blankets, hugs, and tears

About 5 years ago I had a bad neck injury that landed me in surgery followed by years of physical therapy (PT).  I ended up in a fantastic group PT class that I kept going to long after my neck was well because I really enjoyed the company of the other women and the physical therapist (though the continued maintenance has been good for my neck too).

There are three of them that I particularly bonded to.  All of them are in their early 50s with children between 17 and 27.  So they are in a very different place in life than I where I've been for the last 5 years, but it was always my weekly sanity check to get to laugh with them, be outraged with them, hear stories about their children.  They were the only people outside my family who knew about the miscarriage, and one of them was the only person who sent me a condolence card.  It meant the world to me.

I stopped going to PT in May because of scheduling conflicts, and then was afraid to for emotional and pregnancy reasons (hiding and fragility). 

Last night we all got together to make blankets for a Christmas charity thing one of them organizes (worthy of  a post itself when we get closer to December).

They all know about my pregnancy as I wrote them emails a few weeks ago, so there were lots of congratulations and stories and laughs.  The lady who sent me the card brought me a little Beatrix Potter book and two swaddling blankets, my first baby gift. 

On one level I loved it all.  It was so nice to be a part of this "motherhood club".  But at a fundamental level, I was extremely uncomfortable.  It just didn't feel right.  I can't quite put my finger on why, but here are some possible reasons I've come up with:

1) I feel like an imposter.  Since I had to work so freaking hard to get pregnant, it's kind of like I cheated my way into the club.  I don't really belong there since I didn't get there "naturally".

2) It feels premature.  Shouldn't we wait until I actually produce a baby before we celebrate?  I could easily lose this one too; we are nowhere near the finish line.

3) I can't relate to that innocent attitude towards pregnancy, the one where a pregnant woman has a baby and it is all laughs and sorority over the crazy symptoms on your way to motherhood.

I keep kicking myself for not jumping in and forgetting the past, but I can't.  I just can't shake the last three years.  In some ways I wonder if I love this baby more because I have been on an incredible journey to find her.  Maybe I'll be a better mother because of what I've been through.  I shouldn't worry about trying to be an innocent positive pregnant lady when that just isn't me anymore.

I don't know.  There are no answers to all of this.  But last night, when I was driving home all I could think of was all of you and how I wanted to write about this on my blog.  I wanted to tell you that I feel an overwhelming need to take all of us in my arms and give us a big hug, the kind that a large-busted rose-scented grandma would give you, and tell us that it will be ok.  It will all be ok.  And even though none of the details between here and ok are worked out, we all believe it because that hug feels so damn good and reassuring.  We all deserve that hug.  

I cried this morning when I unfolded the swaddling blankets and let myself think about how that soft pink blanket with ducks and hearts on it just might get to be wrapped around my baby in 6 months...  it was pretty overwhelming.