Tag Archives: pequino

The big love day

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Yesterday, Pedram and I were reflecting that in the eight years we have known each other, we have only spent two Valentine’s days together.  Usually, one of us is off, traveling or visiting family or living in England or abroad.  The Hallmark date doesn’t really play a role for us in our relationship.  But this year, we are both in England for this crazy love fest of a day.

Sadly, Pedram worked until 10pm and I was at a Baha’i’ study circle, so the day went uncelebrated.

However, my true Valentine, Khanh, who has consistently been making me feel loved with candy and chocolates for 12 years now, did not fail to impress.  In addition to the yummy Frans salted caramel (which I will share with NO ONE!) and my favorite heart candy, she included a little gift for the baby.

It is the softest, plushest, most adorable thing with ears in the world.  It is now in the baby pile, which includes nothing else.  Hope the kid is okay with wearing this home from the hospital and for the following few months.  Thanks so much auntie Khanh.

Speaking of babies, a certain someone became a complete gooey, mushy puddle of emotions when seeing this gift.  Which may have made my day a little more lovable.

The first three months

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All of these pregnancy websites encourage you to take pictures, weekly if not daily, to showcase your growing belly.  Or to write a daily journal with your emotions and feelings, turning your excitement into a small book that you can reflect back on with pride and joy.  Start early and share frequently, they encouraged!  I was told to express my feelings by then posting the pictures and journal entries with other newly pregnant women on forums, so that we could share our common experience.  During the first three months of my pregnancy, I only wrote one journal entry, with the following line:

“I never thought pregnancy would be so lonely”

At that point, I was just plain sad about everything.  I could not get excited about being pregnant, and I couldn’t fathom the idea that I was going to be a mother.  Suddenly, every horrible scenario in the world was racing through my mind.  Something bad was bound to happen.

I fell sick early on and at one point I spent a few days with over 18 hours a day in bed.  I was tired, exhausted in a way I had never thought was possible, spending hours upon hours in bed, sometimes sleeping, sometimes just staring at the ceiling and repeating my morbid thoughts to myself, sometimes just crying.

I cried endlessly.  Randomly.  I had seen a video where a seal fights bravely but succumbs to a group of killer whales, and weeks later the images would come to mind in class, and I would have to leave and run to the bathroom so I could cry for the suffering of all seals.  I cried when one our assignment included caculating the unpaid work of rural mothers in India.  I was just sad.  Really really sad.

I was in denial that I was actually pregnant.  In England there is no official confirmation until the 12 week, so I held out for possibilities that it wasn’t true.  I felt guilty for thinking such thoughts.  And then I would cry about it.  I would eat something I knew I shouldn’t, and then I would cry about that.  I felt horribly guilty all the time.  I felt shame of my own feelings and unbearable disappointment in myself.

I forced a wedge between Pedram and myself.  I refused to cook, I refused to discuss things, I wouldn’t participate in learning more about pregnancy.  He made the doctor appointments.  He bought books and learned about what foods were okay to eat, and then prepared them for me.  I became chronically claustrophobic, and did not want anyone near me, coiling at his reassuring hugs.  Even on the buses and at University, I felt uneasy at the crowds and the lack of private space.  All I wanted to do was lie in bed.

When I had my first visit with the midwife, I tried to explain this all to her — I did not feel myself, and I really really wanted to go back to normal.  Her advice was that this IS normal, that hormones often cause such feelings.  But it didn’t help me at all. I wanted to erase the thoughts in my head, I wanted to be full of energy and joy, I wanted to be confident and not catatonic with anxiety and fear.  The midwife couldn’t help me — I was sent home feeling even more isolated.

I felt so distant from my friends and family, but I refused to share the news with anyone because I couldn’t come to grips with the questions they might ask.

A few weeks ago, I was telling this story to a friend with Pedram present, and at one point I saw his face and realized how unfair all of this was to him.  I did not allow Pedram to share the news, even though he was so thrilled.  Even worse, I wouldn’t allow him to show his excitement, instead asking him to NOT talk about it.  Also, do not ask me how I am feeling, and do not share your own feelings about the baby.  I often told him that I was fine when I wasn’t, and he knew I wasn’t, but was too afraid to try to help.

Pedram was feeling the opposite of my emotions — he was full of joy, raging with excitement, ready to plan and discuss and celebrate, but I asked him to mute it all.  But I did oblige him and ended up telling my sister and one of my closest friends, and they both made me feel so much better.  I was able to share my anxieties and fears and frustrations, and they were sympathetic and reassuring.  They got me — they understood my hesitant responses and gave me great advice.  And slowly the cloud of irritability and sadness started to fade away.  (Not completely though — at one point in Los Angeles, I went around the table and pointed out why I hated each person in my family.  Luckily, they had no problem telling me I was being rude and sending me to bed).

I thought a long time before sharing this.  I don’t have alot of pictures or memories from the first three months, and perhaps that is a good thing.  But I know what I felt was very normal for other people, and in alot of ways, the fears and anxiety are still there.

So maybe it is good to talk about it openly.  I am feeling much better, and am very lucky to have a good support system to help me through my more dark moments.  I still feel a bit out of control with my body, and occasionally guilty or lonely, but overall I am more energetic and less alone.  I share in Pedram’s enthusiasm, am reading more about pregnancy and have joined prenatal yoga classes.  I feel comfortable talking and more in control of my emotions.  Most importantly, I feel more positive about everything, including the idea  that I can be a mother.

How it happened

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It is interesting to hear how many people want to know how I ended up in my current state.

I don’t know always how to respond to this question, because it is so personal.  It was not an accident, but it was such a surprise that I was pregnant.

The reality was that I have never wanted to become pregnant.  I did not yearn for that intimate relationship with myself as a woman, and never wanted to “try” it out.  I have felt this way since I was very young.  Everyone told me over time that I would change and long for the experience, but it never happened.  This was a discussion we had often in our house and Pedram was always incredibly understanding that we could build our family through adoption.  In Canada, we started exploring adoption processes, and learning more about what options we had.

At that stage, I felt ready to start a family.  Pedram and I were closer than ever and I was proud of our relationship.  I trusted our instincts and was committed to the integrity of our marriage.  So to say that we were discouraged by the red tape involved is an understatement.  To adopt from a 3rd country when neither parent is a citizen nor a resident is simply complicated.  I won’t get into the details, but after some research and a little bit of action, we actually had to let go of our plans since we were moving to England.  Where we would have to pick up the process again and delay the whole having children thing even longer.  So we thought it might be wise to leave the 9 month option open as well, just in case, you know, down the road, sometime much later, we may need it.

Once we had settled in England (settled being that we had a bed), we restarted our search again, with the understanding that it would be as difficult as it was in Canada.  And that process in its entirety would most likely take three years.

Sometime in mid-October, we came up with a gameplan on how we were going to go about adoption in the UK — who to contact, how to pursue it, etc.  We read long legal documents that encompassed the many trivialities that we need to consider.  I started reading a book about parenting adopted children.  We signed up for a community meeting to learn more and meet other families.   We agreed on the plan and hugged and celebrated our steps towards adoption, including how to finance it.

At that point, I was already pregnant, but we just didn’t know it.  When we found out, it was so surreal, mostly because we thought we would have children in another way.  It was never an accident, but a pleasant surprise.  A blessing.  And we are both very very happy.