A Difficult Decision

SJ Snelson - 1 Jun 16

Is it just me or is deciding to become a Mama really quite stressful?

It was the biggest and most daunting decision of my life. I mean there is no pause when you want to take a break. There is no undo or back peddle unlike selling a house or requesting a divorce. There is simply no resigning from this 24/7 post. It is an all your eggs in the basket forever more situation. Almost every other decision in your life comes with a little escape hatch but this one.

Am I ready? Are we ready? Am I prepared to give up life as I know it? Can we afford it? These are a handful of the trillion questions I had rotating on my brain’s merry-go-round. Along with the – If we’re not ready/prepared/comfortable enough now, then when?  Will we be happy as a couple with expendable income? Will we regret it when it’s too late? How will I balance being a step-mama and a blood-mama? Am I just too selfish? What about my career?

Cue – freaking out for months and years. Cue – Mr O waiting months and years.

The pink elephant sized ticking clock could not be ignored any longer; clicking, clocking, ticking, tocking … it was demanding an answer.

There is a saying (I think) that if you toss a coin to resolve a difficult decision, it is likely that in the brief moment the coin is in the air you know which side you hope it will land on. I imagined the scenario.

And so I let Mr O know that I think I am ready, but I’m really not sure. I was really nervous.

I deeply love a handful of children in my life – but I am not a baby lady, and dislike a huge number of other children (and their personalities). And now I am hesitantly confirming that I am ready to spawn my own and live it constantly. I am deciding to potentially bring my own little toe rag into a world I am not always infatuated with and often frustrated by.

I was terrified and willing to let nature have the final call.

What if I am one shit parent? I forget to feed myself and have killed every house plant I have had. Will I be able to handle being judged by strangers and ‘friends’? Can I handle a little-being controlling me when I am so used to being the boss? How will I share Mr O? These questions played on loop as the theme tune to my life. I had hoped that once THE decision had been broadcast that the questions would stop. But no…

I lay my concerns on the line. I am scared the baby will come between us. I will miss the fuck-it-lets-be-sporadic nights and time for romancing.  I don’t want to sacrifice my best relationship and best friend. And I don’t want anyone else in our bed.

We agreed it would take time to find our feet. We hoped and still hope that we will not fall apart.

We concluded to go ahead.

I refused to invest emotion into it – in case it did not work. In case our baby making facilities were out of order – I thought it dangerous to presume.

Approximately 6 weeks later I decided to take a test. I was crazy hungover and worried that if I didn’t check and carried on my Crimbo festivities I would have an alien on my hands. I checked not because I felt pregnant but because I wanted to know it was ok to chug some more red wine and push the hangover into tomorrow.

Pregnant.

I did not have the text book reaction for a planned pregnancy. I was not elated. I did not smile. I whispered it to Mr O. I told him it might not be right – with all the alcohol and I mean, the line isn’t very dark – it would be darker, right?

I felt guilty. I had drunk beyond my limits and topped it off with cans of energy fuel. I hate to think about what that had done to my body – let alone a little somebody settling in.

I did another test 24 hours later. And then I went to the doctors.

I am pregnant. It is true.

I smiled a little smile. Mr O beamed – I retorted not to get too excited as we need to get past the crucial 12 weeks before we are out of danger zone for miscarriage.

I was worried my body would call it quits. I was treating the entire thing like a work project – not entirely invested and emotionally vacant. But I constantly Googled the risks of miscarriage, read  every horror story and counted down my days to the 12 week mark.

I vividly remember the day that 12 weeks hit. That morning the first thing I did was place my hand to my stomach and I felt a new feeling; a protective desire, a love, an excitement. I felt a glimmer of courage – I think I can do this, I think I might even be ok at this, maybe I will even be good at this.

I was elated that I had made my difficult decision.

I was excited about winging it through the challenges I would face.

I was going to be a Mama. I felt incredibly honoured and supremely lucky.

And now Bambina is here I cannot put into words how thankful I am that I came to the decision I did.

SJ Snelson

I'm SJ. Living in Brum, in the middle land. I have 1 crazy bambina, 1 step-teenager, and 1 husband (who fluctuates between superman and Magneto - often depending on my mood). My family and friends are always my staples, my clan, my tribe – and Bambina my hero. Find me on insta @themamacave

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