Get Clucky!

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

sort of real

**this is out of order due to some blog merging issues.**

Today is the second day that I have decided not to take a birth control pill. This means that it is not really real yet—it’s still very easy to go back. My body won’t start controlling it’s own births for a while—maybe a long while. But I have four days, four days total, to change my mind without anything really stressful happening hormonally.

It makes the decision seem undecided some how—which makes it harder because it’s easier to doubt myself. Today is not at all physiologically different than any other day when I’d forgotten to take a pill.

B. and I are trying to make it seem different, and more real, by putting my pills into a box instead of in to me. As a wedding present we got an amazing box made out of a solid piece of Lapis Lazuli. We have loved it in a vague and museum-like way—we agree it’s real cool, but have just sort of left it around to get dusty. But now it’s holding my pack of birth control pills, maybe my last pack for a while. And in the packet the dial is turned to yesterday’s bill, the pill we decided that I wouldn’t take.

We went to the bookstore yesterday to find books about babies and bodies. A frustrating process, maybe more so even than looking for good wedding-planning stuff, because babies are so much more important than weddings (though the books are less frilly, necessarily, because even the girly ones have to talk about poop and hemorrhoids and getting fat and engorged nipples).

Also, it’s different for me because we were both decided that our wedding would be for both of us. Despite the big white dress aspect, it seemed clear that we wanted to share the wedding and the decisions, etc.

And it’s hard to be that clear about a baby. The boobs and the womb are mine, finally, and it doesn’t matter if B. is really more comfortable with the freakish pregnant nipples than I am—I am the one who will get the freakish nipples no matter how much we do or don’t use them.

The book we decided on buying has lots of photos of different women being powerful and womanly and birthing—things I like—and every time I look at them my stomach turns over. And I think about not being able to lie flat on my belly and it all seems very worrisome. I don’t know how I’ll know myself.

There weren’t books about the deciding to get pregnant thing, really, at least not in the pregnancy section. Maybe in the abortion section? Books about getting pregnant stop talking about decisions or professional negotiations after chapter one…there’s a week by week guide but they don’t say things like “around week three, don’t plan a meeting with your advisor because you will be very weepy and they will loose all respect for you” or “by about week 36 even your advisor will stop condescending to you because by then you will for sure look like a MOM, but they might not want to talk about books with you either. They will want to talk about the BEBE.” They don’t say “by week 38 you will be deathly tired of talking about the BEBE and deathly tired of being prego but don’t wish prego away! No! because at least prego is house trained, and once the BEBE actually is there, man, it’s shit city, and for real no sleep, worse even than it is now when you can’t lie on your stomach.”

Maybe they don’t fully need to say those things because I can already guess them. But I’d like to think about them more. The idea of pregnancy makes me fabulously humble. I don’t know how I’ll feel, what I’ll want. I think for me it will be like going to Burning Man the first time, and spending a week in the dust storms, and learning to take pleasure in how little I was by comparison.

But that’s a rosy place to put what really is a very stressful proposition—being a part of a different generation, a different sort of me with priorities that are practically, if not theoretically, very very different. What a lot of work!

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