Baby Bump Blues

Made it through the first bout of baby bump blues. It's really just baby blues, but if the baby isn't here yet, and it's just a bump...you get it.

It took several days to get past an unfortunate visit with the dentist, something I don't normally react well to, but was exacerbated by the pregnancy. It started with the natural worry about x-rays (which I researched prior to going for the visit to begin with, and followed up with a friendly call to the office to ask if my treatment would change due to the impending bebe).

The appointment took a turn for the worse when the x-ray technician couldn't get a good scan and proceeded to take 6 x-rays, making the comment, "I always have one patient." To which I responded, "Except I'm pregnant and you're freaking me out." Her response? "Oh." Silence. "Ten of these are equal to one."

What does that mean exactly? And because I can easily take on a victim role in the dentist's chair (childhood issues, I think), I said nothing. When the dentist was filling me in on the follow up treatment and I mentioned my due date, he just paused. So between the two of these professionals, I felt as though I hadn't done my job as a mother informing them adnauseum of my pregnancy (despite the rescheduling of the appointment twice and the third call directly asking about the effects on the pregnancy).

Women at work initially bore the brunt of my emotional fallout. Why didn't you say anything to begin with, was always the first question. Because the office knew and knew and knew, I responded--and I researched it in advance! But still, I worried. And when I got home to Rob, the crying started. It was all so avoidable, I sniffled. Are you going to blame me if there's something wrong with the baby, I cried. Finally after much distressing research on the net--both positive and negative, I just called the office and left a message asking exactly how much radiation I had been exposed to.

The dentist himself called me back the next day. My main question, would my treatment have changed had they known or acknowledged I was pregnant? He reassured me that no, it would not have, and yes, he himself knew I was pregnant. He gave me some technical figures about the x-ray exposure itself, and I felt better for having clearly communicated what I needed, and for being heard as a pregnant patient.

Despite this much needed reassurance, I carried the feelings of inadequacy into the weekend and stewed on them subconsciously. Between the dental pain I was experiencing, the abdominal cramps from the baby, and reading the baby books about how much I was going to bond with my mother over the pregnancy--I hit my emotional breaking point.

There are issues I can't even publicly discuss about my mother, so how the hell can this be our grand bonding time? And of course, what kind of mother is that going to make me? Normal, typical, expected questions, even. Doesn't mean they make me feel any less shitty.

Let the comparisons begin. Who do I know with a wonderful mother? Blah, blah, blah. How many female friends do I know with fabulous support systems, yada, yada, yada. Mental neuroses is so predictable and oh-so-tired, but debilitating none the less.

Having made my way through the cloud to the other side (the here and now), fuck that. I'm going to be a damn good mother--my own mother and childhood be damned. I go to therapy. I figure my shit out.

I'm progressive, modern, and aware.

Screw you, insecurity.

Hello, baby. : )

Yes, at some point, my life will be edited for cursing.

But not yet.