I feel like an impostor in the land of the pregnant.
For the past year, I have been preparing for this pregnancy — for months, I was a lurker on pregnancy advice sites, a clandestine reader of parenting blogs, a stalker of adorable Etsy shops. I wanted so much to join in, but I was on the margins.
Now, I am pregnant and I still feel like an outsider.
When I called to make an appointment with the midwives, the receptionist asked how many weeks along I was. I said 6, though I was barely 5. Why did I do that? Do I think that adding a week will make me more pregnant? Now I'm scheduled for an 8-week exam on a day when I'll be just a hair over 6 weeks. What good is that?
When I look at YouTube videos of pregnant women showing off their distended abdomens, I recognize them as authentic pregnant women. When I look at myself, I see nothing different. My breasts are a little sore and I pee on command, but other than that, there are few physical reminders that Snapdragon is in there somewhere. Sometimes I talk to him/her when I'm in the shower, but I just feel foolish. I'm not talking to my baby — I'm just talking to my bloat.
I know that this will pass. If everything goes well, I will soon have more belly than I know what to do with. Snapdragon will make him/herself abundantly real by punching my internal organs. I will have swollen feet and weird cravings.
But right now, I don't. I still feel like a wannabe, not a mom.
Tomorrow, FB are going to visit my parents. We'll break the news over dinner and then call his family. Maybe that will help it sink in.