I’m having a baby.
I was pregnant before but the baby died and I miscarried at 10 and a half weeks pregnant.
Then I became pregnant again, very very quickly, and now I’m 11 weeks pregnant and this baby is alive and kicking. Literally kicking. And somersaulting and back flipping inside me, although I can’t feel it yet.
I’m counting days and weeks, and time is dragging as if I’m a child again.
And I feel a sense of something that I can only describe as “becoming”.
I’n the past six months of being pregnant and then not pregnant and then pregnant again I’ve filled my life with books written by and about strong, funny, inspiring women. Amy Poehler’s “Yes Please”, Brene Brown’s “Daring Greatly”, Lena Dunham’s “Not That Kind of Girl”, Tina Fey’s “Bossy Pants”, Caitlin Moran’s “How to Be a Woman”, Patti Smith’s “Just Kids”, and MIndy Kaling’s “Is Everybody Hanging Out Without Me”.
I’m trying to shore myself up with knowledge, to arm myself, to surround myself with good examples of what it’s like to be a woman, to be a mother. I’m terrified and ecstatic. I’m filled with hope. I’m becoming.