I make no secret of the fact that I love control. I am unapologetically Type A. I have my way of doing things and it is the right way. I am stubborn and decisive and headstrong and unbending. I don't say it with pride. I say it because it is. Both a flaw and a virtue and completely ingrained in my character.
Willie is my surprise fetus. I love him. I don't resent him. I resent being pregnant. The distinction is important to me. I don't know why.
I thought I was doing a good job at this Surprise!Pregnancy! thing. I read books and took my vitamins and found a doctor. I have tried to accept that this pregnancy is happening to me instead of happening according to my plan. I thought I was pulling it off but I'm not. I'm brittle. The slightest friction breaks me and I wind up in tears for what feels like the 80th time that day. I was bent over the examination table this morning, getting a giant needle in my butt (thanks, Rh-negative blood!) and I couldn't help but feel rage in place of my normal needle anxiety. I'm angry. I feel claustrophobic in my own body. I have no control over my emotions. I feel like I'm doing everything wrong. Which is all normal, I know. But knowing that I'm experiencing normal pregnancy highs and lows doesn't make it any easier. I try to channel my dear, nutty friend who happens to be the loveliest, most positive person I've ever met and I try to focus on the light at the end of this tunnel (the light being Willie, who has definitely upped his activity levels this week and doesn't hesitate to give me a good kick when I'm feeling blue.) I know that things will improve and even if they don't, this pregnancy is not indefinite. In 11-ish weeks I'll be done. I can absolutely last that long (I say with more force and confidence than I'm currently feeling.)