The Tags Stay On

I am officially 13W today, which means, I guess, that I am in the second trimester? I am still not sure. Perhaps I have to get through this week before it is official? Or maybe I am exactly at the demarcation line. Have I literally just crossed the border into the middle part of pregnancy? I just don’t know.

I can ask the doctor on Monday because I have another appointment, thank goodness. It’s been two weeks since my last, so—of course—I am back on the pessimistic side of the tracks. This pregnancy is like one awful, extended 2ww after another. My stomach is getting bigger for certain, but who can tell if it is nature or nachos? I lean toward the latter because my appetite has been insatiable lately, and I certainly am not going to stand in its way. This hunger can in itself can be either a side effect of being pregnant with twins or just nerves. I lean toward the latter again.

I did have a milestone this week, though. For the first time this pregnancy I made a trip down to Buy Buy Baby and I actually went in. The last time was there I had a breakdown in the furniture department. It was right after a D&C and I had to get someone a baby present. I should have known better than to venture forth alone into that universe of all things baby and nesting pregnant women who are registering, but I thought I could handle it. Ha!

This time, I went with defiance. I am pregnant, dammit, and I have a right to go. I was 12 weeks along, so it was time. As I rounded the corner, I felt a little giddy. I let myself pretend that everything was just fine (it might be) and that this pregnancy will have a happy ending (it could, right?).

I went through the entire store. I realized just how little I know about what we will need to get, and feel very grateful to have a few people to help guide us. Yet there was still a detachment. I can look, but I can’t touch. But I did buy a little present for each baby to put in their optimistically-hung stockings. And I kinda felt like a mother as I left the store. But I kept the receipt, just in case, and the tags stay on until we are out of the woods (when the babies are 18).

Any maternal feelings I had after that experience were ripped away when I realized once again that I am unfit to stay alone in the middle of NYC in a doorman-protected apartment. Nicole was in San Francisco again this week (ridiculously for one night only), which meant I was checking behind the shower curtains, looking in the closets and obsessing all night over the potential of someone climbing up the fire escape and into our apartment. It was a windy, windy night. I heard strange noises coming from upstairs, which was unusual since there is no upstairs, as we are on the top floor. I was convinced I wouldn’t live to morning.

And all through it, I kept thinking what would I do if I had children? (I already do, in a way, right?) I thought about that house with all the windows that we looked at in Northampton, down the long, woodsy country-ish road, under a canopy of trees, with neighbors too far away to hear me scream. How could I ever be there alone? Especially with kids? Where is the old me, who used to sleep alone on a boat in a semi-empty marina or walk through the streets of New York at 4 a.m. and even flew on planes without needing Xanax and Ambien? I used to be fearless, assured and borderline cocky, which is exactly how I wish I were feeling right now. Instead, I have to settle for fearful, unsure and about as far from cocky as one can get.