better.

Yesterday, I felt nostalgic. I wished the baby could've grown up like I did, in a time when fashion was hideous, but people were optimistic and a bit naive: the 80s. Yep, I began downloading Michael Jackson songs (pre-weirdo era). The baby and I danced and jammed to "Smooth Criminal", "Beat It", and "Billie Jean". You should have seen us go! I did all the shoulder work, and the baby did some nice rolling action. All in all, a good day.

Tim told me two days ago, "I thought pregnancy would be a lot ... harder."

"What do you mean?" I said. "Did you think it would be harder for me or you?"

"Both," he said. He explained that he thought there would be more outward signs of pregnancy. I guess he figured I'd have cravings, swell up, and be weeping all day. He had prepared himself mentally to be abused verbally and to take it with grace, as a good FTB should.

The truth is, most of what is happening to me is mental. Like I said, every pregnancy is different, so I can't speak for anyone else. Tim can't see or hear my thoughts. I pray a lot just to be strong and not let fear (of being a bad mom, of losing the baby, of losing my marriage) overtake me. Tim tells me every day that things will work out. He hugs me and says things like, "I think your belly is cute," even though I know it's HUGE. But, I appreciate that he senses that although I'm not too different outwardly, there are things going on elsewhere.

So, if you know an MTB, especially if she doesn't have a partner, give her encouragement. Pregnancy is lonely and public all at the same time. A few kind words may remind her that driving with a sidecar can work out, and she may end up going somewhere nice she never thought she could.